


The Impossibility, Which Makes This Possible

by hallowgirl



Category: Lolitics, Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: (Dave and Boris did anyway), (Why else do you think New Labour were in power so long?), (even if they don't know it), (kind of), (they won't admit it but), (though not planned), Absent Parents, Accidental Hugging, Adorkable, Affectionate Insults, Alastair Can Be Terrifying, Alastair Does Not Take No For An Answer, Alastair Likes Yelling, Almost Holding Hands, Almost Kiss, And Frustratingly Non-Partisan, And Is Surprisingly Malcom Tucker-ish, Andy and Ed B are Adorable, Angst, Apologies, Banter, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Bercow Does Pirouettes, Brother Feels, Brotherly Angst, Bullying (mentioned), Childhood Memories, Christmas, Coalition, Cross-Party Relationship, David Miliband Why Are You a Jerk, Denial of Feelings, Ed Just Spend More Time With Your Kids, Ed Why Do You Expect Him To Just Forget About It, Ed Wore Purple Jumpers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic fic, Everything's A Competition, First Dance, Fluff and Angst, Foe Yay, Geeky, General Election, George Is A Clever Git, George Thinks It's Hilarious, Glasses, Grief/Mourning, Halloween Costumes, Hate to Love, Head On Shoulder, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, If It's You It's OK, Justine and Sam Are Pretty Cool, Kids Are Hilarious, Literal Sleeping Together, Lynton Can Be Brutal, M/M, Marital Problems, Mentions of bereavement, Mentions of the Holocaust, Milibro Angst, Milibros, Movie Night, Music Taste, Next-Gen Labour, Nick Is So Done, Nick Robinson Is Awesome, Nick and George Are Loyal As Heck, Nick is a good friend, Opposites Attract, Overlaps With Canon, PMQs, Parties, Pool Table, Rival Romance, Scary Movies, Sibling Rivalry, Sleeping On Someone's Shoulder, Slow Burn, Snark To Snark Combat, Speaking At The Same Time, Suspiciously Specific Denial, The Exorcist (mentioned), There's Christmas Parties, They were holding hands even if they're stuck in denial, Ties, Train Rides, Which Nick Is Aware Of, Works Too Hard, accidental hand-holding, everyone can see it, everyone went to school together, finishing each other's sentences, from enemies to friends to lovers, like an old married couple, lisping, mentions of bullying, more tags will be added, protective, shippers on deck, sibling angst, sometimes, thank you Tvtropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 550,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4779545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallowgirl/pseuds/hallowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> <br/>There's three things pretty much everyone's sure of. One, there's a General Election coming up. Two, it's going to come down to two people. Three, those two people-David Cameron and Ed Miliband- will never, ever, stop arguing. Ever. It's impossible. And it's certainly impossible that the two of them could ever, possibly, willingly spend time together. It's impossible that you could start to enjoy spending time with the one person who disagrees with you on <em>everything.</em> It's impossible that you could find yourself confiding in your political rival. It's absolutely, completely, unutterably impossible that you could find yourselves maybe, possibly, navigating something together that might be more than just friendship.<br/>Impossible. Of course.<br/>Then again, impossibility isn't what it used to be.</p><p>Epic Camerband fic, set from autumn 2014 onwards to some point in the near future. Overlaps with General Election and real-life events. A story of politics, awkward friendship, something <em>more</em> than awkward friendship and too much arguing.<br/>(No, really. Too much arguing.)<br/>(Check Author's Notes inside for reasons for absurd word-count, etc.:))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arts Of Car Journeying, Tea Spilling and Phone Rescuing (Or, How To Survive An Afternoon Without Making Headlines)

**Author's Note:**

> So, like you read in the summary-epic Camerband fic. And let's get the disclaimer out of the way:  
> IT IS FICTION. IT'S TOTAL FICTION. It is not meant to be interpreted as a true reflection of anyone's character or personality or any events. IT'S ALL FICTION. This is completely fictitious, and it is not intended to cause any offence or distress.  
> Also-in the unlikely event you know any of the people depicted in this fanfic-probably don't read it. If only to avoid the awkwardness.  
> Anyway, this whole thing partly came about because fanfiction-obsessed author here noticed that there were a few Clameron epic fics that awesomely tied into real-life events, and then author's brain started saying "Why not one for Camerband?" br />  
> So, here it is. An epic Camerband fanfiction. Set from September 2014-some point in the near-future, overlapping with real events.  
> Also, the reason this is so long-and I myself notice that more than anyone-is because I suppose this is more of a saga, in some ways. I mean, we did just go through some of the most tumultuous political events in recent decades, so it's basically become almost a bit of a chronicle of that, too. That's the reason for the absurd length, anyway.  
> Also, author can't think of any right now but if there is anything that may require a trigger warning, author will of course put one up. (Better safe than sorry.)  
> So. Hope you enjoy. Leave a comment if you like it. :) br />  
> Let the stories begin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which it should be possible to spend an afternoon together without a fight. Should be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll leave a couple of notes at the end to just tip you off as to some of the references! Leave a comment if you like it! :)  
> (Oh, couple of quick notes here for some of the references-you can skip them if you want, since they're mostly political:  
> The Scottish referendum was for Scotland to decide if they wanted to remain part of the UK: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-29271765 The Coulson references refer to this:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-28160626 The LOL texts refer to this:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-18032027  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ho43L0sp28A  
> 

_When summer is over, winter becomes sad too, because opposites often admire each other secretly.- Mehmet Murat ildan_

_All opposites are so much each other that they are perfectly inseparable- Ken Wilber._

_" Nothing is really impossible if you put your mind to it. After all, as I once said...I was the future once."-David Cameron, former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, in his last Prime Minister's Question Time, 13th July 2016_

 

* * *

 

" _Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?"_

_"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."- Pride And Prejudice, Jane Austen_

 

_What is this feeling so sudden and new?_

_I felt the moment I laid eyes on you!_

_My pulse is rushing_

_My head is reeling_

_My face is flushing_

_What is this feeling fervid as a flame?_

_Does it have a name?_

_Yes, loathing! Unadulterated loathing!_

_-What Is This Feeling?, Wicked!_

 

* * *

  
"The fact that the Prime Minister refuses to answer the question just demonstrates how the leader of this country cannot even defend his own party's budget cuts-"  
"Order! _Order._ Prime Minister?"  
"What the Right Honourable Gentleman likes to ignore, Mr. Speaker, is the fact that it was _his_ party's overspending that has made these cuts necessary. He has not once, in the past five years, presented us with a possible solution to these difficulties and I have to ask him, Mr. Speaker, why the Right Honourable Gentleman seems perfectly willing to provide many problems but ignore the fact that his party left us with only _one_ solution."  
_"Order._ Mr.Ed Miliband?"  
"It's really quite unbelievable, Mr. Speaker, how the Prime Minister seems to forget that this is supposed to be the time when _I_ ask the questions and _he_ attempts to provide some answers-"  
"Order. Quiet, quiet, order-"  
"Though his primary tactic seems to be avoiding the questions put to him and focusing on the extraneous details-which is, coincidentally, the same tactic he uses when it comes to focusing on the top 1% and avoiding the issues of the poor whom he has a duty to assist."  
"Order. Order. _Order._ Order. Prime Minister?"  
"The same tired arguments he trots out again and again. And may I just ask, Mr. Speaker, of the man who claims to be in touch with the average members of the public, the struggles of the poor and the efforts of the working-class, on which floor of his five-storey house did he prepare that speech?"  
"Order. Order. Calm _down_ -order- _order-"_  
 

* * *

  
   
It's not a prerequisite to _hate_ the Leader of the Opposition and had anyone asked David Cameron, he would have vehemently denied feeling any such thing towards Miliband. But, facing him across the table, the various voices echoing around him, he has to admit, there's a certain vindictive edge to seeing Miliband speechless-even if, as David knows from bitter experience, it will only be temporary-that comes rather closer than he would like.  
 

* * *

  
It's not a requirement to _loathe_ the Prime Minister-and even at times like these, Ed Miliband has to admit to himself that _loathe_ is a strong word-but there are definitely moments when you could come close.  
Ed watches Cameron across the room, vaguely listening to the sheer chaos raging around them both-Bercow's shouts of "Order! _Order!"_ are still being roundly ignored-and grits his teeth as he notices that familiar grin playing around Cameron's lips, as he takes his seat next to Osborne (who still appears to be helpless with laughter-nothing on Earth could be that amusing) and Ed fights with every inch of self-control he possesses to keep any hint of a smirk from his own mouth.  
If anyone had asked Ed Miliband, he would have completely denied it, but he has to admit, there's a small part of him that's glad that Bercow intervened when he did. The last thing he needs is to have Cameron's joke be amusing _and_ not even be able to come up with a good retort.  
 Indeed, if this had actually been a session of Prime Minister's Questions, it would have been a nightmare.

* * *

  
Even with the run-on of the discussion-it had taken a while before any call of "Order" had been heeded and even longer before relative peace had been restored to the meeting room, and yet, absolutely no resolution had been reached on which place each team should stick to while they try to persuade Scotland not to detach themselves from the rest of the United Kingdom-David has to admit, he'd hoped that, after several meetings, today might have been one of the-exceedingly rare-afternoons on which he could leave a little earlier. Flo only started school last week, and David wants to be able to scoop her up when she gets home, press kisses to her chubby little cheeks.  
Suffice it to say that when Lynton requests "just a quick meeting" with him and George, it is not with the best of grace that he complies. It would have been with even less grace had he known what the topic of the meeting was going to be.

"We're not asking anyone to become best friends" says Lynton, reaching for a glass of whisky while David tries vainly to work out if he's misheard his advisor's previous words. "What we are asking for is just to be-less hostile during the campaign.  
David barely has time to blink before George, looking far more at ease with the situation than he should, jumps in. "If we look unprofessional, it just gives them the edge with the public."  
"I understand that" David manages, barely keeping the edge out of his voice. "What I don't understand is why it was so necessary to hear this information right now." _When a five-year-old could figure it out_ , he adds silently.  
Lynton and George exchange glances, so George misses the glare that David's reserved solely for him. George might have _warned_ him what the topic of this meeting was going to be. He and Miliband aren't _schoolchildren_ , after all.  
"Well, it's not just a matter of winning an election. Or the referendum, and that's going to be fucking harder than it should be." Lynton avoids David's eyes as he reaches again for the glass. David suppresses a groan at the danger sign-whatever comes out of Lynton's mouth next is not likely to be welcome.  
"With all the- _warnings_ from the poison dwarf" Lynton says diplomatically and David grits his teeth at the memory of him, Miliband and Nick all standing awkwardly like a bunch of schoolboys to receive a lecture on "civilized debate for the edification of the general public" (all three of them had nodded along and duly promised to mend their ways. This had been followed by David hissing at Miliband in the corridor "If you could keep your attacks less _personal_ , none of this would have happened", resulting in Miliband's retort "Cameron, it's almost amuth-sing that _you_ accuse _me_ of personal attacks" at which Nick had stepped in between them, a smirk twitching at his mouth and reminded them that it was probably going to be an awkward moment if Bercow stepped out of his office now. David had glared at him but deep down, there was a stab of gratitude for Nick's words and he told himself it was simply because the argument would have served little purpose and not because he was several seconds away from complete humiliation as-as George loved to hear from Nick over and over in subsequent weeks-David had apparently resorted to being a child again and his tongue had been darting out of his mouth at Miliband before Nick helpfully rammed an elbow into his ribs.)  
George elbows him-David would love to elbow him back, but as the Prime Minister, should probably show a little more self-restraint and settles for giving his Chancellor the glare he deserves, the traitor. George, being George, completely ignores him.

"David." Lynton looks him straight in the eye. "That was a discussion in a meeting room about the referendum and it devolved into an argument about the potential for how one of you-and it had better fucking be you-will reduce spending cuts in the next Parliament. "

David tries to look untroubled. "You're really bringing up devolution?"

 "Each of you turned up with half a dozen MPs, and they resorted to Bercow chairing the whole discussion simply to keep the peace."

George sniggers. David glares at him.

"Eventually, the meeting overran by fifteen minutes."

George sniggers harder.

"A member of the public would have mistaken that for a particularly rowdy Prime Minister's Questions-"

"I get the picture, Lynton."

Lynton sighs. "Well." The ice in his glass clinks as he takes yet another sip. David resists the urge to knock it out of his hand. "It will only be a show of solidarity, if that's all that can be managed. Just maybe-arriving at events together occasionally, looking a little less-antagonistic, generally, that sort of thing-"

David has to admit, that hardly sounds uncomfortable. Then again, with Nick, it isn't. Working in coalition is made far easier than it should be when you genuinely like the person you are working with. And Nick is easy to like-almost disconcertingly easy, for a politician.  
But David already knows Nick isn't going to be the problem and he sighs. "Party leaders including Miliband."  
George glances away as though waiting for a bomb to go off but David knows him too well and after a moment of waiting, hears him mutter "And there's that keen intellect that adds so much to your sense of diplomacy."  
David rolls his eyes, and watches George's mouth lift in a smirk.  
"Well, obviously" says Lynton warily, his eyes flickering to George's, a glance that tells David they discussed this before he arrived. He aims another glare at George.  
"Fine" he says, if only to relish the way George's eyes widen at his words. "That's fine with me."  
There's a moment of strained silence, during which Lynton's mouth opens and closes wordlessly. Davis watches him struggle for a moment, and then, glancing out the window at the dying sunlight, decides to take pity on them and himself.  
"Look" he says, standing upright and Lynton and George automatically follow. "Whatever you think about the situation, I do not hate Miliband. I am perfectly happy spending time with him." He turns for the door and aims the rest over his shoulder. "We're able to separate disagreements from dislike. Unlike you, apparently." With that, he gives them a nod and walks out the door, ignoring George's disbelieving snort and only briefly pausing at his Chancellor's shouted reply. "Tell him about the tongue incident."  
David is the Prime Minister and has many important things to do which is the only reason he grits his teeth and keeps walking, a little faster now.

  
 

* * *

  
   
"Daddy." Sam is easier to pick up than Daniel these days, and Ed manages it awkwardly, halfway down the basement steps. The boys are usually in bed by the time he gets home-it will be a couple of hours before Justine gets home, at least. Even now, they're both already in their pyjamas, Zia halfway through getting them upstairs to bed. Ed tries to remember when the last time was that he or Justine were there at bedtime.

 But if sometimes clients and cases come before making sure the kids bags are ready and favourite nightlights have been left on-well. Times have changed. And Justine had always been clear that she wanted the children-particularly if they had any daughters- to know they didn't have to put being a homemaker before having a career.

In the event, they had two sons, who are both often a little too well aware that women don't have to put being homemakers before having careers.

Ed juggles Sam awkwardly back and forth and reaches to pat Daniel's head, but Daniel curls into Zia's leg, so Ed settles for touching his hair lightly.

"Zia did story" Sam tells him, rubbing his eyes, and, looking at Zia, she nods, confirming this.

"We're just getting ready for bedtime" she says and Sam's arms stretch out, his baby-voice babbling "Z-Zia-"

Ed tries not to wince as he hands his son back over.

He gives the boys a goodnight, with an awkward kiss to each head, even as Daniel turns his face away, mumbling something, a little scowl creasing his face as he clings to Zia. Ed tells himself he'll read them a story another night, when there's more time. When he doesn't have to work.  
 A few minutes later, he's sitting in front of the news channel, biting into the tuna melt he's just put together, and he rolls his eyes as Cameron appears on the screen. Ed takes the opportunity to study his face, a part of him already impatient to open his own mouth, ready to spit out a retort.  
He watches as Bercow's head bobs back and forth-a replay of PMQs from a while back-and his eyes settle on Cameron's usual smirk as their eyes meet across the despatch box. But there's something else too-something almost teasing in the expression. He feels his own brow furrow at the look-it could almost be friendly, but at the same time, something about it reminds him of when he first walked into Tony Benn's office, shy and nervous and saw every colleague exchange glances the second they thought he wasn't looking, and he'd known what they thought of him before they said a single word. Young. Spoilt. Naive. Like a clever child who knows it's done something rather admirable and is a little too proud of it.  
Something about Cameron's expression makes Ed wonder just how many hours are left until the next time they can face each other across the Commons. _Five-storey house_ is still ringing in the back of his head and he bites his lip, furious at having to smother the impulse to laugh.  
 

* * *

  
David can no longer recite wedding vows from memory-a fact Sam never fails to remind him of-but he's fairly sure there's got to be a clause that states one's spouse should be sympathetic to the ordeal of having to survive an hour-long journey with the person currently trying to steal one's job.  
Instead, Samantha has chosen to completely disregard this clause by bursting into hysterical laughter.  
"It's not funny" David tells her, trying to peer sternly over his glasses and only succeeding in letting them slip down his nose, "I have to spend two bloody hours, there and back, in a car, with _Miliband._ There's a good chance one of us isn't going to make it out alive."  
Sam, taking a deep breath, manages to control herself long enough to say "Nick will be there. And George."  
David has to grudgingly agree. "That still doesn't make Miliband any easier to tolerate" he grumbles, knowing he sounds like a child and hating himself for it. "And it's not going to look good for either of us if we can't go through a few hours without chomping at each other's throats. I told you what Lynton said-I bet this is _his_ bloody idea-" David had been preparing for an early night when he got the call to say Craig thought it would give "the right impression" if he, Nick and Miliband travelled together, and if he'd been expecting sympathy from George, he could have thought again. (Unless sympathy was routinely expressed as raucous laughter.)  
Sam raises an eyebrow. "Don't let any reporters hear you mentioning _throats._ You'll make Nick jealous."  
David displays the expected dignity of any Prime Minister by aiming a pillow at his wife's shoulder.  
"Seriously" Sam manages, after several minutes of muffled and extremely dignified pillow fighting. "What happened to not hating Miliband?" She straightens her pillow, smoothing her hair with one hand. "I mean, you always tell anyone who asks that the two of you have nothing personal against each other."  
"It's _true."_ It's close enough to the truth that David doesn't feel guilty about saying it.  
Sam sighs, leaning over to pick up her novel. "Well, whenever I've seen him" she says, leafing through the pages, the conversation apparently at an end. "He's seemed pleasant enough.  
David snorts. If by "pleasant" Sam means "aggravating, smug, complete socialist twit" then she's nailed Ed Miliband right on the head. (And it certainly isn't what she was saying after the Syria vote.)

But, staring at his own book, he has to admit that _hatred_ isn't quite what he feels-not the right word, anyway. Something about the way Miliband's eyebrow arches whenever their gazes lock over the chamber, the way his jaw tenses whenever David's words strike home, just seems to spur David on harder, throwing more and more jibes across the room until he can goad Miliband into spitting out his own taunts. From the very first time Miliband had appeared across from him, thanking him in that painfully polite speech, the lisp that David was already familiar with prominent ( _that_ is one thing David's never thrown at him, no matter how heated their exchanges have become-he's not _that_ cruel), something in every round of questions has David simultaneously wanting to burst out laughing and at the same moment, strongly consider just leaping across the House to throttle him.  
And yet on those occasions he's seen Miliband outside work-when they bump into each other at any dinners, when David carried round gifts for Ed's newborn son, or even beforehand, from the first days when he was an MP, when Miliband had just been one of the little coterie of advisers that clung to Brown's coattails-he's found himself noting little things- the way that Miliband never quite knows what to do with his hands, the way his mouth seems to run away with him, the lisp becoming more and more pronounced with each word-that jab at something else, some smothered impulse. There's something almost irritatingly awkward about the whole thing.  
David shakes his head. It's late and he's too tired to think about it, so he lets his mind wander to earlier, reading to Flo from The Big Book Of Fairies, Nancy occasionally taking a turn, while Elwen sent his Lego plane flying over and over into his sister's shoulder, until Nancy screamed that he'd tear her new pyjamas (they'd only bought them the month before, in Portugal.)

 All he can do is hope he and Miliband can get through the few hours on Saturday without creating any headlines.  
 

* * *

  
"So, how long do you think you and Miliband will last before a headless corpse ends up involved?"  
 Nick sniggers as David gives George what's supposed to be a glare but probably (annoyingly) comes out as more of a pained smirk.  
"It's _not funny"_ he manages, even as his traitorous mouth twitches.  
"Well, actually, it _is"_ George says, with the air of one commenting on the weather. "The question is, whose head will it be?"  
"No one's head is going to be rolling" David tries his best to sound stern as Nick and George exchange grins like a couple of kids. "We are perfectly capable of getting along for one afternoon."  
"Of course." Nick pats David's arm, which would have been a rather reassuring gesture, if it hadn't been followed by Nick clapping his shoulder, then turning to George and muttering "£50 says they last two hours before we have to break them up."  
George snorts. "£60 says they don't make the entire car journey."  
David grits his teeth as both Nick and George burst out laughing. He might be the Prime Minister but this is one of those moments when he would dearly love to kick the pair of them. Instead, catching sight of the chauffeur-driven car pulling up outside the back entrance of Downing Street, he's forced to content himself with hissing through clenched teeth "If the two of you could just _shut up-"_  
"Temper, Prime Minister-"  
David has to work hard to resist the urge to stamp on George's foot. "There is not going to be a fight" he mutters (again, through gritted teeth-speeches in front of cameras are very good practice for talking through gritted teeth.) "There is not going to be any awkwardness. There are not going to be any _problems."_  
George nods (and grins.) Nick pats his shoulder (and smirks.) And the car pulls up.

David tries for a relaxed smile as Miliband climbs out of the vehicle. Just an afternoon, he reminds himself. Just an afternoon. It's just Miliband. One afternoon. Just no glaring, no laughing, no-  
Miliband stumbles over his own feet. George snorts, which he quickly turns into a coughing fit as Nick steps forward to save the moment.  
"Good journey?" he asks, giving that typical Nick-smile, open, friendly, eyes wide. Maybe, just maybe, they can get through the day without a catastrophe.  
Miliband nods, his head bobbing in that awkward little movement, and gabbles something about it being fine, and David can hear the lisp in his voice, and George sniggers. David stamps on his foot and is reminded right there how easily this day could fall apart.  
There's a long, awkward silence which is punctuated by George sniggering again and David's voice is louder than he intended when he suggests that isn't it time George got into his own car, as he wouldn't want to keep his driver waiting, would he?  
George departs with a sardonic wave and a grin and David watches Miliband chew at his lip nervously and wonders for the umpteenth time, how this is the same man who hurls insults at him across the despatch box, week after week.  
"Shall we get in the car then?" is how Nick chooses to break the tension and David has never been more grateful for a Deputy Prime Minister than he is at this moment.  
Nick scrambles in first, followed by Miliband and then David. There's a brief moment in which David contemplates leaping out of the door but then the car's moving, pulling away from the curb and David has the horrible feeling that he's being driven to his own execution.  
It's not until they reach the motorway that either he or Miliband is required to speak-Nick does a good job of chatting away about mundane details, so that the only answers required are nods and vague "Mm" sounds of agreement.  
It's unfortunate that the first words David thinks of when he looks at Miliband are "I bet that phone lasts five minutes" as Miliband stares at it with his head tilted to the side like a scientist studying some rare specimen. David has some restraint, though, and manages instead to say simply "Problem?" He thinks he sees Nick tense out of the corner of his eye but when he glances at his Deputy Prime Minister, Nick is staring out of the window as if there is truly nothing more fascinating in the world than the bale of hay he is currently staring at.  
Miliband shakes his head and stares down at the Blackberry like a confused puppy. "I don't seem to be particularly thkilled with tho-social media" he forces out, in that nasally little voice David hears so often these days, it sometimes ends up in his nightmares. He watches Nick bite his lip and continue to stare studiously out of the window. David glares at the back of his head. If Nick starts laughing, they're done for. Being painfully sincere can be a weakness at times.  
Miliband's dark eyes flicker up from under those long eyelashes and for a moment, he looks directly into David's eyes. Something of David's amusement must show in his own face because Miliband's lips purse, the same way they do when David knows one of his insults has hit home, and as Miliband's eyes drop back to the phone, David catches the words "I suppose you'd just add an LOL to the end."  
Nick's shoulders jerk and David watches him shove a hand over his mouth as he shakes with silent laughter. David waits until Miliband has dropped his eyes back to the phone before he mutters "I suppose your predecessor would tell you to just throw it at somebody."  
Miliband's eyebrow arches and those dark eyes narrow. "I suppose the last time your predecessorth were in power was the Eighties."  
"If my predecessors were so terrible, why didn't your party sort it out in thirteen whole years?"  
"Apparently, you're still confused about the difference between questions and anthwers."  
"Apparently, you still struggle with the concept of forming a coherent question."  
"Apparently, you-"  
They're interrupted by a short burst of laughter. Their heads both turn at once to see Nick, one hand over his mouth, spluttering into his palm. Miliband's shoulder brushes David's as Nick waves a hand. "Sorry. Just wondering if I've got my wallet on me...."

David glowers at him while Miliband merely looks confused. Then again, that's a fairly usual expression for Miliband. David watches as he opens his mouth again, then closes it, clearly having lost his train of thought.  
"Now, _that-"_ David points at Miliband's mouth, his finger almost brushing Miliband's chin. "Is the usual sound of your arguments. They might as well be complete silence, for all the good they do-"  
"And _that-"_ Miliband jabs his finger right back and almost catches David's eye. "Is exactly the thort of weak-minded insults that people have come to expect from you in the place of an actual _argument."_  
David can feel himself falling into it, the rapid beat of his heart, the tight laughter in his chest as he watches Miliband's arguments falter in the air. The only thing missing is the tide of voices usually filling the House, battling on both sides to be heard. Here, there are no voices and no Bercow to tell them when everything's going too far-just a song playing on the radio, which David wonders if Nancy listens to. He can see every inch of Miliband's face, the bruised shadows under his eyes, the way his lips almost quiver whenever that lisping sound returns to his voice. It's disconcerting, to say the least.  
"If you want to go on about weak-minded, why don't you look back at the last few suggestions _you've_ made-"  
"Because looking at yours' would give me a better definition."  
David might be Prime Minister, but right at this moment, he finds himself seized with the sudden urge to grab Miliband by the collar and shake him.  
"If you really want a definition of weak-minded-" David's surprised to find himself grinning rather than scowling or speaking through gritted teeth. "Why don't you look in the mirror?" He half spits the words, that aching grin still in place.  
Miliband's lip curls. "I didn't know you'd resorted to playground insultth, Cameron."  
Their legs are pressed together now and he can almost feel Miliband's shoulders rising and falling with each gulp of air. He stares back, trying to look as if he couldn't care less what Miliband comes out with next, while wondering if he should sit on his own hands so he doesn't throttle him.  
"Well, it's not as if you couldn't learn from the typical occupants of playgrounds. I'd wager they can all make an attempt at eating sandwiches correctly."  
Not his best line, David realises the moment it's out of his mouth. Miliband's eyes flicker for a moment and something about the uncertainty there is so raw that David almost wants to look away. Nick glares at him over Miliband's shoulder and David wants to shake him-as if they haven't said worse things to each other plenty of times before.  
But Miliband rallies almost instantly, folding his hands together and fixing David with that raised eyebrow, the same way that always riles David, always makes him forget all of the years of learning, debating, campaigning and takes him right back to the schoolboy impulse to reach out and wipe that smug look off Miliband's stupid face.  
"That jutht tells me you're _loth-sing_ the argument." Miliband settles back in his seat and David finds himself fighting back the truly mean urge to point out it's "losing" not "lo-thing." As it is, he manages to content himself with saying "Well, that's familiar territory for _you-"_  
There's a snort from the other side of the car and both David and Miliband turn to stare at Nick, who's wiped any hint of a smirk from his face and is now staring at them both, the picture of innocence.  
"What is it?" asks David, a jab of irritation at the argument being interrupted spiking up sharply in his chest.  
Nick stares at them both for a long moment, his face inscrutable, and then abruptly turns away. "Nothing, nothing" and he fixes his gaze on the passing scenery, as if nothing in the world has ever been so interesting as the cow currently chomping nonchalantly away in a field.  
"Good-" David turns back to Miliband, who's already got that eyebrow arched again, ready to continue.  
Nick's voice is soft, musing in the background. "Just thinking, I might owe George more than £60.."

* * *

 

It's a relief when all three of them can scramble out of the car and go their separate directions. David watches Miliband walk away, that awkward, bobbing little stance making David roll his eyes, even as Nick yanks out his wallet, muttering something about "Osborne _would_ have to be the Chancellor, wouldn't he?"  
David shakes his head. "You can say it" he tells his deputy, who's now smirking at him. "We didn't make the journey."  
"You were never going to" says Nick fairly, with a grin. "You and Miliband see everything the same way you see each Wednesday lunchtime, though."  
David stares at him. "And what do you mean by that?"  
Nick shrugs, that placating grin still hovering at his mouth. "Each Prime Minister's Questions, you can't stop throwing insults at each other. Like watching two kids in the playground."  
"It's not _personal."_ David will listen to a lot of insults but being told that he sees Miliband as his _schoolyard enemy_ is another matter. "I don't have anything _against_ him. We just-"  
He searches for a word. "Disagree" he finishes, rather pathetically, as he avoids Nick's grin. "It doesn't mean we _hate_ each other."  
"I didn't say you did." Nick puts on a smile as they catch sight of another MP heading towards them. "Just that you can't say it's not personal even if you don't hate him."  
David frowns and opens his mouth but Nick's already greeting the MP with a friendly smile, a hand on the arm and the moment to demand an explanation is forgotten.  
 

* * *

  
A couple of hours later, David's ready to leave. There's a limit to how much smiling politely even _he_ can take and while it would be all manner of irresponsible to neglect his duties, he's aware that he promised the kids-as Sam tried to pull Nancy off the couch, where she was duelling her brother with a homemade sword-he'd join them at Chequers later to judge Nancy and Elwen's respective jumps into the swimming pool and take his turn twirling Florence in the water, with her little armbands encircling her chubby arms, and the last thing he needs is Nancy deciding to recite the pub story again, especially if they choose to wander down there tomorrow for Sunday lunch. (One of the few downsides of choosing Chequers for the weekend over The Barn Cottage is that they're next to that bloody pub.) He's just glad that Sam's with them-they love Gita, but on the rare occasions she does need to pick them up from school or stay with them, David can't help but feel guilty.  
He waits until enough people have left so as not to appear rude and then Nick pats his arm and marches off to inform their driver. And it's then, with George descending hysterically into laughter once again, that David grits his teeth and sets off to find Miliband.  
Of course, it would be _him_ dispatched to find Miliband. David has to reflect, as he makes his way through the crowd, that considering the amount of staff that have been suggested to him over the years, there is currently no position entitled "Finder-Of-The-Aggravating-Leader-Of-The-Opposition" in existence yet.  
He doesn't want to end up texting Miliband but following Nick's well-intentioned but helpful advice ("He'll be here somewhere") and George's less well-intentioned, less helpful advice ("Follow the trail of smashed crockery"), he's forced to the conclusion that there's nothing else for it. He pulls out his phone and flips through the contacts until he reaches Miliband's number, and stares at it for another long, reluctant moment before he opens the message.  
He swallows and stares at the phone, feeling the same way he did as a teenager trying to pluck up the courage to dial Lydia's phone number to see if she wanted to stay at The Rectory for a few days. Which, considering who he's contacting, is more than a little disconcerting.  
Eventually, he settles on: _Need to find you. Leaving soon. Where are you?_  
He shoves the phone back in his pocket and waits. It's then that he catches the name "Miliband" somewhere in the conversation behind him and he snatches at the sound, turning round to focus on whoever's just spoken.  
He's not entirely sure which MP it is-the man's middle-aged, grey-haired and a Tory-but a handy part of being the Prime Minister is rarely having to introduce himself and after exchanging pleasantries for a few moments, David manages to chip in "Listen, have you seen our Leader of the Opposition anywhere?"

This prompts a snort of laughter and the MP says "Isn't there a trail of tea to follow?"  
David's about to ask if he's been speaking to George-Miliband might be annoying, but that tea-spilling incident was _nearly five years ago-_ and then the MP says "He only did it again, didn't he?"  
David fights back a smirk and at the same time hopes that the tea-spilling wasn't in front of the man currently standing in front of him. Somehow, he can't imagine the MP providing any comfort.  
Then, he realises he's thinking about Miliband's _feelings_ and he tells himself it's just because he doesn't want it to affect the ride home.  
The MP's still laughing. "He went off that way" he tells David, when he can speak again from the hilarity of Miliband spilling a hot beverage. "Pity he can't clean up his arguments as easily. They're all about the same mess, after all-"  
David watches the man take another gulp of whisky, let a napkin dangle over his arm that he clearly doesn't need. It occurs to David that if the MP had just given the napkin to _Miliband_ , then Miliband wouldn't have had to disappear and they could have been in the car by now.  
"That's a little unfair, don't you think?" he says, struggling to keep his tone light. "To take it as a reflection of his intellectual reasoning."  
The MP blinks. "Well, let's be frank-" he says, clearly struggling to work out why the Prime Minister is defending the Leader of the Opposition. David doesn't blame him. He's trying to work that out himself.  
"He's challenging you in a few months. Though, it's not as if his policies will be in any kind of _shape_ by then-"  
David's had enough. He's had a whole day of being goaded about his dealings with Miliband and he's spent most of it insisting that he has nothing personal against the man. Now, he finds himself struggling to get away from someone who seems to think that not only is David unable to handle a little competition but that he's completely willing to merrily jump on the bandwagon as soon as someone else starts insulting his rival. This, added to the fact that it's hot, he's tired, his phone's buzzing, and what's more, he still has absolutely no idea where Miliband is.  
"I don't think drinking tea correctly is an important part of being the Prime Minister" he says, his voice a little louder than usual. "Just because his arguments may be flawed doesn't mean they're a mess or that he lacks the intellect to volunteer some good ideas on occasion."  
There's a long silence and David takes in the wide-eyed stares of the three faces in front of him. Fleetingly, he wonders if it's really been that long since anyone disagreed with him and then he remembers that a) he's the Prime Minister, b) he's a Prime Minister who's just almost shouted at the members of his own party and c) that they're not staring at him but rather, at something behind him.  
David grits his teeth before he turns around, but he can already take a pretty shrewd guess who's standing there.  
Of course it's Miliband. It _would_ be Miliband. David stares at him, opens his mouth, then closes it again.  
Miliband is staring at him, his shirt clearly damp, his mouth open-God, why does he have to just _stand_ there, looking so _gormless?_ -blinking at David, as if still trying to work out what he's just said.  
David closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, before muttering an excuse to the MPs and then jerks his head at Miliband. "The driver's waiting" he says abruptly and heads off, Miliband following him, still dabbing at his shirt with a napkin, shooting confused looks at David from under his long lashes.  
David's aware that it hardly looks professional, expecting Miliband to tag along after him like a dog, so he slows his pace and glances up to see Miliband staring at him, head tilted to the side.  
"What?" he says, because Miliband is looking him in a way that could almost be described as _grateful._ His eyes are narrowed and he's staring at David as though he's a rather puzzling maths problem.

"Nothing" and Miliband's eyes dart to David's and then away again. "Jutht-um-nothing." He fidgets with the end of his tie and David sighs, eyes roaming again over the stains on Miliband's shirt.  
He grabs the napkin which Miliband is still ineffectually dabbing away with. "Here" he says and he scrubs at the material more vigorously (having children is astonishing training for cleaning up messes.)  
Miliband blinks at him again-why does he always have to look like a puppy that's been kicked the second anything goes wrong?-and David stuffs the napkin into his pocket, the shirt marginally improved.  
"Come on" he says and Miliband opens his mouth and then shuts it again. "I sent you a text" David tells him and he resists the urge to tug Miliband along by the sleeve.  
"Was there an LOL on the end?"  
David glares at him. "No" he says. "I'd given up on texting you, I was just going to find the group of people who looked as though they'd fallen asleep."  
Miliband glares back and mercifully, they've reached the car. David yanks the door open and Nick, who's already sitting inside, looks up immediately, letting his eyes roam nervously over David and Miliband.  
"Everything...OK?" he asks hesitantly and Miliband and David both say "Fine" at the same moment, prompting another glare between them.  
"Well-" David reaches for his seatbelt. "It would be easier if Miliband could _answer_ his phone."  
"Well, we all know _you're_ accuthtomed to mobile phones-"  
"Well, we all know _you're_ accustomed to needing help clearing up."  
Miliband flushes. Nick raises an eyebrow. "Well, I appreciate the honesty" he says, pulling his own seatbelt on. "It would have been really disappointing if you'd lied."

* * *

  
David hopes that Miliband will remain silent for the journey home-or at least, remember who just put himself out defending him _to his own party_ -but of course, Miliband doesn't oblige.  
Or rather he does, _technically._ But he finds a way round it. Typical bloody Miliband.  
David doesn't pay any attention when the Blackberry comes out until his own buzzes and he finds himself looking at a message from Ed Miliband.  
**_You found me. Congratulations. Thank you for not including an LOL._**  
David narrows his eyes and taps a message back:  
_Not through choice. And LOL is not a sentiment you inspire in your own party, let alone in me._  
Nick's talking away next to Miliband. "It was quite enjoyable, overall. I mean, it wasn't a complete waste of an afternoon-"  
David' s phone buzzes again.  
**_Well, you have a history of not following through on decisions. And regarding lack of sentiment, you must speak from experience._**  
David rolls his eyes. Trust Miliband to be so pedantic even in text-message insults.  
_At least, I make decisions for my party._  
Nick's still chatting away next to the two of them. "Anyway, obviously you're not listening, so you completely missed William walking around with a flower pot on his head-"  
David nods vaguely, still focused on the message that's just come through.  
**_True. Of course, not the decisions you promise to make, but I suppose anything's progress._**  
_Well, one of us has to be. Some of us have progressed beyond requiring a bib._  
_**Some of us have progressed beyond hiring criminals**._  
David's fingers are now moving so fast it almost hurts. Nick is still musing away next to him: "And then I tied Bercow naked to the fountain and left him there-"  
_Some of us aren't so insecure we have to bring up every single insult of the past. Especially ones that aren't accurate._  
**_It's good for the country that you're becoming familiar with the concept of truth._**  
_It's not hard to be more familiar with it than you._  
"And then I stripped off my suit, put my boxers on my head, and I swear, if the two of you don't stop texting each other, I will throw both of your phones out of the window."

David looks up from his phone. "What?"  
Nick throws up his hands. David's phone buzzes again.  
**_Is this the same man who broke every promise he ever made about the NHS?_**  
_Is this the same man who chooses to avoid listening to every answer I give him each Wednesday?_  
There's a sudden movement, a seatbelt unbuckling, and the next thing David knows, his phone is being wrenched out of his hand. He and Miliband both turn to stare at Nick, who is now holding their phones, one in each hand. "Once more and you're both walking home."  
Miliband stares at him and mutters something about "both outrank you, anyway."  
"You don't, actually" says Nick serenely, handing their phones back. "Get your argument straight."  
A tense silence ensures, during which Nick stares out of the window and David glares at his knees. Miliband stares back at his phone.

David lets the silence drag out a few more moments, before he says "Well, Labour know all about weak arguments."  
"We learnt it from the Conservatives."  
There's a soft, thudding sound and they both turn to see Nick, who has apparently given up on settling conflicts through reasoned debate and has now taken the alternative approach of throwing his head back and forth against the passenger seat.  
 

* * *

  
The rest of the journey back to Downing Street is a fairly quiet one, with Nick leaving them with the remark "Just to ward off annoying press speculation, try to both survive the trip, would you?"  
As the car draws up outside the back entrance, David has time to reflect on the bitter irony that after dreading the idea of a whole day spent with Miliband, the parts that he'd enjoyed the most had been arguing with the man.  
David blinks. _Debating_ , he tries to reassure himself. _Arguing_ is merely petty. Debating is...professional.  
He scrolls back through the messages as he climbs out of the car. Maybe a _shade_ less professional than was expected. OK-maybe a _hint_ of personal-perhaps a _touch_ of petty-  
"Wait."  
Turning around, David blinks at the sight of Miliband scrambling out of the car. He stares at him as the other man avoids his gaze, chewing a little at the corner of his lip. He's about to make a joke about Miliband not hanging the curtains quite yet, but the words die away in his mouth as he watches Miliband, realising he's never seen the other man look quite this uncomfortable. For a second, he has the mad thought that Miliband's followed him out of the car simply to continue the argument, that he'll keep them both pinned to the pavement debating the point forever, until someone wins, or they both drop dead of exhaustion-  
Miliband is still steadfastly avoiding his gaze. "I just-wanted to thank you." The words come out in a rush and David blinks. Miliband's still looking at him and the words tumble out. "I-didn't get a chance to and I just wanted to th-say-thank you for-you-" The lisp is becoming more pronounced with each word and David almost winces for him. Miliband, who seems to relish yelling his opinions at him from across the despatch box each week, now seems to be fumbling over the right way to get out a "Thank you." It would be ironic, if it weren't for the fact that neither of them can meet the other's eye.  
"Well-um-that's-that's-fine" David eventually (pathetically) manages. _(Fine?_ He couldn't come up with something better than _fine?)_ He scrabbles for something else to say. "I mean-I don't agree with them. You know. Just because they were-just because we have our-well, you know. I don't share their opinions" he finishes, feeling more awkward than ever. Miliband's shuffling from foot to foot now and the silence stretches out. Miliband's still chewing at his lip and David's seized with the sudden urge to tell him to stop.

"Well-um-" Miliband reaches out and gives David perhaps the most awkward pat on the arm he's ever received. He feels himself flush scarlet as Miliband yanks his hand back as if he's been burnt and scrambles back into the car. "Have a good night" Miliband manages, before he reaches out and pulls the door shut, leaving David to return his awkward wave as the car drives off. He stares after the car disappearing into the early Saturday evening, before slowly turning to the steps that lead down into Downing Street, to get ready and throw a few things into a bag to head up to Chequers.  
It's as he steps inside, with a smile at the security, that his phone buzzes. Climbing the stairs to the upstairs flat, he squints at the screen.  
**_Yes, I meant it, in case you were wondering._**  
Reading the message, David can't help but grin. He hesitates, then taps out a reply.  
_You're welcome. I shouldn't have told Nick. That was wrong of me._ He struggles before he makes himself type the word _Sorry_ but reminds himself Miliband, whatever his faults, was gracious enough to thank him. The least he can do is offer a genuine apology.  
The reply comes through a moment later and any feelings of regret disappear immediately.  
  ** _So hell just froze over._**  
David shakes his head at the phone, fighting back laughter, as he types back a message.  
_Well, you would know all about apologies. Probably gets tiring having to make so many._  
Another reply, seconds later.  
**_We actually attempt to take our apologies seriously._**  
David grins.  
_It must be a daily necessity. It's a hazard of constantly getting things wrong._  
**_You would know. It must be familiar territory._**  
David laughs out loud as he takes off his jacket and types out another reply.  
  _We've got you to guide us. After all, you took up permanent residence there some time ago._  
David sends the message and shakes his head again. He waits for the reply he knows is coming, his fingers already hovering to continue this new debate and to his surprise, when he catches sight of himself in the mirror, he's smiling harder than he has all day.

 

* * *

 

_Playlist_

_Charmless Man-Blur-" Educated the expensive way/He knows his claret from his Beaujolais/I think he'd like to have been Ronnie Kray/But nature didn't make him that way...He talks at speed/He gets nosebleeds/He doesn't see/His days are tumbling down upon him/And yet he tries so hard to please/He's just so keen for you to listen/But no one's listening"-this pretty much sums up how David and Ed like to think they see each other._

_Company Calls-Death Cab for Cutie -"Set your sights, destroy this party-line/'Cause it's so tired.."-pretty self-explanatory._

_Documented Minor Emotional Breakdown #1-Los Campesinos!-" I restored your mother's faith in men whilst boring you to death/Left nothing more than the circle of stubble rash around your chest....A jealous ex silenced the room, he said that you were a whore/"Do you kiss your mummy's lips with that mouth?"-I had this playing while I was editing the scenes before they get in the car, and this just kind of suits David sticking up for Ed._

_Foundations-Kate Nash -"Thursday night/Everything's fine/Except you've got that look in your eyes/When I'm telling a story and you find it boring..Then I'll use that voice that you find annoying...Yes, it was childish/And you got aggressive/And I must admit that I was a bit scared/But it gives me thrills to wind you up/My fingertips are holding onto the cracks in our foundations/And I know that I should let go but I can't/And every time we fight/I know it's not right/Every time that you're upset and I smile/I know that I should let go but I can't"-this pretty much sums up all their arguments at this point. Especially the fact they enjoy them._

_I Didn't Mean It-The Belle Brigade -"So I accused you wrong/Now I'm the guilty one/Hey, give me my sentence/I'll pay my penance"-this suits the last scene by the car where they're apologising._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed spilling tea:  
> https://goo.gl/images/hwMPBc  
> Ed said Justine put her job 1st: http://www.redonline.co.uk/red-women/interviews/ed-miliband-pictures  
> Zia is Ed's sons' nanny-she was mentioned here by Ed in 2011:https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/labour-party-conference-2011-ed-miliband-keynote-speech-news-footage/688163096 Her basement flat is in their house:https://www.pressreader.com/uk/daily-mail/20150316/281724088030316  
> This description of the living arrangements were apparently accurate, according to some:  
> https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/84539/downton-eddie/  
> https://www.conservativewoman.co.uk/laura-perrins-dont-bother-to-read-milibands-manifesto-his-duplicitous-kitchen-stories-say-it-all/  
> Ed's house:https://goo.gl/images/UJzSSq  
> Chequers is the PM's country residence:https://goo.gl/images/3G5iD5  
> https://goo.gl/images/M3KVY7  
> David famously left Nancy at the pub by Chequers after Sunday lunch:  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-18391663  
> She does tell the story: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-3023033/Samantha-Cameron-s-major-interview-Dave-runs-country-school-run.html  
> The Barn Cottage is David & Sam's constituency home:  
> https://www.homesandproperty.co.uk/luxury/interiors/inside-david-and-samantha-camerons-15m-cotswolds-home-a112626.html  
> Their house in London, which they lived in before moving to Downing Street: https://goo.gl/images/e3XdU1  
> The Camerons used the back entrance to Downing Street-you can see them doing so here, on the day of David's resignation:https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/david-camerons-time-as-prime-minister-will-come-to-an-end-news-footage/568785708  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/david-camerons-time-as-prime-minister-will-come-to-an-end-news-footage/566882590  
> Gita is the Cameron kids' nanny:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2052063/How-Camerons-plucked-Nepalese-nanny-slavery.html  
> They'd been to Portugal: http://www.itv.com/news/update/2014-08-02/prime-minister-jets-off-on-portugal-holiday-for-one-day/  
> Lydia was David's first girlfriend, at 16:  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/9349267/David-Cameron-16-jumps-for-joy-with-first-girlfriend.html  
> Syria refers to when Ed originally said he'd support David over a vote and then backtracked, leading them to lose the vote, causing one of the worst rifts between them-Samantha felt strongly about it, as she'd visited Syrian refugees:https://www.economist.com/blogs/blighty/2013/08/britain-and-syria  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/9956688/Samantha-Cameron-visits-Syrian-refugees-on-her-first-solo-foreign-trip.html  
> David and Samantha did take Sam baby gifts when he was born:https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2010/nov/25/ed-miliband-baby-gift-simon-hoggart  
> These were the (edited) family portraits Ed and David did during the 2015 campaign:  
> Ed's:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-31820254/ed-miliband-i-don-t-care-what-people-throw-at-me  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDIERzB467o  
> David's:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rG0T2UqDqO8  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pyECCsEQcMY  
> And some behind-the-scenes footage:  
> Ed and Justine having their children filmed (and the kids protesting):https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/labour-party-conference-ed-miliband-arrives-with-family-news-footage/696579430  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/labour-leader-ed-miliband-enjoys-a-family-day-out-in-news-footage/181808247  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/general-election-2015-ed-miliband-and-family-visit-news-footage/688322514  
> David and Sam with Florence in 2011:https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/florence-cameron-celebrates-first-birthday-england-news-footage/691158270  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/interior-shots-david-cameron-sat-with-his-baby-daughter-news-footage/122711787  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/interior-shots-prime-minister-david-cameron-walks-into-news-footage/122722372  
> There's less footage of David's kids, as they didn't allow their kids to be filmed much, to protect their privacy. One of the only times they appeared was after David resigned as PM and they went to Buckingham Palace in 2016:https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/david-cameron-has-left-downing-street-for-the-last-time-news-footage/566832056  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/david-cameron-has-left-downing-street-for-the-last-time-news-footage/567578478  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/license/567811164


	2. Martys For Marxism, Apologies Accepted, And Emojis in Abundance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which the Portcullis canteen is apparently a high school cafeteria, there's such a thing as a martyr for Marxism, apologies can be easier to give with a flannel on the head and there is a much needed debate over emoji usage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: there are a couple of mentions of Ivan in this chapter, as it deals with the Tory conference that year and one particular PMQs. Obviously, no offence is intended. Also, to repeat disclaimers: Obviously, none of this is intended to reflect events as they actually happened, it's fiction, etc.  
> Also, some of the opening scenes come from video clips, which I've linked below, as a few of you asked about them. You can totally skip them if you want, just some of you asked for them!  
> Leave a comment if you like it!:)  
> *
> 
> The opening statements are the last few lines of each of their conference speeches in 2014. You can see them here:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-29542034/liberal-democrat-conference-nick-clegg-speech-in-full  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-29338520/ed-miliband-full-labour-party-conference-speech-2014  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-29445596/david-cameron-s-conference-speech-in-full  
> Clips with their wives: Nick and Miriam: https://www.gettyimages.ca/license/647868656  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/license/693453682  
> Ed and Justine: https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/ed-miliband-mp-and-and-wife-justine-thornton-up-steps-to-news-footage/648182390  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/labour-party-annual-conference-2014-ed-miliband-speech-news-footage/647864406  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/labour-party-annual-conference-2014-ed-miliband-arrival-news-footage/685692978  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/labour-party-annual-conference-2014-ed-miliband-keynote-news-footage/696902056  
> The failed kiss: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11117906/Watch-Ed-Milibands-awkward-kiss-with-his-wife-at-the-Labour-Party-Conference.html  
> David and Samantha: https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/conservative-party-conference-david-cameron-speech-news-footage/688328198  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/conservative-party-conference-2014-david-cameron-speech-news-footage/647623048  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/conservative-party-conference-2014-david-cameron-speech-news-footage/647626482  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/conservative-party-conference-2014-david-cameron-speech-news-footage/648092112  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/conservative-party-conference-2014-david-cameron-speech-news-footage/647865722  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/conservative-party-conference-2014-david-cameron-speech-news-footage/648012492  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/conservative-party-conference-david-cameron-speech-news-footage/688328682  
> https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/video/conservative-party-conference-2014-david-cameron-speech-news-footage/648040282

_Totally wrecked and polemic in the way he talks  
_ _Vocal sabbatical delayed, by churning out the same_  
_And you're trying too hard, with your lungs in tar_  
_And your kitchen full of pop stars!_  
_Why do you talk so loud, why do you talk so_  
_Why do you talk so loud_

_-Talk!, The 1975_

 

_"Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate!"- Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen_

_""Maybe I'm bored." She was looking at her feet, pointing and flexing them together, like we used to do in gymnastics at the Y. "Maybe I'm tired."_

_"Of summer?"_

_"Of pretending not to be a bitch" she said. "You've obviously already decided I am. It's relaxing."_

_"You must think I'm pretty stupid" I said, and maybe I was, because at her admission I felt something adjacent to pride._

_She shrugged again, which I took as a yes."- Girls On Fire, Robin Wasserman _

 

 

* * *

 

_"We will go to the country with a credible plan that builds on what we have achieved. Say what they will, we are now the only party holding firm to decent, Liberal values while anger and blame are on the rise, the only party refusing to trade in fear because we believe that the British people want desperately from their politics, what they want is hope! The only party who are as economically competent as we are socially fair-a party of the head and the heart, of compassion and resolve. The only party who says no matter who you are, no matter where you are from, we will do everything in our power to help you shine! Thank you!"_

_"Together we can reward hard work. Together we can ensure the next generation does better than the last. Together, we can make our NHS greater than it's ever been before. Together, we can make Britain prouder, stronger in the world. Together, we can restore faith in the future. On our own, we can't, but together we can. In the next eight months, the British people face one of the biggest choices in generations. A choice between carrying on as we are-on your own, for the privileged few. Or a different, better future for our country. We're ready. Labour's plan for Britain's future-let's make it happen together! Thank you very much."_

_"We've got the track record, the right team, to take this plan for our country and turn it into a plan for you. I think of the millions of people going out to work, wiping the ice off the windscreen on a winter's morning, raising their children as well as they can, working as hard as they can, doing it for a better future, to make a good life for them and their families. That is the British spirit-it's there in our ordinary days as well as in our finest hours. This is a great country and we can be greater, still. Because history's not written for us, but by us in the decisions that we make today-and that starts next May. So, Britain, what's it gonna be? I say, let's not go back to square one! Let us finish what we have begun. Let us build a Britain we are proud to call home, for you, for your family, for everyone! Thank you."_

* * *

Miriam never likes to stand on stage with him, but Nick doesn't mind. He finds her face easily in amongst the sea of applause and she beams at him, red lipstick making her teeth shine even whiter, eyes big and dark, searching out his.

He takes her hand when he walks down into the audience, as she comes to meet him, beaming out from in her blouse and long, yellow skirt that she'd worn despite James' murmurs of worry, and she smiles up at him, as they walk into the crowd. The cameras keep flashing around them, but Miriam just smiles at him, squeezes his hand tighter, rooting them together as they walk through the noise.

* * *

Ed comes to meet Justine at the edge of the stage, the way they agreed, taking her hand awkwardly and leading her into the centre with him. Justine's smile is slightly fixed, nervous, as she stands next to him, in the pink dress that she didn't choose herself, that looks slightly unnatural on her, like a child dressing up.

They need to wave, so he looks at her, knowing the cameras won't pick it up. "Do you want to wave for me? Wave-"

Her overlarge eyes find his, widening a little, with a laugh that's too nervous. "Wave?"

"Wave."

She blinks, still looking bewildered by the sheer noise of the clapping around them-Ed has the uncharitable thought that surely she must be used to it by now, and pushes it away.

"OK" she manages, still laughing nervously, her hand limp in his, before tightening again, as though realising how it might look.

They stand there for a moment, Ed's other arm automatically raised in a wave, and then he turns to her. "Give me a kiss" he mutters out of the corner of his mouth, knowing that this'll be what the cameras are waiting for, what they want as the shot for the next day, the personal angle for someone who wants to lead the country.

Justine leans up and pushes their mouths together, quickly, her grin not wavering the entire time. It's a quick, dry-lipped kiss, for which Ed feels an odd sense of relief. He's never liked those kisses that seem to go on for ages-his mind has always wandered, straying to all the other things he could be doing.

They stand there slightly awkwardly afterwards, him keeping her hand in his, not quite sure what else to do with it. They stand there, a little apart, her angled away from him, while they both look around, but none of his aides are signalling that they can leave the stage yet. Justine waves again awkwardly, her arm stiff like a marionette's.

When she looks back at him, too aware of the cameras flashing, of the applause still going on, he leans in slightly. "Shall we kiss?" he says to her, not knowing what else to do, but knowing if they just stand there, it'll look awkward, odd...

Her eyes widen slightly and for a moment he thinks she can't hear him. He opens his mouth to say it again, which is when she shakes her head, and he hears "No, no."

He bursts out laughing, because it's the only thing to do, arching away from her so that she's the one left facing the cameras for a moment, even as his cheeks burn with the rejection, leaving Justine to hitch her smile back into place, even wave a finger at the cameras, as though she's planned it all along, shaking her head over-dramatically like one of those dolls, even after she pulls slightly towards the edge of the stage, her hand still wrapped around his, and it looks so ridiculous that Ed feels anger tighten suddenly in his chest, because this is the one thing they didn't want, and so he leans in again.

"Just one" he says, in a tone that's meant to be pleading, but comes out sharper, and even though he keeps the smile in place, he knows she can feel the tension in his shoulders, the slight grit of his teeth.

Perhaps that's why she gives it to him, pushes her face into his as quickly as possible, forces their lips-not their mouths, the tips of their lips-against each other in what would be a peck if it had been a little more affectionate, and then yanks her head back, with a fixed grin at the cameras, as they pull apart as far as they can get without letting go of each other's hands.

"That's all" she says to the cameras, her fingers, a little too warm and damp, squeezing too tightly around his own, and he leaves it to her to say it, looking away from her, annoyance still pulling tight in his chest.

Her smile's faded by the time they're walking off the stage, through the crowd, and he already knows they won't talk about it, even as he'll laugh the next day when some jovial TV anchor asks him about it, even as he'll give the rehearsed answer _("Look, all I can say is, she's never complained")_ even as they stand on the steps, waving once more, before they're allowed to turn and walk back down to leave the hall.

It isn't until they're outside, that he realises Marc's smile ahead of him is strained and that Rachel's is too bright, something nagging in the edges of them, as though he's forgotten something.

* * *

There's a moment when he wraps his arms around Samantha in the audience, drawing her into his chest, and holding her for a moment, out of sight of the cameras, wiping her eyes for her, kissing her cheek, murmuring to her. He'd gone over the lines with her a hundred times, and she'd written some of them, but he'd still found her eyes in the audience when they'd got to that point in the speech, holding her gaze, aching when he saw the dampness of her eyelashes.

"Are you OK?" he whispers into her ear, as she snuggles into his chest, the clapping around them echoing in their ears, outside the circle of their arms, and she just nods, tilting her chin up so that her blue eyes are fixed on his, sparkling and bright and he kisses her gently, not for the cameras, away from the audience.

When they walk up onto the stage hand in hand, the cameras seem far away, distant, compared to the warmth of her hand in his. She hugs him tight, and whispers something to him that he doesn't catch in amongst the roar of the crowd and the blast of the music, and then they wave, almost not noticing what they're doing, their eyes constantly straying to each other.

_I'm someone who has relied on the NHS and whose family knows more than most just how important it is. Who knows what it's like when you go to hospital night after night with a sick child in your arms, knowing that when you get there, there are people who will love that child and care for that child just as like it was their own._

Walking through the crowds, shaking hands with people, he keeps tight hold of her hand, every time he feels her tense slightly. He squeezes gently, and they don't even need to look at each other to keep in step.

_How dare they suggest I would ever put that at risk for other people's children? How dare they frighten those who rely on the National Health Service?_

They wave from the top of the steps, and Sam leans into his side. He has to resist the urge to pull her closer, kiss her hair, the way he did when she'd lean over Ivan's bedside, holding his hand in all the hospitals, her shoulders trembling but strong, her hand never letting go of his.

When they turn away from the conference hall, which feels like a different world, he puts a hand on her back, almost an arm around her, and feels her relax under his palm. They don't need to speak or even to look at each other. Just the touch of their bodies is enough as they walk side by side, the conference and the aides and the cameras blur around them, cocooned in the solid warmth of each other, and everything between them.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite everything the Tories would undoubtedly insist, Ed Miliband really can't object when people call him awkward. 

(Whether he does is another matter.)

  
So, while being awkward might not be something he's entirely ashamed of, it does present some moments he'd rather forget. Like managing to continually drop all of his books in the corridor back at school. (Multiple times, always in front of the same pretty girl from the year above, whose pitying expression is still seared into his brain all these years later.) Like constantly willing his lisp not to leap into the conversation every time it gets even the slightest bit heated and cursing himself the moment that, inevitably, an _s_ comes out as a _th._

Like managing to spill tea all down his shirt right in the middle of an argument with a Tory who seemed to be unable to grasp the idea that the country had moved on from the 1950s. (And he'd been _winning_ the argument, too.)  
Still, it hadn't been the best closing argument he'd ever come out with and it had led to him coming back, still dabbing at his shirt (he was starting to get the sense that his frequent visits annoyed the dry cleaners) to hear David Cameron, of all people, standing there, rebuking his own party member and mentioning Ed in terms that had sounded almost complimentary.  
If it wasn't for the fact he'd consumed nothing alcoholic all afternoon, Ed would have assumed it was some kind of bizarre, drink-induced hallucination. It was the only thing that could make sense, after all.  
As it was, he had almost been relieved when Cameron had responded to his jibes with the usual sarcasm-it made Ed feel as though they were back on even footing, helped him forget the decidedly strange memory of Cameron scrubbing at his shirt, with what could almost have been concern in his eyes. He'd found himself staring at the screen, the same furious impulse to respond that he's grown accustomed to over the last five years spiking in his chest with each message. But at the same time, he'd find himself grinning as he read whatever Cameron had typed back, enjoying the sensation of getting under his skin-even, perversely, the small jibes that Cameron sent back at him, that sometimes left him half-laughing, half-muttering his own reply out loud as he typed.  
But a few weeks later, Ed has to admit that he's not got any shortage of people willing to provide answers to the question which, after the debacle of the speech and the fact Cameron didn't even _bother to call him_ the morning of the referendum result, when they'd been supposed to be in this _bloody together_ , Ed finds more annoying than ever.  
Ed is greeted by Sadiq this morning, who heads straight for his desk with a grin wide enough to touch both walls, shoves his iPad under Ed's nose and demands, with a smirk, "Since when's Cameron your knight in shining armour?"  
Ed groans at the sight of the quote from some tabloid reporter that Bob has managed to keep out of the press. People might say politics is showbusiness for ugly people but is the whole event really that interesting?  
Sadiq is still grinning. _"Prime Minister David Cameron showed his gallant side as he chivalrously handed his political rival, Ed Miliband, a little help-" he_ recites, as if Ed has lost the ability to read. He turns to face his boss, grinning. "So, you were never going to tell us?"  
_"God."_ Ed leans his head on his hands and inwardly curses his own motor skills. "It wasn't anything _huge"_ he tries to explain, knowing the fact he has his face in his hands suggests otherwise. "Cameron was just-just being _helpful_ , he was juth-just, I'd have done the same for him-" He stutters to a halt, cursing his lisp for rearing its' head _exactly_ when he most needs to sound calm and in control and instead making him sound like a blushing schoolboy (which is downright frightening, considering the person they're discussing.)  
Sadiq laughs, clapping Ed on the shoulder. Ed manages to hide his wince. "Of course you would. You're too polite not to."  
Ed winces again. Given how long it had taken him to offer a simple "thank you", he's tempted to assume that "polite" isn't the first adjective Cameron associates with him.  
"How many other people have seen this?" he asks, raking his hand through his hair at the thought of this making the headlines, despite Bob and Tom's best efforts.  
Sadiq shrugs. "Oh. Not many. A few. Maybe. But really, no-one's talking about it, it's not a big issue-"  
The door opens and Yvette walks in without knocking, plants her hands on her hips and demands "OK, damsel in distress, why did you not tell us that Cameron saved your neck?"  
Ed turns to stare at Sadiq, who winces. "Sorry."

* * *

  
By midday, Ed has been confronted by virtually every MP he knows (and a fair few he doesn't) about the stupid quote (which, for something that's not going to appear in the press, certainly seems to have got the benefit of it), which has been met with a variety of reactions, including "When's the wedding?" from Balls, "You know he'll say he's got used to cleaning up your messes?" from Douglas, and "Just make sure this doesn't give him some sort of advantage" from Harriet. (And even _she'd_ been smirking the whole time.)  
"What do you mean?" he asks, rather grumpily by this time, given that he's just held an entire Shadow Cabinet meeting filled with people smirking, as though he and Cameron have just announced their _engagement,_ for goodness' sake.  
Harriet puts a hand on his arm and Ed can feel his lips going into the familiar pout. David used to complain about it when they were only a little older than his own boys, used to say it always made their parents take Ed's side-  
Ed drags his thoughts away from his brother because that won't lead anywhere good.  
"Just don't imagine that it was _entirely_ well-intentioned" Harriet says and Ed feels the pout clear to be replaced by a frown. Harriet raises an eyebrow. "There _is_ an election coming up" she reminds him. "And it only increases his public appeal if he's shown to treat his opposition respectfully."  
Ed frowns. "He could hardly have known that I'd-" He feels himself flushing before he reaches the end of the sentence. "You know-pour the-spill-um-"  
Harriet's hand is back on his arm. "I know" she says, her tone softening at the sight of her leader stumbling over his words, the same way she used to back when he first worked for her, when he'd approached her to nervously blurt out that he'd looked everywhere but that he just couldn't find her coat, the same way she used to back in his early days in charge of the party, when he'd walked out of his first Prime Minister's Questions, trembling, slightly shell-shocked. "It might just have been a nice gesture. But just remember, don't take it _too_ personally."  
Ed swallows, and for a moment fights with the urge to tell her that it wasn't just that-it was the way that Cameron had defended (and Ed nearly bursts out laughing even at the thought) Ed's party, defended _him._ But instead, he just nods, forces a smile and thanks her for the advice.  
Lunch is often just a half-eaten sandwich anyway, so Ed doesn't feel much worry at the idea of retreating to his office for the hour-he can get on with more paperwork and avoid any more awkward enquiries. He pushes the door closed behind him and feels his shoulders slump in relief. The sensation's familiar-at school, he'd feel the same sense of safety entering the library, the same sense of being utterly focused on work. Just work, pushing everything else out of his mind.  
He has time to reflect with a vague sense of bitterness as he sits down behind his desk, that he'd make a bet Cameron isn't getting this sort of reaction from _his_ party.  
 

* * *

  
"Would you like me to take your cape, Prime Minister?"  
David grits his teeth as George dissolves into another gale of laughter. (Nothing on earth is that amusing.)  
"Hilarious" he mutters, through a friendly smile at the Portcullis canteen worker. (Another skill acquired through constantly being in front of cameras.) "I was offering some _help-"_  
"Some _hands-on_ help."  
David glares at Michael over his shoulder, while Nick bites back a smirk, as he gives a polite thanks to the canteen lady who looks thoroughly amused by the whole conversation.  
"For the last time-" David glares at his plate as if it too is making remarks about his and Miliband's run-in on Saturday. "I was _helping him out._ I was _being polite-"_  
"And having a text message argument the whole way home."  
David turns to glare at Nick who lowers his eyes, biting his lip in an attempt to look contrite. "Sorry."  
George's eyebrows travel so high they almost disappear (which with George's hairline, is some feat.) "You've been _texting_ Miliband?"  
David turns to stare at him. "You know it's not unheard of for the Prime Minister to be friendly to the opposition?"  
George almost chokes. "Oh, so now you're _friendly."_  
David grits his teeth. "This is childish. I was being polite, Miliband thanked me-"  
Nick's jaw drops. "He thanked you?" At the stares from the other three, he shrugs. "I missed that bit."  
David sighs. "Of course he thanked me." He takes a seat at a table, while George, smirking, drags out a chair on the other side. "Just because Miliband's the opposition doesn't mean he doesn't have manners."  
Michael and George exchange grins. "So, Prime Minister" George takes a swig of water. "Where's the sword? Or did you use it to slay some dragon that Miliband had scalded with his tea?"  
David stares at him. "You do know we are not in a school cafeteria. People expect us to act with some dignity."  
"Is that why Miliband never comes in?"  
David rolls his eyes. "You're starting to sound like one of those TV shows we can't drag Nancy away from. Next, you'll be, I don't know, gossiping about One Direction or-using emojiis or something."  
"Does Miliband use emojiis in his text messages, then?"  
David resists the impulse to throw his napkin at George but it's a close thing. As it is, George is already pretending to cower in his seat. "Don't hit me, Bullingdon headlines abound-"  
Michael promptly dissolves into laughter as well. George nearly capsizes in his chair and David has never wished more for a photographer to be spying on them.  
Even Nick's biting back a grin. "I didn't know he'd thanked you" he remarks, taking another mouthful of his sandwich. "Was that after I'd left?"  
David seizes on the change of subject gratefully. He rarely eats in the canteen, thanks to his workload, and doesn't appreciate one of the few times he does spend there being filled with jibes about him and _Miliband_ , of all people. He nods and takes a bite of his own sandwich, musing reluctantly that on this issue at least, he and Miliband might be in agreement. He wonders if Miliband's getting a similar ribbing from his own colleagues-David bloody _hopes_ so, since he's the one who got them both into this whole stupid situation.  
"Prime Minister?" David turns around to find himself face-to-face with Andy Burnham, who appears to be fighting back a grin. "Or do you go by Sir David of Cameron now-"  
"Hilarious" David mutters as even Nick bursts out laughing this time. "Tell your leader that his thanks is much appreciated."  
Andy manages to hold back his laughter long enough to speak. "No, no, he-" He holds up his hand. "In all honesty, Ed's got nothing to do with it. He's been taking it in the neck as well-"  
"Where else would he take it?"  
Andy looks like he's stifling a smirk, as George almost jumps out of his seat. "David Cameron, did you just _kick_ me? Rather _un-_ prime-ministerial-"  
"Oh, shut up." David turns back to Andy. "It's really been turned into such a big deal?" He wonders briefly if the House of Commons has turned into a high school cafeteria without him noticing. People will be tweeting about it next.  
Andy shrugs. "Well, you have to admit, it's not something you see often-" He breaks into a wave of sniggering. "The Prime Minister wiping down the Leader of the Opposition-"  
George snorts again and David rolls his eyes. "Go away" he mutters, knowing he sounds childish and at this moment, not caring.  
"No, really-" Andy holds out a conciliatory hand, all traces of laughter gone though his eyes are clearly twinkling. "I've wanted to say-it was commendable, what you did."  
David blinks. "To wipe a bit of tea off his shirt?" His foot moves under the table and George jumps again, with a muffled "Ow!"  
"No." Andy's shuffling a little now and David finds himself staring as the man swallows nervously. "Just that it's good of you to defend him. Politically, I mean. Especially to your own party-I mean-" Andy's floundering for words. "I know you and Ed have your differences, but-well, I suppose I'm trying to say it's appreciated. Not just by Ed." He raises his hand, as if about to touch David's shoulder but thinks better of it, settling for awkwardly grasping David's hand and shaking it, once.  
David swallows. "Well-" He feels he should offer something in response to this unusually sincere thanks but all he can come out with is "It's fine." Andy smiles, but David's already pressing on. "I mean, what he was saying-it was in jest-but all the same-to act as if-like you said, we have disagreements but it's not as if I don't respect him-"  
Andy smiles again, in the face of what is veering dangerously close to _babbling._ "He appreciates the gesture. Both of them-though he's taken a fair amount of ribbing for the second one."  
David blinks. "What, because I dabbed at his shirt-"  
"More for why it was necessary, I think." Andy smiles, even as Nick ducks his head, hiding a smirk. "No wonder he's avoiding the canteen, today. Then again, it's not as though that's unusual, according to Marc and Stewart-"  
"What, he usually sends one of his aides down?" David takes another bite of his sandwich. "The man for the working people dispatching the working people-"  
Andy's already shaking his head. "If only" he laughs, taking a step back. "No, usually, one of them ends up having to cram a sandwich into his hand and even then, he usually throws half of it away. That's if they can get him to look up long enough to eat. Couldn't keep me away from it." He's half-turning away when David grabs at his sleeve.  
"Hold on" he says, ignoring George's splutter of laughter at Michael's mutter. ("Wants to fight all the dragons now.") He stares up at Andy. "The man doesn't _eat?"_  
Andy frowns. "Well, I wouldn't say that" he says, gently disengaging his sleeve. "Just that-well, I suppose that some days he can get too wrapped up in work-"  
 David remembers suddenly, one of the first times he saw Miliband as an MP. He'd still been talking over with Sam whether he wanted to run for leader, and he'd noticed the big dark eyes at one of the tables across the room, under thick dark hair, hovering on David's face, George elbowing him gently. _Mili Minor. David's little brother._

Typical Miliband stubbornness, refusing food with that pouting expression, the one that says _Don't you know I'm too busy working for the greater good?_ , the one that always leaves David smarting across the despatch box.

"Maybe he should probably eat a little more but, well-" Andy laughs suddenly. _"You_ , of all people, know what Ed's like to argue with."  
David rolls his eyes as he gets up. Honestly. Typical bloody Miliband. Probably imagining the whole thing makes him some kind of martyr for Marxism.  
Nick's staring up at him now. "David-" he says, and it's then that Michael mutters "His damsel's in distress" and David's finally had enough.  
"First" he says, laying his wallet on the table. "He is not _my_ anything and I think he'd highly resent the implication that he was. Second, this is not about me rescuing Milband or defending him or _-oh, would you stop laughing"_ he hisses, at George's snort of mirth. "It's about a man not _eating_ , for heaven's sake-"  
"Yes, that's my first thought whenever I see Miliband" George comments, reaching for his glass. "By God, someone feed that man. Before he tries to feed himself."  
Michael snorts and Nick rolls his eyes. "Both of you-"  
David has had enough. "Fine" he says, straightening up. "If the two of you have nothing better to do than sit there, sniggering like schoolchildren, I'll see you tomorrow. You can enjoy the rest of your lunch." Being a politician gives one a knack for dramatically ending speeches and David turns and heads for the canteen workers, hoping his impromptu orating has left George and Michael suitably shamefaced.  
A second later, he spins round on his heel and heads back for the table to snatch up his wallet. "Could happen to anyone" he barks and strides away, trying his best to ignore the muffled bursts of laughter coming from behind him.  
 

* * *

  
He knocks on the door and waits, wondering if he'll have to go to Norman Shaw South, reflecting somewhat wryly that he's one of the few people in the country who can just walk up to Miliband's door. Then again, he wonders if it's exactly a popular invitation.  
There's the muffled sound of a greeting on the other side of the door and David takes it as an invitation. He's doing Miliband a _favour_ , after all.  
He pushes the door open and his eyes fall on Miliband, head propped on one hand, a pen lid sticking out of his mouth and a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose. He pushes them up absent-mindedly with one finger and then glances up at David. His brows furrow.  
"Cameron?" He pushes those glasses up his nose again-he used to wear them all the time, but ever since he became leader, they've been a less common sight. He wears glasses himself too, of course, for reading, a pair which Nancy charmingly refers to as his "old-man glasses", but somehow Miliband's have the opposite effect. They make him look younger, almost like a geeky schoolboy. Something about the sight is rather oddly endearing.  
David realises he's been staring at Miliband with his mouth hanging open stupidly for the last few moments, so he snaps it shut and holds out the sandwich. "I know you pride yourself on being able to relate to the poor, Miliband, but I didn't know you'd gone as far as eating the same amount."  
Miliband's eyebrow arches. "So you admit your government's leading to a huge percentage of our population th-subsisting on two meals a day?"  
David nearly throws the sandwich across the desk. "You do know I just came up here to give you a sandwich? I didn't _have_ to waste my lunch hour-"  
He breaks off at the sight of the smirk on Miliband's face and rolls his eyes. "Very funny" he mutters, throwing the sandwich down on the desk and barely resisting the urge to fold his arms, slump down and sulk. Of course, it would be _Miliband_ to make him feel like a sulky child.  
Miliband pushes the stack of folders aside, his eyes lingering on the sandwich. "How did you know I didn't eat lunch?" he says, his voice lower now.  
"Burnham."  
"Andy?" Miliband's eyes widen and David feels that prickle of irritation rising under his skin-for goodness' sake, why does Miliband have to look so _shocked?_ Is it really that much of a novelty to have two people care about his well being?  
Something about the look on Miliband's face-trapped, eyes darting back and forth-reminds him of when he first won the Leadership, how the first few times they'd stood across the chamber, Miliband had stuttered over some of his words, eyes skittering back and forth, each question edged with that _politeness_ -everything about it had screamed _helpless, easy kill._ Somehow, David had found himself glaring at Miliband, with that lisp and those panda-shadows, staring like a rabbit waiting for a car to hit him. He'd found himself throwing every argument he could think of across the room, taking care to lace them with subtle digs where he knew it would hurt, because Miliband was _there_ now, he'd crawled and scrambled his way to the top of the Labour Party and _come on_ , if you think you deserve it, think you can handle all of this, then bloody _prove_ it, prove you've got something in there _worth_ saying-  
David blinks as he becomes aware that Miliband is staring at him. And that he's staring at Miliband. He swallows and straightens up. (He's the one doing the favour, after all.)  
"Yes, _Andy."_ He reaches out and pushes the sandwich across the desk. "And he said it wasn't the only time."  
Miliband picks the sandwich up, examining it curiously. "Not the only time what?"  
"The only time you don't eat." David sits down without thinking, dragging the chair closer to Miliband's desk. "He said sometimes you don't eat lunch at all."  
Miliband arches an eyebrow. "Is thith concern from the Prime Minithter?"  
David leans back in his chair. "Well, you know what Labourites are like. They'll take any excuse. Next thing you know, you'll lose the election and you'll be bleating about how it's because you lost out on sustenance for the good of the country."  
Miliband laughs and something about the sheer openness of the expression makes David's own lips twitch. Something tugs at his memory-sitting at that service for the Irish minister with Miliband and Nick, Miliband occasionally muttering some barb-edged comment that would send Nick guffawing and, after they overheard one MP expounding at length on the steps he was taking to reduce housing shortages in his constituency, Miliband had leant past Nick and muttered, just in David's ear "Selling that thuit of his could probably buy a few properties. Then again, with the amount of bagels he carried away at the buffet, he'll probably soon have one to wrap around a few properties", David had found himself laughing before he knew it and his hand had fallen on Miliband's shoulder, the pair of them sniggering together like two kids.  
Miliband picks at the wrapping now, his eyes narrowed. "I'm swamped with work, Cameron" he says and David fights the urge to tell Miliband that being an atheist, there's no need for the man to martyr himself.  
"It's a sandwich, Miliband" he says instead. "It's not going to take an eon to eat."  
Miliband sighs and then glances up at him." Cameron, I know subtlety isn't your strong point, but is there a _reason_ you're staring at me?"  
"Oh, no reason whatsoever. Just amazed that someone so impassioned about the amount of people using food banks is so happy to waste his own meals."  
Miliband's mouth twitches. "I'm astonished, Cameron. That's more of a comprehenthive answer you've provided on food banks than at the last six Prime Minister's Questions."  
David leans forward. "I'm amazed you know the word comprehensive when you're apparently not familiar with the term gratitude."  
Miliband leans back in his own chair, straightening his glasses. "And the Prime Minithter's theemingly never-ending ability to avoid the questions-"  
_"You're_ avoiding the question." Miliband meets David's eyes then, adjusting his glasses more than is strictly necessary. "What question was that?"  
"Why do you skip eating anything?"  
Miliband's eyes dart to David's and then away. "Maybe you're not familiar with the conthept of work, Cameron, but I'm actually rather busy."  
"Too busy to _eat?"_  
"Not quite." Miliband is busying himself with a pen now, removing and replacing the lid over and over. "I eat perfectly well." A flicker of a smirk crosses his lips as he glances up at David.

David sighs, stands up and, grabbing Miliband's wrist, places his hand on the sandwich. There's a smudge of ink on the top of his thumb.  
"I haven't poisoned it, you know."  
Miliband swallows. "Is that an admission about your party's general techniques, Cameron?"  
"Now, Miliband, do you really think I'd be stupid enough to admit that?"  
Miliband widens his eyes. "Would you like an honest anthwer, Prime Minister?"  
David lifts Miliband's wrist now. "I have children, Miliband. I've dealt with long lunches and reluctant eaters before. And they always end up eating."  
Miliband's smirking. "Evidently, they're already aware of their father'th tendency to be as dogmatic as John Major. And right about as often."  
"Thanks for the compliment. Though undoubtedly it wasn't intended as one." Miliband's unwrapping the sandwich now and David realises he's still holding onto his sleeve. He releases him hurriedly and sinks back into the chair as Miliband raises the sandwich to his mouth.  
He sits for a moment, watching Miliband take an awkward bite, surprised at the relief he feels at the sight. Miliband swallows and then, looking up, catches David's eyes on him. "Contrary to what the newspapers say, there's really nothing fathcinating about me eating a th-sandwich."  
David bites the inside of his cheek. "Oh, I agree. I specifically made sure to select one that didn't include any bacon, by the way."  
"I'm surprised you didn't bring me a knife, fork and napkin." Miliband's words are rather indistinct but David catches them perfectly. Miliband swallows and meets David's eyes with a grin. "Or are they just for the upper classes?"  
"Class, Miliband, that's the operative word. As in, show some class with your insults."  
Miliband shakes his head. "Arrogance, Cameron. As in, typical Tory _arroganthe."_  
"Typical Tory arrogance just brought you lunch. And I see you're still missing the term _gratitude."_  
Miliband swallows the last bite, blinking behind his glasses. "Thank you" he says and he lets his gaze meet David's head-on. "Honethtly. Thank you."  
David slides his hands together, suddenly longing to be trading insults again. He hasn't expected that level of sincerity-hasn't really expected more than a brief "thanks".  
"You're welcome" he manages, and stands up, trying desperately to think of a task that requires his urgent attention. "I should...probably-"  
"Oh. Yeah, yeah, of course." Miliband pushes his glasses further up his nose, already lowering his gaze to his work. David turns to go but Miliband's voice pulls him back. "Um-I meant it, you know. Thank you. For the-" He points at the sandwich wrapper. "And, um-" He slides off his glasses and begins scrubbing them with a sleeve, ostentatiously. "Thank you. For th-Saturday. For-um-"  
"No problem." David feels himself shifting from foot to foot and immediately rebukes himself. He shouldn't be feeling more like a nervous schoolboy than the leader of a country.  
_Oh, what the hell._ "The thing is" he blurts out, wishing he could have given this line to Ameet or Clare. "The thing is, they-er. They shouldn't have said that. About you. About your-I mean, they didn't know what they were talking about. You're-well, they had it wrong, that's all."  
His voice trails off and he coughs, as Miliband stares up at him, his glasses somehow having slipped lower, and now dangling from one ear. David clears his throat and reaches out. "Here, let me-"  
Miliband's hand closes over the frame at exactly the same moment as David's. Miliband flushes, letting his hand fall as David awkwardly straightens them, adjusting the frames on his ears.  
"There" and he doesn't have a clue _why_ , but his hand lands on Miliband's shoulder, giving it an awkward pat. "I just, well-I've got work-" he manages, before heading for the door wondering if it was possible for him to sound any more like an idiot if he'd actively attempted to do so.  
"Oh. Oh yes, of-of course-" David raises a hand awkwardly at the door and Miliband stares at him. "Thank you" he says, for the third time. "Thanks, Cameron."  
David nods. "Just-eat something at lunch times, OK? Knowing you, you'll use it as an excuse to be terrible in the polls."  
A ghost of a grin flickers across Miliband's face. "You won't have that problem. Everyone already knowth you'll be terrible in the polls."  
David shakes his head, telling himself very firmly that he's not grinning, even as he lets the door fall closed, Miliband's laughter still echoing from the other side.  
 

* * *

  
It isn't until the lunch hour is almost over that Douglas walks in and, blinking delightedly, says "You've eaten something!"  
 "Um-yeah."  
"I didn't even know you'd gone down" Douglas remarks, throwing himself into the chair. "Did you just sneak off at the start of lunch or something?"  
Ed keeps his eyes on the desk. "Thomeone-brought me thomething. A sandwich."  
Douglas' face breaks into a grin. "It wasn't bacon, was it?"  
Ed glares at him. "You do know I could fire you?"  
Douglas bites back his grin." Sorry" he says, though the gleam of his eyes betrays his amusement. "Who was it, anyway?"  
Ed reaches up to adjust his glasses and then, remembering who last did that for him, pulls his hands back as if the frames might burn him. "Um-" He feels the heat rise in his face, keeps his head bent, making sure his eyes are on his work, before he mutters "Cameron."  
Douglas' jaw drops. He stares as if Ed has just told him a unicorn galloped in to drop off his lunch. On consideration, Ed might have said that was more likely.  
He keeps his eyes on his work. It's not _that_ unusual, he tells himself. All Cameron's done is bring him a _sandwich_ , for goodness' sake. There's nothing strange about that, there's nothing...  
(And he straightened his glasses. Not that there's anything strange about that, either.)  
Ed glances up to see Douglas staring at him. "What?" he manages, not trusting himself to attempt any words with an _s_ right now.  
Douglas shakes his head. "Cameron bought you a sandwich?" he repeats, squinting at Ed as though he's some foreign species. "I-are you sure you haven't been working too hard? It couldn't have been some weird-stress-induced hallucination or something?"  
Ed stares at him. "Why exactly would I hallucinate David Cameron bringing me a thandwich-sandwich?" he corrects himself, wincing. Then again, it's such a strange image that it almost completely takes his mind off his lisp. If he was going to have any sort of hallucination, it would probably be something like his father returning to tell him how proud he was. Or David picking up the phone and suggesting they go for Sunday dinner at their mum's like old times.  
Douglas shrugs. "Don't know. You hear weirder. I mean, you know what Gordon was like when he was under stress-"  
"Yes, I know, I wath there, and no, I don't think he ever hallucinated a Conservative MP bringing him a sandwich."  
Douglas shrugs again. "You never know. I mean, it was _Gordon._ It could have been much weirder.." He trails off into silence, apparently to ponder just how much weirder it could have been, before leaning forward, as though suddenly seizing upon an interesting thought. "Did Cameron speak?"  
Ed puts down his pen and stares at him. "No, Douglas, he threw the door open, bounded in, threw a than-sandwich at my head, and left. He's a fantathtic mime artist-it's how he'th planning to conduct Prime Minister's Questions from now on."  
He catches sight of Douglas's face and winces. "I'm sorry. I was just-I have a lot to do."  
Douglas holds up a hand. "It's fine. It's actually quite a decent move. You _do_ never eat enough. Though I wouldn't have thought it'd occur to a _Tory."_  
"They're not a different species, Douglath." Once, those words would have been coming from Douglas, not him.

Ed picks up his pen again, returning his attention to the notes in front of him. "Though, I agree, they might seem like it sometimeth-"  
Douglas is standing before he can correct himself. "Well, as long as you actually _ate_ something, for once. I was beginning to think we might walk in one morning and find your emaciated body lying on the desk with that pen still in your hand."  
Ed raises an eyebrow. "And yet you seem to have devoted many hours to picturing that happy scene."  
Douglas grabs a pen and throws it at him, but the words hang there a little heavily. Once, they wouldn't have, but that was once.  
  

* * *

  
   
Two days later, David has got his wish.  
"It'll be the same as it always is" he assured Sam this morning, when she'd still been sniggering over the events of the last few days. "He'll ignore facts, Bercow will tell us to shut up. It'll be one happy family."  
"If you don't end up throwing him a sandwich" Sam pointed out, even as David rolls his eyes and wonders if this is Miliband's new sandwich joke and if so, how long this one will last.  
Now, facing Miliband across the despatch box, throwing him a sandwich is the last thing on David's mind. Throwing this pen-he glances down at the one he's currently gripping so tightly it's leaving a white groove in his finger-maybe.  
"Mr. Speaker-" Miliband's already leaning on one arm, that voice rasping across the room (David's tempted to ask if the sore throat simply comes from loving the sound of his own voice.) "He-he obviously notices that I lost a couple of paragraphs in my speech. I-I've noticed-" (David would guess what was coming, even without the incredibly subtle gales of laughter coming from Miliband's front benches.) "I've noticed that since we last met, he's lost a couple of his members of parliament."  
David rolls his eyes, barely listening to the jeers from the Labourites. _Best you could do?_ he thinks idly, leafing through his papers while another part of his brain (the one that made him reach out and straighten Miliband's glasses. That part of the brain always letting the side down. That part, not to be trusted) is muttering, _Last time we talked, you were shoving down a sandwich, because you were too bloody stubborn to stop working long enough to eat._  
"The public aren't stupid" Miliband is saying now, and David bites back the obvious, tempting, but childish retort. _("No, but you certainly are.")_ He avoids looking at Miliband when he gives his answer- _he's_ not going to wave his hands about like an excited twelve-year-old-but he meets Miliband's eyes as he launches into his rebuttal and bites back a grin, that spike of irritation flaring, already longing to throw Miliband's words back in his face.  
He blames Miliband completely for the fact he might wave his hands a _tad_ , as he throws the figures at him (with the childish feeling of _There, take that)_ but he feels forgiven when he gets to watch Miliband bobbing about like a yo-yo across from him.  
"They're the Chancellor's _own_ figures-" Each jab of Miliband's finger prompts another snigger from George, to David's left. David grinds his teeth as George leans in under the guise of examining his papers and mutters "Still keen on serving him his sandwiches?"  
But then he hears Miliband's words-"Disabled people are not worth the full wage"-and just like that, his pulse is racing, a hard, cold fury rising in his chest, and he's on his feet before Miliband is down, because _don't you dare, don't you dare say that, don't you dare..._ He manages to keep his voice level as he tries to keep his mind on the points of the minimum wage going up but his hands are shaking, even though he's _fine, he's fine_...He can feel that George has stilled, watching him, but he's fine, even with that thought flooding his whole body, _how fucking dare you, how dare you when you know..._  
Miliband's still going on, but it's figures now, figures and bleating about _£2 an hour_ , and then that voice, hoarse but clear-"Surely, someone with those views can't possibly stay in his government" and David's moving before he can think about it and his voice is cracking.  
"Those are not the views of the government" and the words shake in the air. "They're not the views of anyone _in_ the government. " _And don't you dare, don't you even think of-don't you dare act like I don't know what it's like, don't you stand there and think you can ever, ever..._  
He barely hears his own point as Bercow calls for order and only then does he hear the voices of his backbenchers, edged with shock, most of them directed at Miliband. George puts a hand on his arm, but David keeps his eyes fixed on Miliband, who's keeping his gaze firmly on his notes.  
"Prime Minister" says Bercow and David's speaking almost before Bercow's finished, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "And let me tell you-" The words tear at his throat and he stares straight at Miliband, feeling his hands shake. He wants to throw those papers at Miliband. He wants to grab him by his collar and shake him out of that stupid, confused look he's giving- _don't you dare act like you know what it's like-_  
"I don't need any lectures about looking after disabled people" and he's almost shouting now, his heart pounding so hard he feels sick. "So let's hear no more of that."  
He drags his gaze away from Miliband, the chamber wavering a little as he forces out the next few sentences, until he can stare straight at Miliband again and almost spit out his next words. "So, instead of casting aspersions-" What a stupid, trivial word that is; he's never noticed before now. "Why doesn't he get back to talking about the economy?"  
His knees shake as he sinks down. Miliband's up and yet his voice stutters a little, his eyes roaming over David's face, as if he has absolutely no idea what he's said wrong, as he launches into yet another question. David can barely listen, his heart hammering, the weight of George's and Nick's concern heavy on both sides.  
He's up again and this time, he leans forward, almost ripping at the folder in his hand because _if you think you know what hard is, you-you've never been there, you've never, never had to see-don't you ever, ever act like-_  
The words are raw in his throat. "Well, I've got a hard truth for him" and he makes sure to fix his eyes on Miliband's face as he speaks. "He's not up to the job" and he sinks down again, his heart pounding as if he's been running for miles, his fingers trembling as he curls them into fists, his chest empty and aching as he stares at Miliband across the despatch box, daring him to meet his eyes even once.  
 

* * *

  
Nick turns to him the second Prime Minister's Questions are over, a hand falling onto his shoulder. "Are you all right?"  
Of course Nick would ask. Nick always asks, even though he might not be expected to. George is there now, too, on his other side, shooting a glare across the chamber, even though Miliband isn't looking anywhere near them.  
"Want me to punch him?" he offers. "You can fire me afterwards, if you like."  
David forces a smile. It feels as though it might snap, fall off his face in two jagged pieces. "No, it's fine. I just-" His head throbs and he massages his temples, letting his eyes close. The cool darkness is there behind his lids, somewhere he can breathe, take a deep gulp of air for the first time in what feels like years.

He opens his eyes and stares at George and Nick. "I think I'm going to-I have a headache." It's the truth, after all. "I'm going to go and-" He gestures vaguely upwards and Nick-David really doesn't spend enough time praising Nick-is already nodding and telling him, yes, of course, go and have a rest, we'll find you later, we'll take care of everything else, just-George opens his mouth but Nick elbows him, steering him away by the arm.  
David has barely reached the landing when his phone buzzes with a text. Sighing, he fumbles for it, letting his eyes skim over the words.  
George. _If you need me, just ring._  
David closes his eyes as he slides the phone back out of his pocket. He briefly makes a mental note to call George and Nick later to thank them and then the phone buzzes again.  
His mouth twitches as he reads George's second message. _If you change your mind about the punching, just let me know anytime._  
David smiles as he reaches his office door, leans his head against the wood for a moment, the doorknob cold in his hand.  
The click of the door shutting behind him barely registers-he's already heading for his chair, fumbling with his phone to bring up one of his favourite pictures.  
 David stares at the photo of his elder son; it had been one he'd snapped in the rush of the moment, one afternoon with his little boy's mouth wide in a laugh that has never failed to bring a smile to David's own mouth.  
 Ten days after Ivan had been born, David had stared down at his baby son-his tiny,fragile, struggling little son-and traced the side of his cheek, waited until Ivan's baby blue eyes had flickered open and met his with a tiny mewl. David had pressed his nose to Ivan's, breathing him in, pressing tiny kisses to the tip, stroking his cheek.  
 Five years is a long time. Long enough that you can laugh sometimes, and not have to try.  
He doesn't cry but he does lean his head on one hand. He squints through the dull pounding behind his eyes and he stares at the photograph of his son, as if he can somehow trace another inch of his smile, as if he doesn't already know every piece of his boy by heart.

* * *

 

Ed doesn't know what he expected when he turns to the others as they leave the chamber, but what he definitely doesn't expect is a sea of faces all with the undeniable look of someone about to deliver bad news.  
"What's wrong?" he asks, his eyes moving from one face to another, his heart sinking with every gaze that drops away.  
Yvette opens her mouth but then-most uncharacteristically-closes it again. Andy chews at his lip and says "Um-well-Ed-"  
"You made us sound like a bunch of tactless fucking idiots, that's what" says Balls, with all his customary diplomacy.  
Ed blinks. "Well, it would've been more hurtful if you'd told me what you really think" he says, trying to keep his tone light but his voice falters and the words trail away into awkward silence.  
"Ed." Andy swallows, tugging at his sleeve. "What you said about-you know-the disabled-"  
Ed feels his brow furrow. _"That'th_ what this is about?"  
"For fuck's  _sake."_  
Yvette digs him in the ribs. It's Harriet who steps forward, her hand hovering as if she's about to place it on Ed's shoulder. "Ed" she says quietly. _"Ivan."_  
The name hangs in the air for a moment and Ed blinks, once, then again, slowly, as the truth sinks in.  
"Oh" he says and then he thinks of the way Cameron's eyes widened when he'd asked _"Is that his view?"_ , the way that for a second before he'd launched into his reply, he'd just stared across the room as if he'd been hit, hard enough to knock the breath out of him.  
"Oh" he says because all he can see now is that look. "Oh God."  
He lets his head fall into his hands as the weight of it hits him. "Oh _God."_  
"Ed-" Andy begins but his voice trails off.  
"God-I don't even-" Ed swallows. "I don't even- _know_ what to thay-"  
"Pity you didn't have that problem in there-"

 "Would you shut _up?"_  
Harriet and Andy exchange glances, ignoring Balls and Yvette, before she leans forward and says "It didn't look good, Ed."  
Ed stares at her. "I forgot" he says honestly. "God, I just-I completely forgot, it completely slipped my-I forgot" he says hopelessly because it's true, he _did_ forget, but he knows how pathetic it must sound and he closes his eyes. "God, I've got to sort this out. I've got to apologise to him-"  
"Ed" Andy starts, but he's already turning towards the corridor, wincing as he replays the entire Prime Minister's Questions in his head.  
"Maybe you should give him time to calm down..." Douglas has stepped forward.. "Give him some time, pop in this afternoon-he'll probably be happier to listen then."  
"And for God's sake, do it politely" Yvette chips in. "The last thing we need is to look like we were ungracious after-"  
Her voice trails off but Ed knows everyone's hearing the unspoken words. _After what you just did..._  
Ed knows it probably was the worst thing he could have done for his party-especially with an election coming up-but right now, all he can think is that he's got to let Cameron know it was a mistake.  
They might not see eye to eye but Cameron's got to know he would never have brought up- _anything_ to do with Ivan, no matter what Cameron had thrown. He winces.  
"I didn't even-God, how could I have-" He hears his own words again in his head, and winces again. "God, how could it have gone _worthe?"_  
"I don't know, why didn't you just shove your fingers up behind his head and call him a Nazi?"  
"ED!" Both Eds wince as Yvette, Douglas and what sounds like the rest of the Shadow Cabinet all shout at the same time. Balls rolls his eyes. "Just trying to lighten the mood."  
"I don't think you'd find it easy to lighten anything-"  
"Oh, _shut up, Burnham-"_  
"Enough." Harriet holds up a hand and reaches out to touch Ed on the shoulder. "Ed, I think you should give him some time-"

"Yeah, I don't think now is the best-"  
But Ed's not listening. He's already heading away. 

* * *

  
It's when he's met with Clegg and Osborne, arms folded with matching glares in the middle of the Portcullis canteen, that he wonders if Harriet and Yvette had the right idea.  
"Can we help you?"   
"Where's Cameron?" he asks and Clegg and Osborne exchange looks that tell him this is just what they expected.  
"Look" he says, before either one of them can hand over whatever excuse Cameron's come up with. "I need to see him. I need to-" These aren't words he's accustomed to saying, especially to members of the coalition. "I need to apologise."  
Osborne, who's just taken a gulp of tea, erupts into a coughing fit and has to be helpfully thumped on the back by Clegg, who's staring at Ed as if he's announced he thinks the coalition are doing a fine job with the NHS.  
"You want to-" Osborne is slowly recovering the power of speech. "Nick, I think I'm dead. I think I've died and ended up in a parallel universe where Miliband has sense-"  
Ed ignores him, keeping his eyes on Nick. "Nick" he says, his voice lower now. "I really need to talk to him."  
Nick's eyes roam down Ed's face for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Ed waits, swallowing hard.  
"Try his office" Nick says finally, giving Osborne one final pat on the back. "He'll probably be up there for lunch. But I'm warning you-" he adds, as Ed turns to leave. "Don't be surprised if he's busy."  
The unspoken words hover underneath and all Ed can do is nod. He can hardly _blame_ Cameron, after all.  
 

* * *

  
As Miliband walks away, having offered an awkward bobbing of the head with his "Thank you", George and Nick simply stare at each other for a long moment. Finally George opens his mouth. "What the hell was that?"  
Nick shakes his head, slowly. "You mean, you saw it too?"  
George's eyes are wide. "What do you think it is?" he asks. "Sabotage? Delusion? Extraterrestrial replacements?"  
Nick raises an eyebrow. "I was with you all the way up until the last one."  
George shakes his head. "Nah, you're right. How desperate would the aliens have to be to take Miliband?"  
 

* * *

  
Ed is definitely not anything close to being _scared_ of Cameron but even so, it takes a few minutes for him to be able to raise his fist and knock on the door, once he's been met by a furious glare from Kate, Gabby's arms folded across her chest as Kate had gently guided her away.  
There's a slightly longer pause than usual but then, much to Ed's relief, he hears Cameron's voice. "Come in."  
He doesn't sound markedly different than usual and Ed feels his shoulders relax a little as he pushes the door open, swallowing hard. (The whole situation has not done much to improve the dryness of his throat.)  
Cameron's sitting at his desk, staring at something on his phone. His brows are furrowed and to Ed's relief, he hardly looks as though he's dwelling overly on Ed's words.  
"Um-Cameron?"  
Cameron doesn't jump. Instead, there's a moment when his shoulders tense and his eyes narrow without moving from the screen. Ed finds himself twisting his fingers together awkwardly, the same way he used to at school while he sat in the library, praying everyone would think he was _choosing_ to sit alone.  
Cameron looks up slowly, his face carefully blank. "Yes?" he says, his tone cool, and Ed swallows, feeling himself shift from foot to foot.  
"Ah-I've been looking for you." The words hang weakly in the air, trailing off into silence as Cameron examines him coolly.

"You th-see-um-I wanted to-I thought I should let you know-well, I juth-" He feels the blush creep up his cheeks as the lisp breaks through again but Cameron's expression doesn't change at all.  
He swallows and the words break out in a rush, spilling a tide of mangled sounds. "You th-see-I w-wanted-to, um, find you-to let you know-I mean-I wanted to ap-apologize-well-not-I wanted to-I mean, what I said about-I wath-wasn't trying to offend you-with what I um-what I th-said-what I said about-um-the welfare offi-th-cer-I didn't mean it the way it sounded-I would never-I mean, I forgot about-well, anyway, I didn't mean to cauthe-cause any offenth-offence-"  
Ed can barely bear to keep looking at Cameron as he listens to his own voice babbling itself into nothingness, his tongue still wrestling with the words. He drops his eyes to the floor, his hands twisted together behind his back. He can feel Cameron's gaze resting on the top of his head and he feels the heat rise in his face as he stares fixedly at the carpet.  
Cameron's voice, when he speaks, is low and steady, each word carefully enunciated. "You came here to tell me that?"  
Ed feels a new wave of words rising up in his throat and he stutters over them as they pour out. "You see-youth-th-see-I didn't mean anything by it-you know, um-per-personally-I forgot-I honestly forgot that it could be a per-personally-" He falters over the words. "A personal-personal issue for you."  
Cameron's staring at him now, laying his phone down carefully on his desk. "You forgot?" he says slowly, and he's watching Ed with his head tilted to the side now and try as he might, Ed can't read the expression on his face at all.  
"Yes." He latches onto this with relief and he glances up at David desperately, chewing at his lip. "I-I honestly forgot it could be perth-personal" he corrects himself, wincing as his lisp becomes more pronounced with each word. "I-I promith-se I didn't mean it like that-at all. Honestly, I-I'm sorry-" he finishes, barely noticing that he's bypassing any formalities, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth as he glances anxiously at Cameron. "Honestly, it was all a mistake, I juth-juth-just forgot" he finishes weakly, chewing his lip harder than ever and painfully aware of how weak the excuse sounds.  
Cameron stares at him for a long moment and then he says, very softly "Lucky you."  
Ed lifts his head and stares back at Cameron and for the first time, he flinches at the look on Cameron's face. There's something raw and desperate there, something so utterly vulnerable that Ed almost feels as though he should look away. But instead, he takes one step forward and then another, reaching out without thinking.  
"I know" he says, his own voice quiet now and he swallows hard. "I-I really want you to know that I-I would never have thaid that-if I'd remembered, I would never-" He takes a deep breath and then forces himself to meet Cameron's eyes. "I would never have said it. I would never-I would never thay something like that to you. I wouldn't-" The words catch in his throat, softer now. "I honestly didn't mean to upthet you."  
David's head jerks suddenly, as if warding off a fly, and he stares at Ed for a long moment, his eyes softer now. Ed swallows, David's eyes resting on his and he's suddenly aware of his heartbeat as David says softly "Thank you."  
Ed nods and says, his own voice almost inaudible "I really am thorry."  
David nods and watches Ed for a long moment before he reaches out and takes Ed's hand, not looking away as they both move their hands up and down awkwardly. A small smile touches Ed's lips and David returns it. They shake hands for a few seconds and then both awkwardly loosen their grip. David tries for a smile and then winces as he raises a hand to his head.  
Ed's brow furrows. "What'th wrong?"  
David shakes his head. "Oh, nothing-just a headache. Florence had us up for hours last night, convinced there were snakes under her bed-" His smile broadens off Ed's look. "It's a phase she's going through."

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again.  
David frowns. "What's wrong?"  
Ed takes a deep breath, then holds up a hand and says "Wait here a moment." He turns on his heel and hurries out of the room, leaving David staring after him, with a look torn somewhere between puzzled and amused.

* * *

  
Sadiq looks up, surprised, when Ed walks into his office. "Ed" he begins, his mouth already breaking into a smile, but Ed's already at his desk, the words spilling out of his mouth frantically. "Sadiq, do you know where I could find a flannel?"

* * *

  
Ten minutes later, he knocks on Cameron's door-this time, having faced merely confused looks from Gabby and Kate-and this time, the "Come in" is immediate. Ed walks in to find David sitting at his desk, staring at his phone again. This time, when he lifts his head to see Ed standing there, his lips part in a small smile.  
"I-um-" Now that Ed's actually handing David the stupid things, he's wondering if he shouldn't have just mumbled an apology and left. But David's still sitting slumped with his head on one hand and Ed's come back now, anyway.  
"I-I wanted to give you this" he says and he pulls out the packet of ibuprofen. He originally means to hand them to David like a sensible person but his hand doesn't obey him and he ends up awkwardly throwing them to David, who catches them easily.  
"I-um-you said you had a headache-" Ed silently counts to three before he reaches his next words, the trick he learnt years ago for when it feels as though his speech is about to fall apart. "I just thought I'd-um-"  
David's already emptying a tablet into his hand, his eyes flickering up to Ed's, mouth twitching into a grin. "Thanks."  
Ed decides it's best to just get the next part over with. He holds out the flannel rather lamely.  
David stares at it and Ed hears the babbling before he can stop himself-"I just thought, I'd-um-Lindsey in my offithe always thayth thith helps headaches, and she-she knows more about these things than I do-so I just thought-she says, if you just hold it on your-um-" He gestures towards Cameron's head vaguely. "She says it can cool you down-you know, help to, um-anyway, she says it-" He trails off as Cameron slowly drapes the flannel over his forehead, holding it in place with one hand.  
"I-" Ed snaps his mouth shut, wondering just how he could have embarrassed himself further, when Cameron's lips part, mouthing wordlessly for a moment, then shuts it, then opens it again.  
"I-um-thank you-I mean, well-um-" Cameron's cheeks seem to be a little more flushed than usual but it might just be the light. "I-I just want you to know I-um-appreciate this-I-well-I mean, thank you, thank you so much-" The flannel slips to one side and Ed and Cameron's hands dart out at the same moment, with Ed catching the cloth and carefully sliding it back into place, his fingers just brushing Cameron's as he does so.  
"Thank you" Cameron says again, far more quietly this time, and Ed drops his gaze, chewing at his lip and nods, keeping his eyes on the floor until suddenly, Cameron's standing upright and his hand is on Ed's shoulder.  
"This is-um-very kind" he says, his voice a little stronger now. "I-" The words trail off again and Cameron's lips twitch. "Thank you."  
Ed nods and waits, the silence stretching out between them.  
It's Cameron who says "Of course, you'll be used to dealing with the headaches from your Shadow Chancellor."  
Ed lets a smile flicker across his own lips. "No doubt that's what a lot of uth will be reduced to once you've privatized the NHS."  
"No doubt that most people are aware that we don't plan to privatize the NHS."  
"No doubt-"  
"Order, order-" At first, Ed thinks Bercow's walked into the room behind them but then he sees Cameron's hand rapping on the desk, and finds himself sniggering even as Cameron claps his shoulder again, flannel still stuck to his forehead.  
They stare at each other as the laughter fades and it's Ed who says "Um-I'd better-"  
Cameron nods. "Oh. Oh yes, of course-of course-and thanks-thank you." He holds up the ibuprofen packet again and Ed nods, turning for the door, less thrilled about leaving than he should be.  
"Wait." Cameron's voice is a little louder than usual and when Ed turns back, it's to see the other man watching him, one hand on the flannel, the other curled tight around the packet Ed's just given him.  
"Um-you might want to try some warm honey and lemon?" David gestures awkwardly at his own neck. "You know, for your throat? Sam swears by it, makes me drink it any time I've got a speech-" He tries for a smile. "It works a treat."  
Ed becomes aware he's standing, staring at Cameron with his mouth open and hastens to close it again. "That sounds like a good idea-I-um-thank you."  
Cameron nods. "No problem." A ghost of a grin flickers across his mouth. "Besides, we don't want you Labourites leaping on it as an excuse when you lose-""  
"When we win, I'll drink it before I read you my consolation speech."  
"I imagine you're constantly in need of it, the amount _you_ talk."  
"Only to counteract the amount _you_ talk-and the lack of content that couldn't be described as almotht useless."  
"At least, in our case, it's just _almost."_  
Ed's laughing as he turns back to the door, even as he shakes his head, saying "You're a bad loser, Cameron."  
"And you'll prove that you are, come May." But Cameron's still grinning and as Ed leans in to pull the door shut, he hears Cameron's voice again, a little softer. "See you later, Miliband."  
Ed's own voice is quieter than he expected. "Th-see you, Cameron" and he turns to head back to his own office, wondering why he can't seem to keep the grin off his face.

* * *

  
   
_**The lemon and honey worked. Thank you for the tip.**  
Glad to hear it. Now you won't have any excuses.  
**That makes one more for you to borrow, then.**  
Labour knows all about borrowing, I suppose.  
**At least, we don't have spin doctors who borrow phone records.**  
How's the deficit getting on?  
**Going up under your watch.**  
Like jobs, housing, education, etc.  
**Granted. And tuition fees.**  
Granted. Wonder why? ::)  
**What on earth is that?**  
It was an attempt at what I believe is called an emoji.   
**The Prime Minister of Great Britain chooses to conduct his communications through the use of abundant smiley faces.**  
It's known as relating to the people.  
  **I presume you're being sarcastic.**  
Etonians are people, too.  
**Is that the slogan for your next campaign?**  
What's yours? How To Lose An Election in 10 Easy Steps?  
**Cameron, you're better than that.**  
Thank you. Step One: Hire Ed Balls.  
**Step Two: Give more spending cuts than an eager barber.**  
Step Three: Invade Iraq.  
**Granted. Step Four: Hire Coulson.**  
You're labouring the point.  
**Very clever, Cameron.**  
I thought so.  
**At least one person did.**  
More than usually agree with you.  
**We have something in common, then.**  
 _ _  
_

* * *

 

  _Playlist_

_Secret Little Sweetheart-Standard Fare -"I said I don't know her/But I knew her all along"-this pretty much suits everyone's reaction to David and Ed being friendlier to each other._

_Is It Really So Strange?-The Smiths-" Oh, is it really so strange?/Oh, is it really so, is it really so strange?/I say NO, you say YES/(and you will change your mind)"-this one's pretty self-explanatory._

_The Painting-Rhian Sheehan- this is an instrumental piece, but it really suits David's memories of Ivan._

_Chocolate-Snow Patrol -"This could be the very minute/I'm aware I'm alive/All these places feel like home"-these lines just seem to suit the way they're becoming more comfortable with each other, even if they don't fully realise it yet._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed realising he'd forgotten something was him realising he'd forgotten to mention the deficit, which had a major impact on Labour's perceived credibility on the economy and deeply damaged the party: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-29339581/ed-miliband-forgets-deficit-and-immigration-in-speech  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/jun/03/undoing-of-ed-miliband-and-how-labour-lost-election  
> https://www.spectator.co.uk/2015/05/inside-the-milibunker-the-last-days-of-ed-did-ed-miliband-sacrifice-ed-balls/  
> The PMQs depicted is here:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCYxxhXB21c  
> Ed's "she's never complained" comment: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MBoLD8kLXro  
> David mentions the NHS: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-29445187/tory-conference-david-cameron-on-nhs-and-health-plans  
> http://www.itv.com/news/update/2014-10-01/pm-discussed-mentioning-son-ivan-in-speech-with-wife/  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11133710/Samantha-Cameron-close-to-tears-as-Prime-Minister-describes-how-NHS-cared-for-couples-dying-son.html  
> Ed was annoyed after the referendum because David didn't immediately phone him the morning after: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/sep/20/ed-miliband-referendum-conference-david-cameron  
> Ed did look for Harriet's coat while working for her in one of his first jobs:https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2015/02/09/harriet-harman-interview-todays-unreasonable-demand-is-tomorrows-conventional-wisdom_n_6643408.html  
> Ed and Douglas used to be close but their friendship became strained after Douglas backed Ed's brother David for the leadership over Ed: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/silent-assassin-how-ed-miliband-plotted-against-his-brother-for-months-2298702.html  
> Ivan was David's severely disabled son who sadly passed away aged 6 in 2009, when David was LOTO. It was a huge news story in Britain. His disability (Ohtahara Syndrome) was seen as having a major impact on David politically as well as personally:  
> http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/7909562.stm  
> http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/7910121.stm  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/4806746/David-Cameron-spent-night-before-his-son-Ivan-died-making-pancakes-in-rare-night-off.html  
> https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x8hrjy  
> http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x8hn8t  
> https://www.spectator.co.uk/2009/02/a-son-who-inspired-only-goodness-and-love/  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/personal-view/4807978/Ivan-Cameron-When-love-triumphs-over-pain.html  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2009/feb/26/david-cameron-son-ivan-dies  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/short-hard-life-of-ivan-cameron-whose-suffering-could-change-britain-mw2pgbxb6bf  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/david-camerons-open-love-for-his-son-kvf6tzwdsn7  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1158823/Camerons-joined-family-close-friends-bid-farewell-beautiful-boy-Ivan.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/the-courage-of-the-camerons-3zwnht69lmj  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/4885558/David-Cameron-speaks-of-grief-over-son-Ivan.html  
> Nancy was 5 & Elwen 3 at the time: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/5044327/David-Cameron-talks-about-death-of-son-Ivan.html  
> Florence was born a year later after David became PM:  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/7963101/David-Cameron-from-the-depths-of-despair-to-the-delight-of-a-beautiful-baby-girl.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/sam-cam-a-wife-less-ordinary-pnz2pw7m86d  
> Samantha didn't speak publicly about Ivan's death until 2015 and then in 2017:  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-3023033/Samantha-Cameron-s-major-interview-Dave-runs-country-school-run.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/samantha-cameron-unspun-khdqnq50k  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/news/health/we-still-grieve-for-ivan-says-samantha-cameron-as-she-backs-children-s-hospice-a3644036.html  
> Cameron now works with charities post-premiership that support genetic research into the cause of conditions like Ohtahara Syndome to find a cure: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/david-cameron-what-i-learnt-from-our-sons-rare-disease-w3r7rkp2w  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5444541/David-Cameron-talks-late-son-Ivans-rare-syndrome.html


	3. Ectoplasmic Aviation, Green-Lipped Devil Horns and the Laws of Remote Control Defence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which there are unwanted devil horns, nobody is scared of horror films, there occurs a Great Ectoplasmic Aviaton Debate, and Ed becomes a master of remote control weaponry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first off, guys, thanks for all the kudos and hits I'm getting on this-way more than I expected! If you feel like it, leave a comment as well!  
> (Btw-I got a few questions about the "getting in on religion" comment when talking about school selection. In the UK, children can be selected for some secondary schools on academic prowess through an exam, aptitude in a certain subject, or on their religion, if it's a faith school. Places are also given to a certain number of special needs children and children in care. People are also advised to put the schools they want in a list, with top preference first, etc.-they're often advised to put the most difficult to get into first, simply because that way they've got the best chance of getting in, and if they don't, they're almost guaranteed to get into their second choice school. Hope that clears things up for those who asked!)  
> Anyway, here we go! Leave a comment! :)

_"We're not similar in any way, whatsoever. I literally do not understand why you even care about-" I stop then because I was about to say "me" but I realised midway through that that was truly a horrific sentence._

_He looks down.  "I don't think that...I understand...either...."_

_I'm just standing there, staring._

_"You know it's said that extreme communism and extreme capitalism are actually very similar" he says.- Solitare, Alice Oseman._

* * *

 

The next day, David walks into Miliband's office with a sandwich and a lecture.

"I thought you said you'd eat occasionally."

"I thought you'd learn to knock." Miliband raises his head from his paperwork, those glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. "How did you know I hadn't eaten?"

David drops the sandwich next to Miliband's elbow. "I noticed you hadn't come down."

Miliband's eyebrows arch. "You were looking for me?"

David avoids his gaze. "Like I said-" he sinks down awkwardly in the chair so he and Miliband are facing one another. "I don't want you using malnourishment as an excuse when we beat you in May."

Miliband smirks, already unwrapping the sandwich, his eyes still on David's. "Don't tell me I've th-stolen your excuse."

David snorts. "What makes you think I'm preparing any?"

A ghost of a grin flickers across Miliband's mouth as he takes a bite and David notices that his voice seems to have improved when he says,"Improvising on the day?"

"Isn't that your whole leadership strategy?"

Miliband smirks again and David adds, before he can think twice "Your voice sounds better, anyway." He wants to grab the words back the second they're out of his mouth.

Miliband chews at his lip. "Yeth. Thanksth, the drink worked-I mean, I'd have had to come in anyway, but-" He shrugs.

"Well, Sam swears by it." David vaguely recalls Nancy, age seven, pouting at her mother, arms folded as she insisted the drink tasted like "warmed-up sick", a substance David was unaware Nancy had ever tasted. "It's what she doses the kids with when sore throats are going around."

"How are they?"

"Oh, they're all doing well." David feels his grin spread at the memory. "Though Nancy is horrified that I would use the term emoji."

Nancy had dropped her spoon that morning and stared at her father as if he'd planned to appear at her school clad in a Superman outfit rather than simply announced that he could now converse in fluent emoji. "Dad!" she'd said, her voice a little muffled thanks to her hands now covering her face. "Dad, you _can't_ use the term emojii. That's what _we_ say."

"What?" David had asked wide-eyed, while Sam ruffled their daughter's hair and Elwen reached past her for the porridge pan. "Don't you want your dad to know all the lingo?"

Nancy's hands had fallen from her face and she had stared at her father with a look of such abject horror that David was sure the Grim Reaper had just appeared behind him.

"Dad" she said, her voice faint. "Don't ever say that in front of anyone else."

"Why not? I thought it was quite hip to know-"

Nancy had let out a muffled screech and her head had fallen into her hands again. "Dad, _don't!_ You make Phil Dunphy sound _cool."_

David, chastened by the horrors of the Phil Dunphy comparison, had turned to Sam who'd said, voice lowered so none of the children could hear, "I'm just amazed it was Ed Miliband you were texting for nearly an hour."

David had frowned. "Not nearly an hour, surely-"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "About that, given that _I_ was the one kept awake-"

"The phone was on silent-"

"The bed shook every time you laughed." Sam shot him a glance over her shoulder as she picked up Florence, who'd just come scurrying into the kitchen with her arms up. "I didn't even know Ed Miliband could _make_ you laugh."

"Well, it was-politics." At Sam's disbelieving look, David felt his own face warm. "It _was"_ he'd insisted, turning to lift Elwen back from the table, before his son's school jumper ended up in the porridge bowl. "Politics that happened to be...amusing."

* * *

_  
_

Now, facing Miliband across the desk, David relates a condensed version of the events at the breakfast table. Miliband smirks again. "I agree with Nanthy."

"I thought you might. But then, she's my daughter-it's her job to be ashamed of me."

Miliband shakes his head. "God knows why kids go through that stage. I never did."

"No, neither did I. Though-I suppose I went through the rebellious stage-but I don't remember ever being ashamed of my parents."

Miliband's eyes narrow. "I'm sure Nancy isn't ashamed of you. She's just-how old is she?"

"Ten."

"She's just ten." 

"How old are your boys, now?"

"Five and almotht four."

David laughs. "God, I can't believe that. It seems like yesterday we were sending over presents for Samuel."

"I remember" Miliband agrees, dragging the chair even closer to the table. "You held him when he was a week old."

David remembers the moment well, Sam and Justine making friendly conversation in the background while he held the baby carefully. Miliband had stood next to them, watching them both closely-David had been about to remark that he'd held babies before, he wasn't about to drop this one, but then he'd seen the way Miliband was staring at the baby, eyes wide as if taking in something new every second, and all David had said quietly was "You should be proud. He's beautiful." And Miliband had glanced up at him and smiled.  
"He was lovely" he says now. Miliband smiles almost shyly, a little uncertainly. "And you held Florence, didn't you?"

Ed nods, still looking uncertain.

"He'll be starting school soon, won't he?"

Miliband nods again. "He'th in nursery."

  
 "Florence just started in September. She loves it."

"Same school as Nancy and Elwen?"

"Yes. It seems to have done so much for them, that we decided we might as well let them all go to the same one. It's a nice little community-it's linked to the church and things. But of course, Nancy'll be in secondary next year."

"Have you decided where yet?"

"Not yet." David takes a sip of his tea. "We've narrowed it down to Lady Margaret and Grey Coat-Bea's at Grey Coat, that's the one we're thinking of going for. All-girls, C of E-plus, Nance likes them. We looked at Holland Park, but we're not keen on the co-ed thing."

"Not private, then?"

David arches an eyebrow at him. "I said I'd send them state if I could."

Miliband grins, eyes dancing mischievously.

"Anyway, hopefully, there'll be a couple of girls from her class going to each one." David turns his cup in his saucer. "I think her friend Lola's going to Grey Coat. And obviously, Bea's there-"

"Bea?"

"Michael's daughter. Beatrice."

"Oh, yeth." Ed twirls his spoon in his cup. "Have you been round the schoolth yet?"

"Yep. We started last year, and we've been going round them again in the last few weeks. Nance has got the exam to see if she qualifies for a languages place at Grey Coat next month, but odds are, she'll get in on the religion." David takes a sip of tea. "Though she makes me wait outside whenever she goes into the classrooms with Sam on the visits."

Ed grins harder.

"What about Sam? Do you know where he's-"

"He'th going to the same one as Daniel-he'th at nurthery there. Juthtine's a governor."

"Oh, right-"

"I mean, I think they enjoy it." Miliband frowns slightly, and David's about to ask how he can only think, when the door opens and an aide pops his head round with tea.

  
"Thorry" says Miliband, the second the door's closed and David shakes his head, wanting to tell Miliband he should do anything but apologize. "Go on with what you were saying. Sam says I talk about the kids too much-"

Miliband laughs and shakes his head. "I thuppothe-I want them to do well" he says, a little stiffly. "But I thuppothe-I had an idea of them. They might prove me wrong."

  
David sips at his tea. "It won't matter though. You'll-" He remembers the first time he held Ivan after they'd been told exactly what their little boy  had, how he'd stared at his baby sleeping, pressed his lips to his forehead and whispered very quietly "I love you more than anything in the world."

  
"It doesn't matter what they're like" David says. "You'll love them exactly the same."

  
Miliband's eyes meet his. They're dark, darker than David's ever noticed before, and he stares back as the moment stretches out between them.

"Yeth, I suppose" says Miliband, a little stiffly.

David swallows and takes another sip of tea. "It's only now I realise what we must have put our own parents through when we were kids. I mean, mine go out of sight for a second and I'm panicking- I mean-with all the protection, but still-" David trails off, unable to put into words that cold, choking fear that grips at his chest whenever one of the children ducks out of sight, that horrible, helpless feeling that had closed around his heart the time they'd left Nancy behind, the awful realization sinking in of having no idea where his daughter was.

Miliband smirks at him. "Then again, I hope we'll never leave one of them in a pub."

  
David rolls his eyes. "You're not the only one who keeps reminding me."

Sadiq walks in as Miliband bursts out laughing and he watches his boss for a long moment, his lips twitching with what looks suspiciously like a suppressed smile. "Sorry to interrupt" he says, when Miliband raises a hand in greeting. "But both are you are required to be in a meeting in five minutes." Sadiq smirks and taps his watch. "Lunch hour was over ten minutes ago."

David glances at Miliband and sees the other man looking just as surprised as he feels. Maybe Sam's assessment this morning had been more accurate than he realised, when it came to talking with Miliband.

* * *

  
The next day, he brings Miliband a sandwich again-there's something they need to discuss, in advance of a meeting later, and somehow, they end up spending the lunch hour together. And then the next day, Miliband meets him at his office, holding two sandwiches, apparently oblivious to George, Nick and Gavin's jaws dropping.

"I thought I'd save you the trouble" he says, with that grin that David knows means there's more to come. He waits, biting back his own smirk.

"With all the energy you'll need for your election campaign."

And there it is.

With a grin and the line "Oh, we will-we'll be trying to draw attention away from Labour's complete failures, give you a chance to recover" , the two of them head into David's office where the argument carries on through the lunch hour amidst Miliband's opinion on David's wall decorations ("Seriously, Cameron?" "It promotes good morale" ""Keep Calm, It's Jutht A Recession?" Really?") and biscuits. (David wouldn't have originally pegged Miliband for a sweet tooth but , remembering the way he can polish off Jaffa Cakes-albeit with a crack about David Cameron acquainting himself with the lower classes-David has been wrong.)

It isn't until Miliband heads back to his own office with the parting shot of "I'll thee you in the meeting. Don't bother lifting your head, I'll understand if you want to hang it" and David has thrown back "They can stick mine next to yours' on a spike, then", and has retreated back into his office, that there is a knock on the door.

Nick, George, Danny and William do not say anything when they walk into the office. You wouldn't think, David reflects as he surveys them, that they are the Deputy Prime Minister, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Chief Secretary to the Treasury, and the former Foreign Secretary. They look more like a group of teenagers-albeit teenagers with receding (generous in William's case) hairlines, a few more wrinkles than they'd like to admit and middle-age spread-smirking and nudging each other, as if only one still retains the power of speech and they're still trying to decide which one that is.

"You-" Nick has clearly lost the battle. "You and Miliband-can eat together?"

David sits up straight. "We're both capable of putting food in our mouths and swallowing, yes."

"Well-" William laughs. "This is Miliband. There is a slight chance, David-" Danny nudges him in the ribs and he falls silent.

"But-" Nick is interrupted by George who, less tactfully, says "How come one of you hasn't put a pen in the other's neck yet?"

David sighs. "Miliband and I are capable of being in the same room, you know. We've had to do it plenty of times over the last five years."

"Maybe he's finally snapped" George muses, staring at David as though he's just announced he wants to move to the London Zoo. "Maybe Michael was right."

"Michael?"

William's mouth twitches. "There was a bet going around when you were first elected." David and George both stare at him. William swallows. "Not that I'd know anything about it."

David rolls his own eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Nick manages to get a few words out, this time. "We're just surprised" he says, fairly evenly.

"I mean, you and Miliband actually seem to be-" Danny clears his throat. "Getting on."

"We do get on." But David has to admit, he knows what the four of them are getting at. Of course he knows.

And he and Miliband disagree on virtually everything. And they're political rivals-by rights, they should only meet when they have to.

By rights.

But then. There's that feeling of spitting out comebacks before Miliband can, firing them out on a phone, the way he'll find his mouth aching with laughter, at some stupid, stupidly insulting, insultingly hilarious remark Miliband's come out with. Sometimes, their smiles grow at exactly the same time.

Maybe he and Miliband are....in the region of..friends...or something. Something like it.

Then again, he'd-well, he'd miss this. And the texting. And-

Maybe he and Miliband are friends. Sort of. Even though they hate each other's ideas and some of Miliband's suggestions are just downright ridiculous and most of their debates seem to consist of Bercow bellowing "Order" over their clashing voices like an irate headteacher-

"David?" A finger's clicked under his nose and he jumps, fingers fastening around the nearest pen. "What?"

Nick, George, Danny and William exchange glances. "Well-" Nick clears his throat. "I mean-it's just surprising, that's all-I mean, obviously, it's fantastic you two get on-"

"We were just wondering if you'd like us to book the church, David, or if you'd prefer to do that part-"

George shoves his elbow into William's ribs and gets a glare in return. "It was Michael's joke!"

David rolls his eyes. "Is it too much to hope that you four could act like grown-ups for five minutes?"

George, William Danny and Nick turn to each other and seem to consider this suggestion for a few long moments before Danny turns back to David with a grin. "Yes."

David sighs, and, collecting his documents, stands up. "Come on. We're supposed to be working, if you can remember" he tells them, leading the three of them out of his office, wondering how he can explain to his cabinet that the Deputy Prime Minister, the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Secretary to the Treasury are indeed taking the matters at hand very seriously when they and William are currently muttering something behind him that sounds distinctly like a chant of "Sitting in a tree..."

"Shut up" he says without looking round, which triggers an outbreak of what David can only describe as giggling. He keeps his gaze firmly forward even as behind him, four of the most important men in the country begin chanting a highly ungrammatical rhyme about baby carriages.

* * *

 Ed watches awkwardly as Daniel sits, absorbed in his Lego tower, while Zia gently lowers Sam to the floor, murmuring in his ear.

"What are they doing?" he asks Zia awkwardly, with the vague feeling that he should probably already know.

"Playing" Zia says succinctly, carefully manoeuvring around Ed, to crouch down beside the boys, guiding Sam's hand to one of their toy cars.

Ed doesn't come down to the basement apartment, where the boys spend most of their time, often. He tells himself it's because he doesn't get home until late, so they're often in bed upstairs by the time he comes home or Zia's reading them their story, and so he doesn't want to interrupt. He sometimes tells himself he should come down in the morning before school, when Zia's giving them their breakfast, but something always seems to come up, somehow.

He bends down awkwardly to crouch by the boys, still in his suit. He reaches for one of their cars, but Sam yanks it back.

"Thorry" and Ed releases it immediately, even as Sam leans forward happily, only intent on grabbing his car back so he can have the fun of spinning it off again. He stares at them, wondering if he's meant to join in, to participate. He remembers suddenly, walking by Justine on the way to the conference centre a couple of years back, when he hadn't seen the boys all day and she'd only seen them for an hour, while Zia had taken them on a steam train, and he'd been scrabbling for questions to ask, hearing himself mumble things like "Was it really full, or was it-?" and wondering what precisely he was meant to find interesting about it.

"Yeah, no, it was really full" Justine had been saying, her voice a little overbright, her eyes a little too wide, her hand fastened a little too tightly around his and Ed had wondered if it was normal to want to pull his hand free a little. "But then, not only that, it was all these kind of engines and they go up and down, up and down-"

Ed had been listening to the words, dredging his chest for some kind of reaction. He wondered if that was why Justine had been dwelling on all these details too-trying to leak some interest from them.

-" Justine had laughed slightly, as though she wasn't sure how to do it. "Fireman Sam-"

He'd been looking away bored and she'd felt him yank his hand slightly, a little too hard, so that he'd looked back towards her.

"And then, er-Forgetfulness Fred or something-and Engineer Eric-"

Ed's smile had been hurting a little.

"Showing them how to make steam engines-"

They'd been rounding the corner of the building and Justine's voice had carried on, too brightly. "And then Daniel sort of-" She'd laughed a little. "Burst into tears-"

It had taken a moment for the words to hit Ed and then he'd almost stopped, turning to look at her.

"Burst into _tears?"_ he'd asked, wondering for a moment if he'd heard her correctly, why she was still smiling.

Justine's smile hadn't changed. "Yeah-" She'd stood up a little straighter as they'd walked towards the building, that smile still fixed in place, as Ed had stared at her.

"But _why?"_ He'd meant why had his son burst into tears-he'd tried to remember what Daniel was afraid of and then wondered if he was supposed to know that automatically-but looking at her smile, he'd also meant why had she laughed.

"Well-" Justine had shifted slightly, her fingers reflexively loosening and then tightening in his. "I wasn't about to _ask_ Daniel-but, erm-Zia said-sit him down-"

Something about those words had prickled slightly, but then one of the aides had been saying "Hello, Ed, you all right?" and he'd had to turn to greet her and by the time they'd got into the conference building and gone about the business of greeting other people, it had been easier not to bring the conversation up again, and they hadn't seen the boys again that evening or much the next day, and so it had seemed pointless to rehash it.

Now, Ed squints at the little T-shirt Sam's wearing over a long-sleeved top, emblazoned with a brightly-coloured cartoon character. He can't remember if that's Fireman Sam or not. On an impulse, he holds out his arms, wondering if he should give one of them a hug, though neither of them have offered one.

"Ith that Fireman Th-Sam, sweetie?" he asks, but his voice catches in his throat as he realises neither of them are even looking at him and instead, he falls silent, and watches Sam wriggle happily into the circle of Zia's arms, Daniel leaning against him, his little body shaking with laughter as Sam's car collides with his own and both go spinning off the track, locked tightly together.

* * *

 

_You have to admit the Labour NHS has not worked in Wales._

**_Good grief. I was wondering if you'd answer the message, since you never answer any of the questions._ **

_Are you aware of the concept of hypocrisy?_

**_Are you aware that the title is Prime Minister's Questions? The way you treat it, we'll be lucky if you're not the first Prime Minister sued under the Trade Descriptions Act._ **

_If that's the case, then we'll make history. The Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition Party being sued at once would be one for the history books. There are many terms that accurately describe Ed Balls but Shadow Chancellor is not one of them._

**_Cameron, that doesn't even make sense._ **

_I think to call yourself the Shadow Chancellor, you have to actually be effective._

**_This from the Prime Minister who refused to sack his Education Secretary for four years?_ **

_Break from the Coulson insults, then?_

**_I thought I should give you an opportunity to defend yourself._ **

_Remarkably considerate of you, Miliband._

**_Well, I thought I should give you the chance. To disappoint everyone again._ **

_Are you accustomed to doing that yourself?_

**_Is that your best line, Cameron?_ **

_What's your best line?_

**_It's certainly not massive David Cameron problem._ **

_You admit there's a problem?_

**_:(()(_ **

_What was that?_

_Miliband, was that an emoji?_

_Miliband, I think you need to become more proficient in this form of communication._

  
Ed glares at his phone. "Come on." He shakes it as the Guide of Emojiis appears with infuriating slowness on his screen. "Come on-how bloody difficult can it be to find a sticking-out tongue emoji-come _on..."_

* * *

 

"You do know it looks a little...strange" Nick mutters, as David heads down the corridor to Miliband's office once again

"Nick, it's not strange to have lunch with someone-"

"It is to text them for hours." This from George, accompanying Nick down to Portcullis House.

"We do not text for hours." David reminds himself quietly that it's the truth-they don't text for _hours._ One hour. Maybe two. Technicalities are important.

George blinks and then his face breaks into a wide smile. "Oh my-I was _joking._ You actually-"

"I said we don't, didn't I?"

George fixes him with a long stare. "Dave, you've got the same expression you had when you insisted that you and Nick were in total agreement over the tuition fees."

"We don't talk about that" Nick reminds him. "Like Coulson-gate."

David rolls his eyes. "Not you as well."

"As well?"

"You know how Miliband never stops going on about the Coulson-thing and now you-"

"So, you have-what-inside jokes?"

David turns to stare at George who is beaming back at him, the picture of innocence. That alone is enough to make the hair on the back of David's neck stand up.

"You do know we're in Westminster. I'm almost waiting for you to text me an LOL across a high school cafeteria-"

"You'd never reply, you'd be too busy texting Mili-"

David might be the Prime Minister but he's not above a quick elbow in the ribs.

* * *

  
Balls slams the coffee down on Ed's desk hard enough that Ed pulls the file out of the way hurriedly.

"There. I brought it" he announces, as though he's expecting a reward. Ed arches an eyebrow and takes the plastic cup slowly, resisting the urge to shove it back across the desk.

"And so diplomatically" he replies instead and Balls rolls his eyes.

"I know it's not sandwiches" he says and Ed closes his eyes, nodding at the expected jibe. Balls is smirking when Ed nestles his chin on closed fingers and lets his eyes fall shut. "Very amusing."

"It is." Balls takes a gulp of his own coffee. "Christ, I don't know how you can stand to be around the wanker for hours on end." He glances at Ed again over the coffee cup. "Then again, it is _you."_

"Thanks for that" Ed says drily. He can't quite guess where Balls is going with this, but he's still got his mind on a speech and he's only half-listening when Balls comes out with "Anyway, I'm sure you'll talk Cameron round at your little tea party."

Ed rolls his eyes. He checks his watch. Seventy-nine seconds. Not bad for Balls.

"Cameron's not like that" he says, and winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

Balls snorts. "Miliband, we are not in some fucking chick-lit novel."

Ed tugs at his collar, heat spreading rapidly up his neck. "I juth-just meant-" He rearranges the papers on his desk, just to have something to do with his hands "That Cameron's not-you know. Inhuman."

Balls snorts. "I've got to hand it to you, Miliband, you know how to make a compliment sound worse than an insult."

Ed tugs at the collar more fiercely now, almost popping the button open. "I meant it-"

"Oh, I know you _meant_ it." Balls is already waving the coffee cup, gesturing excitedly as he walks to the door. "That's the best bit. You've never heard a worse fucking compliment. _He's not inhuman."_ Balls wheels to deliver his final point as he swings the door open. "Christ, Miliband. I'd hate to see the way you do your wife a favour-what do you do, throw a toaster in her bath?"

Ed has a sudden urge to yell out that he could sack Balls in five minutes if he so wished but he takes the higher ground. After all, he's Ed Miliband. That's what he does.

Though a part of him has to wish that he didn't, sometimes. He'd show Balls _inhuman._

* * *

  
Several hours later, Ed has to admit that Balls is not the type who takes the higher road-at least, not judging by the way the man's currently bouncing up and down next to him.

Ed has to admit, glancing across the chamber at Cameron with his head ducked and his lips pressed together as he struggles not to burst into laughter, he feels a fleeting sense of solidarity with the Tories. _(Very_ fleeting.)

Ed finds himself suppressing a grin as Cameron almost shoots out of his seat and even as Cameron speaks, Ed has to focus his attention on his papers to keep the grin off his face. They might eat lunch together but he's not going to start laughing at Cameron's answers at Prime Minister's Questions.

"His questions have just collapsed" finishes Cameron, and Ed almost sniggers at the Etonian twinge to the last word. He feels his lips twitch even as he manages to blurt out a comeback which isn't one of his best (walking through the lobby together? _Really?)_

He can't help but let his laughter break out as he says "One and a half parties" and Cameron's laughing too, which gives Ed a spike of perverse pleasure, even as Cameron's eyes lock with his and his teeth dig into his bottom lip at that smirk he's familiar with.

He'd never admit it but he enjoys this, a part of him, even as he and Cameron throw points back and forth at each other. Something in arguing with Cameron-over sandwiches, over the despatch box, over texts-has always felt a little like when Ed was small and David had climbed on top of his chest, holding him down and tickling him under the arms and chin and feet with Ed shrieking and begging his brother to stop and at the same time not wanting it to end.

Ed blinks. He's now comparing Prime Minister's Questions to tickle fights with his brother. Something is very definitely wrong.

But even as Cameron launches into his clipped, planned little retort which serves to perfectly spike Ed's anger, sharpening the words that are already fighting to climb out of his mouth, he can't entirely keep the grin off his face.

It fades as another memory, unbidden, flickers into life. He remembers thumping at David once, fighting to get his knee up into his brother's chest, still playful, still giggling, but a surge of something hard and hurting underneath, his fists knotting in the back of his brother's shirt, his thoughts drumming in time with his heartbeat _-Get off me, not a baby, not your baby, not-_

David's hands had been slowing but Ed's fists had just pounded and pounded harder and harder at his brother's back, until David's hands were suddenly slack on Ed's shirt, his eyes blinking too fast. "Ed-" and he'd grabbed his brother's wrists in one hand and forced them down, gasping for breath. "Stop it. You're going to kill me."

Ed can still remember the way his hands had fallen to his sides, his fists opening, the way he'd stared up at David, his chest suddenly empty and aching for breath. David's hands had loosened immediately but Ed can still remember the shock, like a hard punch to the chest, that he had been able to hurt his big brother.

* * *

  
 David does not have any particular traditions for Halloween but one that he knows he would never have chosen would be carrying documents over to his political rival.

"You sure you don't want to join us?" Sam asks, lifting up Florence who blinks at him out of her tiny pumpkin costume. "We're heading to Michael's house afterwards, Bea's having a little Halloween party with the kids-"

David leans in and kisses the tip of her nose. "Watch it" Sam warns as Florence grins up at him. "You'll get green paint all over your lips."

"Why is her nose green?" asks Elwen through a Spiderman hood. "Pumpkins aren't green."

"It's meant to be a _stem_ , you idiot."

"Nancy." Sam and David both speak at the same time. "Don't call your brother an idiot" David finishes and glances at Sam, who nods approvingly. David wonders if all mothers think their husbands need to be constantly reminded not to turn their daughters into little Daddy's girls who are still calling in favours from their parents when they're thirty-five, looking for their own children's nanny.

Nancy flounces past him in her black witch's dress. "You call people idiots."

Sam glares at him over Florence's head. David grits his teeth. "Sweetheart, I don't call people idiots, I have to tell them when they're wrong-"

"By calling them idiots?"

"I don't call them-"

"You called Mr. Balls a muppet-"

"OK, I think it's time we got going." Sam is hastening Nancy and Elwen towards the door, Florence's arms wound tight around her neck. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

 "I've got to drop those documents off. I mean, I could get an aide to do it, but you know Miliband would just leap on that-" That part wasn't a lie.

Sam gives him a kiss on the cheek and he kisses each of the children and exclaims over each of their costumes before he watches them head out of the door surrounded by security. There's a faint twinge of regret as he watches them leave. David can't regret his career, not after all the work it's taken to get where he is, but it's time like this, knowing his children will have to walk slowly to meet up with Sarah, Bea and Will, surrounded by a trained protection team, that he wonders if one day Nancy, Elwen and Florence might look back and think that they paid too high a price.

Shaking his thoughts away from these dangerous waters-right now, he can barely afford to think past May-he turns to the table where the documents lie, the same ones he found lying on his desk this afternoon.

"Nick and I have signed these" he'd pointed out to Boris, who had popped in holding his bicycle helmet-they'd had a small conversation centering around cycling laws, Churchill and jellies, which is fairly normal for Boris.

Boris had already been busying himself fastening-or attempting to fasten-his cycling helmet. "Blasted-recalcitrant-perplexing bugger-" He'd smiled at David. "The helmet, not you, Dave. Did Miliband get his lot?"

David frowns. "Presumably." He'd pulled on his jacket to join Boris on the walk out of the building, enjoying the possibility of getting an hour alone with his children before they disappeared off to obtain sweets and be subjected to the witch's cackles Nancy and Bea had been perfecting.

Boris had shaken his head, finally succeeding in fastening the helmet. "When did you and Nick sign them?"

David had joined him in the corridor where several members of security were waiting. "Earlier this week, I think, Gavin brought them in for me-" He frowns. "Oh, for goodness sake, don't tell me-"

Boris had been wincing. "Dreadfully sorry, Dave, but I have to say, I think Miliband may conceivably have been neglected in the delegation."

After a moment of translating Boris-speak, David was sighing and rolling his eyes to the heavens. "How come?"

"Well, I did bump into him earlier-chap's always bumping into people-and he mentioned that he presumed the signatures were required in the next week, if I do remember correctly-"

David had stared at him. "You couldn't have told me this a few sentences ago?"

After a hurried conversation with an aide who had been dispatched to fetch more papers and a rather more heated conversation with Boris including the words "furore" "negligible" and "allegations of supine somnolence"-Boris had been brief today-David had been able to bid goodbye to his suitably appeased friend. Almost as an afterthought, Boris had tilted his head to the side.

"Nice chap, Miliband. For a Labourite. Bit of an odd egg, of course, but then who can't be forgiven a trifling of eccentricities?"

And with that, David had smiled as Boris clapped him on the shoulder and strode off down the corridor, fastening his helmet, pulling a Mars Bar out of his pocket and stopping as he reached the lift to exclaim "This tie is remarkably inadequate in length" at a glimpse of his own reflection.

David had turned to one of his aides, intending to instruct him to take the papers to Miliband's house (if he'd been thinking, he could have emailed them over himself but it was too late now.) He'd already been able to hear Miliband's voice in his head, eyes wide with the too-innocent look that he always adopts when he knows his point's hit home (David hates that expression. It always makes him want to wipe it off Miliband's face, especially when he himself is struggling not to laugh.)

But he'd stared at the papers for a moment, Miliband's voice, nasal and knowing, in the back of his head. _Obviously, Cameron, hand your jobs to the little people. Is that the first line in your election manifesto?_

David had gritted his teeth. _Shut up, Miliband._ And then suddenly, he'd been waving the aide away, telling them that he needed to discuss a political matter with Miliband anyway, and he'd tried to ignore the rather unsubtle sight of the aide's jaw dropping.

Now, he sighs, staring at the papers that lie on the table. There's no point postponing it; it will look even stranger if he turns up on Miliband's doorstep at eleven at night. So, trying hard not to think about how Miliband might react to the Prime Minister turning up on his doorstep, David dials the head of his security team. Sometimes, thinking on one's feet is less tactical than it sounds.

* * *

  
David isn't sure it's _done_ for a Prime Minister to linger, but he sits still when the car pulls up outside Miliband's house, wondering if he should have texted Miliband first. Then again, maybe Miliband's out. It's Halloween, after all. Miliband's forever talking about his time in America (David hasn't _tried_ to listen, he just _hears_ things.) In fact, if he's out, maybe he can just hand the documents over to one of Miliband's staff. In fact, that's probably _exactly_ what's going to happen.

He thinks of the jaw-dropping aide again and rolls his eyes. It's not as if he and Miliband have become blood brothers, for goodness' sake-they share lunches together, text a few times, so what, plenty of politicians do that, surely, even ones from opposing parties-and it's not as if he and Miliband are suddenly in agreement about everything, of course not-just yesterday, Miliband had half-thrown his purchased sandwich at him before launching into a criticism of net management, barely pausing for breath, and the two of them had spent the whole of the lunch hour arguing it out in David's office. The argument had been brought to an abrupt halt by Nick and Kate, popping their heads round the door with two identical grins as Nick announced that he was "Terribly sorry to interrupt but the two of you were due in a meeting ten minutes ago and it's getting rather boring to keep nodding and telling them that I'm sure you'll be along in a minute."

So maybe... _maybe_...he enjoys spending time with Miliband. Of course he enjoys debating-he's in the wrong career if he doesn't-and maybe-maybe he enjoys debating with Miliband and maybe- _maybe_ -he sometimes finds Miliband's company.... _interesting_ or....

But it's not as if they're constantly spending time with each other. It's not as if they turn up at each other's houses or-

David glances at Miliband's front door.

_Ah._

The driver's peering round at him now, his brow furrowed. "Is there anywhere else you'd like to go, Sir?" David thinks he catches the driver's eyes lingering on his mouth for a moment but when he blinks, the driver's watching him, expression implacable.

David swallows. Get it over with. "Here's fine" and after a few moments of thanks, David is out of the car and heading up the steps to Miliband's house.

What he hasn't expected is for a young woman and two little boys he recognizes to almost walk headlong into him.

"Oh-" The woman grabs both the boys' hands, righting them as they stare up at David, Miliband-eyes round and fixed on his own.

"Gosh, no, I'm-I'm so sorry-" One of the little boys-Daniel-stumbles and David's hand lands on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Daniel blinks at him. He nods and then, staring at David a little closer, a sharp giggle rises in his throat. It's cut off, though, when the woman bends and presses a kiss to his head. "Say thank you to Mr. Cameron, Daniel."

David shakes his head. "Oh, it's fine." He ruffles the little boy's hair and Daniel blinks up at him. "Thank you." He bites his lip with a little smile and then curls behind the woman's leg-David recognizes her now, vaguely, she's the nanny-dimples denting his cheeks.

  
 She lifts lifts the other little boy,  Sam, into her arms, one hand still ruffling Daniel's hair. "Ah-Prime Minister-"

  
"David's fine" he says quickly, holding out a hand and only realising at the last moment that both of the woman's are occupied.

"Zia" she says quietly, nodding in lieu of a handshake.

 "I-um-I just had to deliver some documents for-" He struggles for a moment. "Mr Miliband" he finally settles on.

Zia's brow creases. "You have to-"

"Well, I was going to have an aide drop them off, but then I thought-I might as well-" David wonders how to make it sound as though dropping off documents at his political rival's house is something that a Prime Minister might conceivably do every day.

Zia's eyes are hovering at David's mouth and David frowns but before he can say anything, she indicates the still-open front door with her head. "Mr Miliband's inside, sir." She presses a kiss to Sam's head.

  
"Daddy tired." Sam greets David with a gummy smile, peering at him from round Zia's shoulder.

  
"Daddy's always _tired"_ mutters Daniel, pressing his face into Zia's leg, frown crinkling his little face.

Zia says nothing, but the slightest frown passes over her face like a breeze, and she presses another kiss to Sam's hair, pulling Daniel in closer. "I'm sure you can go in."

  
 As Zia and the boys wave from the gate, Daniel lisping "Bye, Mr. Cameron" and David's security team retreat to the car, he himself nervously steps into Miliband's house.

He's been here a number of times over the years, of course; for the birth of each of Miliband's boys, he'd even come with Sam and his own bearing gifts for each of the new babies. And he's certainly been to this street plenty of times-he glances at the house next door he's been in more times than he can count, wonders fondly if Ian's done anything for Iona this year, because she still loves the Halloween colours and lights. But this time-perhaps because Miliband isn't expecting him-it feels different.

  
He tugs nervously at the bottom of his jumper (nervously, why is he doing everything nervously) and tries to remember the last time he faced Miliband without a suit and tie.

"Hello?" he calls out. "Um-it's-um-" He vaguely wonders what on earth to introduce himself as. "It's the Prime Minister" is exactly the kind of greeting which Miliband would never let him forget.

There's a scuffle of movement and David turns towards the door. "Miliband?" he calls and there's another, louder scuffle.

David steps into the lounge rather apprehensively-the curtains are drawn and there's some kind of horror movie playing on the TV. David glances around, trying to ignore the music building ominously and the prickling at the back of his neck that's starting to make him wonder if he should have brought his security team with him after all.

"Miliband?" he manages again. The music falls silent and David glances back and forth, his heart hammering.

Then a horned head pops up from behind the sofa.

David yells out loud, his hands flying in front of his face; the head yells and falls backwards; and from the TV, a young girl's scream rips through the air, as though not wishing to be outdone.

"Cameron!" The head pops up and David reaches for the arm of the couch, wondering if his lungs have been damaged at all. He glances back at the door wondering if he's managed to summon security but apparently his screams-yells, he reminds himself firmly, not screams-weren't as loud as he feared.

Miliband straightens up, his eyes narrowed, and David stares at him. He blinks, then stares again.

Miliband is already scowling. "It'th not funny-"

David feels his lips twitch. "I know your party's policies are monstrous" he manages, struggling to keep his voice level. "But did you really need to dress yourself as a Satanic figurehead?"

Miliband glares as David collapses in laughter. The red horns on his head and tail attached to his shirt don't do much to make the image less amusing.

"I wathn't expecting visitors." Miliband throws himself down on the couch, as David leans on the arm, almost weeping with laughter. He has to admit, even without the documents, he's glad he dropped in on Miliband now. This one sight has just made the whole trip worthwhile.

* * *

  
Cameron _would_ have walked into his house on the one year Ed had chosen to do anything Halloween-related. (Of course he would. It's _Cameron. Good timing_ is as foreign a term to him as _poverty, equality_ and _facial hair.)_  
He yanks the horns off his head, glaring at them as if it's entirely their fault that Cameron decided to appear and catch him unawares. "It's for the kids" he snaps, as Cameron, still laughing-for God's sake, it's not that amusing-sinks down at the other end of the couch.  
Ed reaches behind him, fumbling for the tail, and then dives for Cameron. "Don't you dare take a picture" he barks, scrabbling for Cameron's phone, which the other man's holding up with a grin. Cameron catches it neatly, as Miliband knocks it momentarily out of his grasp and he's suddenly reminded of being thirteen, reaching desperately for his maths book _-Come on, Miliband, come and get it, come on, jump a bit higher-_ while a crowd of Neanderthals chanted around him, hands shoving him in the back.  
_"Cameron-"_ The word comes out louder than he intends and Cameron frowns at him. "Calm down, Miliband" he says, showing him the locked phone screen before he shoves it away in his pocket. "It was a joke." His grin crawls back into view. "Like that costume."  
Ed sinks back against the couch. "Is this the newest Tory strategy?" he asks before Cameron can start laughing again or notice how rattled Ed was by the prank with the phone. "Break into the Leader of the Oppositon's house?"

"I didn't break in" says Cameron, who seems to finally be recovering a little. "Your nanny let me in."  
 "Zia?" Ed turns, startled. Cameron nods. "She was heading out with your boys. We just bumped into each other on the steps."  
Ed lets his head fall back against the couch. Cameron's quieter now, his eyes flickering to the tail as Ed lets it drop to the floor, regretting he ever put the thing on.  
"I did call your name" Cameron points out. "Didn't you hear?"  
Of course he'd heard. He'd been crouched down, trying desperately to either remove the horns and tail or call the police before this became Murdoch's latest headline. He'd recognized Cameron's voice a second before he caught sight of him.  
"I thought the boyth might like it" he mutters, not adding that it hadn't worked as well as he'd hoped, and then turns to Cameron. "Why are you here?"  
Cameron withdraws a pile of papers from inside his suit and hands them to him. "You don't need to look at them now. Just documents to sign over the weekend. Nick and I got ours' earlier in the week."  
Ed shuffles the papers into a tidier order, shooting another glare at Cameron. He glances at the papers-then slowly moves his gaze back to Cameron. He frowns. Then he leans closer and stares.  
Cameron leans back. "Miliband, I know you're not the best judge of etiquette, but honestly, what are you doing?"  
Ed grins at him, any trace of annoyance over the horns and tail vanishing on the spot. He inspects Cameron's mouth again, this time at an even closer angle.  
"Cameron-" he starts and then his voice almost cracks as he fights to compose himself. "Cameron, why are your lipth green?"  
Cameron's mouth falls open and he immediately scrabbles for his phone. "What?" Any trace of laughter is gone from his face and he's already scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand.  
Ed's laughing now. The look on Cameron's face as he frantically searches for something on his phone makes every jibe about the horns and tail worth it as far as he's concerned.  
Cameron stares at his own reflection and Ed watches with no small amount of glee as Cameron's jaw drops.  
"Oh my-" He covers his lips frantically as if that might solve the problem "Oh my-Florence's make up, damn it-oh my God, why didn't Sam _tell_ me-"  
"Maybe she thought it was your colour-"  
"Oh, shut up." Cameron glares at him as Ed dissolves into another gale of laughter. "It's not even coming off-"  
"What do you expect? You're ath ineffectual with that thleeve as your cuts are with the economy-"  
Cameron looks ready to throw the phone at him and Ed decides right then that he's actually thankful that Cameron came by. At least, this has lightened up the evening.  
"I see you still haven't developed any familiarity with the term _gratitude"_ Cameron snaps, with a hand now groping in his pocket-"I come all the way over here-"  
"I'm sorry-" Ed holds up a hand, reaching for the packet of wet wipes Zia had been using, that she usually tells Ed or Justine when they need to replace. "Here-" He hands them to Cameron and Cameron pulls one out cautiously. "I appreciate it makes me look ludicrous but I haven't regressed to a three-year-old, Miliband."

"Obviously. No one would notice the difference, anyway."  
Ed gets another glare from Cameron and bites back the rest of his retort.  
"Oh, here" he says, snatching the wipe from Cameron, who's now dabbing away at his lips ineffectually. "I know you focuth on the top 1%, Cameron" he remarks, yanking himself further down the couch as he folds the wet wipe out. "But surely you're familiar with the purpose of wet wipes."  
Cameron glares at him and perhaps it's that that makes Ed lift his hand, some sudden desire to knock that look off Cameron's face that makes him lean in and wipe Cameron's mouth for him, carefully scrubbing at the green smears, trying not to notice how still Cameron has gone.  
"There" he says and lets his hand fall again, satisfied that the green has been successfully removed. His thumb brushes against Cameron's lip as he pulls back and they both jump. "Sorry-"  
"It's fine-" Cameron's voice is lower and for a second, they stare at each other, Ed chewing at his lip as Cameron watches him. Cameron's eyes are bluer than he remembers.  
Ed glances away hastily as Cameron raises a hand to his own lips. "Um. Thank you."  
Ed swallows and nods. Another long moment passes, the TV babbling away in the background, Ed's heart uncomfortably fast. He wonders, madly, if Cameron can hear it.  
Cameron swallows, opens his mouth, closes it again. "Can I ask you something, Miliband?" he says and Ed, frowning, nods. "Of course."  
Cameron's lips twitch and then his mouth breaks into a full smirk. "Are you planning to wear those horns to Prime Minister's Questions-"  
"Shut up, Cameron."  
Cameron's already laughing again. "I'm sorry. But really, you gave me such an opportunity-"  
"As if _you_ didn't-" Ed glares back at him, trying desperately not to feel his own lips twitching. "Are you planning to turn up to your next meeting with your lips painted green or will you be aiming for a full look next ti-"  
The lights flicker and then dim. Ed and Cameron's heads shoot back at the same moment as they stare at the ceiling, as the lights brighten momentarily then flicker and dim again.  
Ed just hears Cameron draw in a breath-one comment about the tail and he's being thrown out-when suddenly, the lights flicker rapidly twice, then flare once, too bright, making Ed shield his eyes, and then, every bulb at once goes out, and the room is plunged into blackness.

* * *

  
David would never admit it but he's not entirely dismayed when the lights go out. The last glimpse he had was of Miliband's smirk and now he swallows hard, trying to ignore his cheeks burning in the darkness. Even though Miliband's hand moved away moments ago, he can still feel the ghost of his thumb on his bottom lip.  
"What-" Miliband's voice splutters through the blackness. The TV's still glaring across the room, however, and David blinks at the light, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Miliband's profile moves into view, his skin cast blue-white in the glow of the screen.  
Miliband turns towards him. "It must be a power cut."  
David rolls his eyes. "I know you're gifted with ignoring the obvious, Miliband, but even you can't have failed to notice that the TV's still on-"  
"Oh, for goodness'-"  
"You've probably blown a fuse-"  
"What?"  
_"You've probably blown a fuse."_ David fumbles for his phone, casts the light along the floor, tracking the way to the door. "Here, we need to check out the fuse box."  
"The what?"  
"Miliband, for someone who claims to be a man of the people, you really should have more of a grasp of basic household facts-"  
"Oh, this from the man who once expressed astonishment at an eight-year-old not liking Brie-"  
"This from the man who can barely use the coffee machine without sending the Commons up in flames- _ow!"_  
Miliband's voice comes from behind him again, sharper now. "Are you all right?"  
David winces, bending down to rub his knee. "Fine, fine, just walked into the door-"  
"Oh, crumbs-" and David has to bite his lip, torn between a desire to laugh and a strange tugging of warmth as Miliband stutters behind him. "I'm dreadfully sorry-are-are you sure you're all right-"  
"Oh-oh, yes-" David pulls the door towards them more gently this time and he and Miliband make their way into the hall.  
Something knocks against his ear and he shivers at the sound of Miliband's voice, closer than he expected, breath tickling the back of his neck. "Sorry, trying to find the light switch-"  
"Find it quicker than you'll find a sensible question in the dispatch box, will you-"  
"Oh, for God'th sake." There's a clicking sound, silence; Miliband's arm bumps David's shoulder and there's another muttered apology as the clicking continues, over and over.  
"Miliband, I'm no expert but I'd hazard a guess that the lights currently aren't working."  
"And Cameron, that diplomathy is why your approval ratings drop further each week."  
"Oh, for-" David lifts his phone and Miliband blinks as the light shines directly into his eyes. "We need to find your fuse box."  
Miliband blinks again and David's about to ask if he's sure he knows how to climb upstairs at the end of the day when Miliband says "Oh-oh yeth, it should be under the stairs, I suppose-"  
The bannister provides a guide to the small door-there's another next to it, presumably leading to the basement-and David steps inside gingerly, lifting his phone to illuminate the cupboard. He squints at the small box on the wall.  
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Cameron?"  
David turns to stare up at Miliband. "Do _you_ have any idea?"  
It's hard to tell with the light of the phone screen but David's fairly sure Miliband's blushing. "As much as you."  
David rolls his eyes. "Oh, fantastic" he says, turning grimly to the fuse box. "I mean, with just rooting around with a few electric wires, what on Earth could go wrong?"  
Miliband is pouting, David can guess without even turning round. "Do _you_ know what to do?"  
David grits his teeth. "Of course." He begins scouring his memory for any knowledge of fuse boxes. "First, you-you-move the thingie-"  
"Oh, well, that's brilliant, Cameron-you clearly mithed your calling. Mark of true expertise, usage of the technical term, _thingie-"_  
David clenches his jaw and glares at the fuse box. Behind him, Miliband's voice continues. "Followed by the complex and valued prothedure of th-slack-jawed observing-"  
"I'm doing you a favour." David's just about to scramble upright and demand Miliband take a turn when his hand collides with the box, his fingers open and the next thing he knows, the phone has dropped and vanished from view.  
David stares at the floor, which he can no longer see. "Oh no."  
Miliband snorts. _"Oh no?_ That'th all? We're completely _blind_ , Cameron-"  
"Miliband, I know facts aren't your strong point, but we're hardly _blind._ We just-currently have no source of light." David reaches out and his hand closes on something, which he uses to steady himself. "I'm not going poking around a fuse box when I can't even see what I'm doing."  
"You don't usually have a problem poking around figures you have no idea about-"  
David's about to reply (because really, from a _Labourite?)_ but he's distracted when two things happen at once; he becomes aware of just how close Miliband's voice is and the thing he's holding onto moves.  
"Um-" And then something warm bumps into David's chest and it's right then that he realises that the thing his hand's been resting on for the last several minutes is Miliband's elbow.  
David yanks his hand back as if he's been burnt. "Oh-oh, God-sorry-"  
"Um-it'th quite all right-" Miliband's babbling next to him and David's just grateful for the dark.  
"Um-" and now he's all too strongly aware that he and Miliband are standing in a small cupboard and that he's close enough that he can almost feel Miliband's body heat. "I think we should-um-" His hand brushes Miliband and they both jump. He swallows. How the hell can he be able to manage the country through a bunch of riots but barely be able to guide himself and Miliband out of a cupboard?  
_Focus._ "I think we should get back to the living room. I mean-there's the TV there and the French doors and we'll be able to see-" He could always go next door and ask Ian for help, but he doesn't know if it'll be a bad night for Iona and he doesn't want to risk startling her.  
"Yes-oh, yes of-of course-" Miliband pushes the door open and they both step forward at the same time which results in him and Miliband being crammed up against one another in a doorway that was most definitely not built for two.  
"Oh-gosh-" David manages to extricate himself, with a hand on what he prays is Miliband's arm. "Um-"  
"Th-sorry-" Miliband's voice is muffled and David fixes his eyes on the floor and tells himself that's just the best way to stay upright.  
He thanks God that the hallway is short but after only a few steps, he's holding his hands out in the manner of someone who's recently lost his sight.  
"I know sense isn't a common concept for most Tories but it would be more logical for me to go firtt." David jumps at Miliband's voice, breath skating over the back of his neck.  
"I know Labour doesn't make a point of thinking things through" he hisses. "But I have to point out, _you_ won't be able to see either."  
Miliband makes an impatient noise and David feels their elbows brush as Miliband steps round him so that he's now leading the way.

"Where are you now?"  
_"Here."_ Miliband snaps the word from somewhere directly in front of him and David resists the urge to jab the nearest part of the other man he can reach. "Where's _here?"_  
Miliband mutters something that sounds like _"Torieth"_ and then says "Stick out your hand."  
"What?"  
"Your _hand_ , Cameron, put out your hand-"  
David tentatively sticks out his hand and his grip clutches at material and then warm fingers closing around his own-Miliband's fingers, Miliband's hand and they squeeze David's own, none too gently, but David squeezes back before he can stop himself.  
"Here" says Miliband and David follows him, fingers now wrapped around Miliband's wrist, the same hands he sometimes finds himself watching at Prime Minister's Questions with some amusement, as Miliband jabs a finger into the air or waves his hands around like an excited schoolchild. Miliband's fingers are still brushing his own when they end up back in the living room, the TV still glowing, spilling light across the carpet.  
With the help of the TV screen, David can make out Miliband's face more clearly now. "We need to find a torch" he says and Miliband blinks, as if jerked out of a dream. "I mean, you could probably get someone in to fix it tomorrow-but in the meantime-at least it's not everything-"  
Miliband nods. "Yes-yeah-um, I thuppothe our cleaner would probably know what to do-she usually hires-um-"  
David glances at him. "Miliband. Have you ever dealt with a power cut before?"  
"I know you don't remember the thimplest promises you make Cameron, but you juth-just said it wasn't a power cut-"  
"Trying to help you, Miliband. We should probably get a few more lights in here-"  
Someone screams. David jumps and against him, he feels Miliband jump too, as both of their gazes fly to the TV screen, where a young girl lies flat on her back, screaming.  
David presses his hand to his chest. "Dear God-"  
Miliband exhales shakily, his fingers digging into David's hand harder.  
His fingers-  
They both glance down and let go at the same time, Miliband taking several steps back, rearing away from each other as if they've been scorched. Miliband opens his mouth and closes it again. "I-I-thorry-I-"  
David cuts him off before he can babble any further apologies. "Do you-have you got a-torch or something-"  
"Oh. Oh, right. Yes-" Miliband glances behind him and takes a step towards the door. "In the kitchen, yes-"  
"Do you have any-um-candles, anything that glows in the dark, you know-" David can't see the expression on Miliband's face and right now, he's rather grateful.  
"Um-we might have some candles-we don't really uthe them-"  
"Great. Er-how about you find a torch and I try to find a couple of candles-just for-you know-a bit of light until it's all fixed-"  
"Yeth. That-that would be-" Miliband falters and David waits for the typical crack about _Prime Minister's Orders_ , but instead, Miliband just says "Thank you." His voice is softer than usual, as he jerks his head in an awkward nod before he turns and heads for the kitchen. David shakes his head, watching him go with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and only after he's been standing there for a few moments does he realise he's been watching Miliband with something that could almost be described as _fondness._  
He shakes his head. Hard. _Fondness. Miliband._ The words definitely do not go together.  
David takes a look around. Then again, he probably shouldn't be in Miliband's house, either, but here he is.  
He sighs and heads for what looks like a set of drawers and pulling open the first one, he begins rooting around for anything that looks as if it could give them some light.  
"Um-I found thith-" There's a sudden glare of light and David turns to see Miliband standing in the doorway holding a torch. David stares as he moves into the glow of the TV screen and his gaze flickers to Miliband's feet-which he notices for the first time, are bare.  
Miliband follows his gaze and swallows, crossing his arms over his chest so the beam of the torch wavers wildly. "I wathn't exactly expecting visitors" he says, a touch waspishly, and David feels his smirk grow. "Miliband, you do know it's Halloween?"

He can't be sure in the dark but he'd guess that Miliband is rolling his eyes. "Cameron, I know it's a shock to you but others are in tune with the public'th interetht. We jutht don't get a lot of trick-or-treaters-I suppose your door is practically battered down each year."  
David snorts, withdrawing two small candles from the middle drawer. "Surprisingly, not many children walk down Downing Street. Not when I'm there, anyway."  
Miliband makes a sound remarkably like a snort. "The next generation really are the hope for the future."  
"I am currently holding a candle, Miliband-"  
"And _I'm_ currently holding a match." With that, Miliband reaches forward and lights the candle. They both pull back as the flame flickers into life. Miliband takes the candle gently from David and lays it on the table, before turning back for the next one.  
"Your boys were loyal, by the way." When Miliband squints at him over the flame, David adds "They didn't tell me that their father was currently dressed as Beelzebub, I mean."  
Miliband raises an eyebrow. "They were probably hoping you'd get to see for yourself." He sighs and sinks down on the couch, gaze wandering vaguely to the screen. "It's not often that they see their daddy dressed up" he adds, almost as an afterthought, tugging absent-mindedly at the sleeve of his jumper. "I don't think they notithed much."  
Candles completed, David takes a seat next to him. "Apart from every day, when you wear the guise of a competent politician."  
Miliband shoots him a look that's half glare, half wide-eyed surprise and David winces. "Sorry" he says, without thinking. "That was uncalled for."  
Miliband's eyes widen even more. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then finally manages "It'th fine."  
For a moment, both of them simply sit there, torch held tight in Miliband's hand and the candles flickering around them. As the moment stretches out between them, David clears his throat. "They're sweet. Your boys, I mean."  
Miliband watches him but his expression's unreadable in the dark. "Thank you. They-" He swallows, carefully straightens the torch. "I think they were dithappointed. Tonight."  
David chuckles. "So were mine. Of course, Nancy was disappointed that I didn't dress up as Frankenstein. Which she suggested would be a visually accurate costume for me."  
Miliband is smirking again now. "I admire your daughter's intellect."  
David sighs. "She'd be thrilled. At least, you donned some devil horns."  
Miliband groans. "They weren't hugely impressed. And I'm forever hearing about how all their friends' daddieth dress up on Halloween."  
"Don't you tell them their daddy's too busy saving the country from those evil Tories?"  
Miliband's lip twitches. "Good to see you're being honest with yourthelf, Cameron."  
"You could learn some tips, Miliband."  
Miliband shakes his head, picks up the torch and shines it into David's face.  
"Ow! Do you mind?" David knocks the torch away with one hand and tries to glare at Miliband. "Then again, that _is_ about as articulate an argument as you make most of the time-"  
Miliband glares at him. "You do know you're inthulting me in my home, Cameron?"  
"You do know you're insulting your _guest_ , Miliband?" David glances round the room. "You think you'll be able to fix it?"  
"I don't know." A shadow of concern crosses Miliband's face. "I mean, I suppose we'll have to call an electrician but the cleaner should know-I don't know much about electronics-"  
David can't comment on this as electronics aren't his strong point, either. He points at the screen. "What's this?" he asks, and Miliband glances absent-mindedly.  
"Oh. Um-The Exorthitht, I think. I supposed I might as well get in the Halloween spirit-"  
David looks at Miliband in his jumper and jeans with bare feet, huddled in a pitch-black living room, looking thoroughly miserable.  
"I always liked this film" he says, without thinking. "They showed it on late-night TV. I was far too young. Watched it with my brother and nearly passed out."  
Miliband glances at him with a smile beginning to creep across his lips. "Confused about the differenthe between fantathy and reality, Cameron?"  
"Good preparation for thirteen years of the Labour government, Miliband."

Miliband smirks and after a moment, reaches forward and pulls a bowl off the table which he awkwardly holds out to David. David reaches out and takes a piece of what he quickly realises is popcorn. "Thanks." He pops it in his mouth.  
Miliband places the bowl between them on the couch and David sneaks a curious look at him. The fingers of Miliband's other hand are biting into a cushion, his eyes resting on the screen.  
"I should probably let Sam know-" David drags out his phone and it's only when he's halfway through typing a text message that he realises that he's just effectively told Miliband that he'll stay.

* * *

  
Ed would never have admitted it to anyone, especially David bloody Cameron, but Halloween has never been his favourite holiday. He still has unfortunate memories of the year of seventh grade, when it turned out no one in his Boston neighbourhood had known who Karl Marx was or why Ed had chosen to dress as him for trick-or treating.  
He's also still got unfortunate memories of his history teacher insisting on him bringing the fake beard in so he could point out how original and "historically relevant" Ed's costume was in front of the whole class which had led to Ed learning the exact definition of a swirlie.  
That was only part of the problem, however.  
"Miliband, are you OK?" Ed can't decide if Cameron's concern is aggravating or considerate, but he's too busy trying to look as though he is perfectly relaxed at the sight of records flying around a child's bedroom.  
"Fine" he manages to get out before a door slams on the screen and he feels himself tense, his fingers digging into the cushion.  
Cameron glances at him and this time, there's a definite smirk hovering at his lips. "Miliband, I know Labour have trouble with fiction but you must realise it's just a film-"  
"Hilariouth-" Ed can't sum up a better comeback than that-he's too busy staring at the screen, fighting the urge to raise his nails to his mouth.  
Cameron's still smirking. "Miliband, you do know it's a story. The definition of a story is-"  
Something bangs on screen and Cameron jumps so violently he almost knocks the popcorn bowl off the couch. It's Ed's turn to smirk. "Go on, Cameron. I believe you were saying something amusing."  
Cameron glowers at him and shoves his hand back in the popcorn bowl. "Was that a novelty for you?"  
"When it'th coming from you, yes."  
Cameron glares at him and Ed turns back to the screen, reaching into the popcorn bowl without thinking so his hand ends up brushing against Cameron's.  
"Thorry-" Ed snatches his hand back, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks, along with a surge of gratitude for the fuse blowing.  
He can't look at Cameron but his voice is a little muffled when he says "It's fine" a few seconds too late. Ed risks a glance at him a few moments later and catches Cameron's eyes, bigger and bluer than Ed is used to in the torchlight. They stare for a minute, their eyes catching onto each other, then both glance away, returning their gazes firmly to the TV.  
It's ridiculous. Cameron's been in his house before. Cameron's sat on the same couch as him before. Cameron's held his _sons_ before. There is nothing strange about the current situation.  
Apart from the fact they're currently both sitting on the sofa, watching a horror movie, with the lights off. And popcorn.  
And candles.  
There's another shriek on-screen and Ed feels himself tense. This time, Cameron definitely catches him and there's no way Ed can deny it.  
"Miliband, exactly why do you watch horror films if you hate them?"  
"I'd expect them to be right up your thtreet, Cameron, what with your political record."  
"If that was the case, we'd be the milder sequel to Labour's disaster movie."  
"You do know thequels are universally regarded as inferior, Cameron?"  
"You do know you're avoiding the question?" Cameron's watching him now rather than the film and Ed glares back at him. He hates it when Cameron's right. He hates it even more when Cameron knows he's right.

"And of course we all know how much _you_ despise that sort of tactic-"  
"Cameron, have you ever heard of the word _tact?"_ But the retort lacks any real venom and Ed knows it.  
Cameron's voice is softer, now. "Really, why?"  
Ed swallows. "I...don't know. I just-" He swallows, takes a deep breath. "I've never been much of a Halloween fan" he admits slowly. "I-um-well-the boyth-boys always want me to go trick-or-treating and since I can't, I thought, well-I had to promithe-promise them I'd do something at least vaguely in the holiday thpi-spirit." He feels himself tense but Cameron makes no reaction. "Just so they could have something to talk about, rather than how their dad's at work all the time-" He tries for a laugh but the words fall flatter than he expected.  
"Miliband-" Cameron swallows."Your children-they might find it hard right now, but one day-one day they'll understand. You're doing all this-" Cameron shoots him a look. "And don't take this as me agreeing with your methods-but you're doing all this to give them a better world."  
Ed nods. "I hope they do. It's juth-just-" He swallows. "My dad always made sure he had the time to talk to us, you know-teach uth things, help us out-and I want to be-well, at least as good a dad as he was." Well, he did with academics, at least, and that's what mattered.  
"Of course you do." Cameron's voice is almost gentle. _(Gentle. Cameron.)_    
"I hope you're right." Ed tries for a smile. "For onthe."  
"Well, I'm a Tory. We're always right." Ed's mouth is already open, an incredulous remark forming when Cameron grins, dimples denting his cheeks, and Ed realises that it was in fact, Cameron's attempt at a joke. (Which may have been marginally less terrible than usual.)  
Cameron's still watching him, and Ed swallows. "I suppose you always loved Halloween" he remarks, struggling to make the remark sound acidic and failing to find the will.  
"Not particularly" Cameron surprises him by admitting. "I mean, it wasn't made much of back then, you know, in the UK but you know-" He picks at the end of his sleeve. "There were a few occasions in horror movies when I didn't fare so well."  
"When you say didn't fare so well, you probably weren't forthed to learn the definition of a th-swirlie."  
Cameron tilts his head to the side, automatically bringing his hand up to his face. Ed bites back a grin, seeing Cameron grasp momentarily for the pen he usually brings to his mouth or the glasses he fidgets with whenever someone's managed to successfully confuse him.  
He sighs, and with his eyes firmly fixed on the screen and in a decision he has no doubt he will thoroughly regret at some future stage, recounts the swirlie story, keeping the details as brief as possible. Cameron laughs, which Ed expected.

"I'm glad my thchoolday intimidation provides you with some kind of amusement, Cameron" he says, struggling to sound more aloof than usual and Cameron holds up a hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, God, that's awful-" He shakes his head. "Kids can be cruel" he says, another, gentler laugh breaking through. "God, Miliband, I'm sorry. You-God, I have to say I didn't have...much experience with that sort of thing, myself."  
"Bullingdon" mutters Ed and Cameron smiles ruefully. "I never subjected anyone to that, Miliband."  
"Congratulations. Neither did I." Ed pauses for a moment and then mutters "Not that I'd have got the chanthe, anyway."  
Cameron laughs and Ed can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth.  
There's a creak, this time from behind them, and Ed jumps, glancing back nervously, reminding himself that it's just a floorboard, it's just a house settling, it's just a-  
"Don't worry, Miliband. It's probably just the ghost, clawing for vengeance through the walls-" Cameron pretends to claw at the back of his neck.  
"In plans that thrilled the nation-" Ed keeps his eyes on the TV screen as he speaks. "Prime Minithter David Cameron announced that from now on, he would be focusing leth on his leadership duties to allow himself to dedicate more time to his true passion of drething up in a sheet and jumping out at memberth of the populace."  
Cameron's hand jumps behind him at the same time the TV begins chanting Latin and Ed rolls his eyes. "Cameron-"  
There's another scream and he grabs a cushion before he can think about it. He waits for another remark from Cameron but when he glances to his right, he sees Cameron's fingers are digging into a cushion of his own, face a little paler than usual in the glow of the TV screen.  
"So much for it juth-just being me who doeth-doesn't like horror films" Ed mutters and Cameron rolls his eyes. "Miliband, I know Labour enjoy projecting their issues onto everybody else-"  
The girl shoots up from the bed on the TV and Ed's heart almost breaks through his ribs at the yells he realises too late are coming not only from the TV but from his own mouth. There's a thud, which Ed dimly realises is the popcorn bowl falling to the floor, which he's knocked off the couch when-  
It's at that moment that Ed realises that the shriek now dying away is coming from next to him. And that he can feel two heartbeats pounding at his own chest. And that he's a lot further along the couch than he was a few moments ago. And that his hands are clutching at a jumper that is definitely not his own.  
Someone's hands are pressed tight on his back, arms around his shoulders, breath harsh and hot in the air as they cling onto each other.  
It's right then that Ed realises that he and David Cameron have grabbed hold of one another. And that Cameron's cheek is currently pressed right against Ed's forehead, unexpectedly warm skin against Ed's own. And that neither of them has let go.  
Ed might have been able to convince himself earlier that this situation, while unusual, doesn't quite qualify as strange. The moments of being able to convince himself of that, he realises with a sudden grim certainty, are now over.  
Ed feels David tense at the exact same moment that he does and they both pull back at once, both their mouths fighting over frantic apologies.  
"I-God, I didn't mean-sorry, Miliband-" Cameron's blushing, visible even in the dark which Ed would thoroughly enjoy any other time but right now, sadly, is the last thing on his mind.  
"I-it'th fine-I-I mean-I-I'm thorry-" Ed closes his eyes in agony. _Shut up_ , his brain screams but his mouth keeps going with a life of its' own. "I didn't mean-"  
"No, no, it's-fine." Cameron's tugging at his shirt collar and Ed winces, remembering that just a moment before, his head had practically been buried in Cameron's neck.  
He sneaks an anxious look at Cameron. In the darkness, he can't read Cameron's expression but he catches the other man's eyes darting to his own a few times, glancing away each time he catches Ed staring back.

"I-um-" Ed bends down and lifts the popcorn bowl from the floor for something to do with his hands. He's only been fumbling around, lifting popcorn pieces from the carpet for a few moments, however, when he feels something brush his forehead and then Cameron is carefully sliding down from the couch to kneel next to him, picking up popcorn with one hand and tugging at his collar with the other.  
"Here, let me help-"  
"It'th fine-"  
"No, no, honestly-" Cameron's head is bent, his hands an inch from Ed's and Ed feels the heat flare in his cheeks. He's not used to being this close to Cameron, and it's a little odd. It's odd for being so close and it's odd for not making him as uncomfortable as it should.  
Cameron might not have been shocked to realise Ed doesn't live in his work clothes, but Ed has to admit, something jolts in his chest at seeing Cameron looking the way he does now, in a loose, button-down shirt under a jumper, his hair-what he's _got_ of hair-rumpled up-  
And obviously, combing Ed's carpet for bits of popcorn.  
Cameron lifts his head and a stand of his hair brushes Ed's forehead. "Oh-" Ed leans back a little but Cameron stays still, eyes roving down Ed's face. Ed swallows hard.  
"What?" he asks when a few moments have passed in silence as Cameron stares at him. The word comes out softer than he expected.  
Cameron blinks once, then several times. "Nothing" he says and he stands up quickly, lifting the bowl with him. "Just remembering the last time I had to do this-Nancy had a sleepover a few weeks back-popcorn was being hoovered up for days-"  
Ed stares at him as he himself straightens up, his lips unexpectedly dry. Cameron grabs the torch-which has clearly spun wildly during the jumping, its' beam now pointing somewhere up at the ceiling. "Here-" Cameron aims it at the carpet with that self-satisfied grin that usually leaves Ed scrambling for any argument, any insult, which can wipe that look off Cameron's face.  
Cameron sits back on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen, and Ed, groping for words, settles on the first he finds. "You must have a lot of practice from cleaning up your policieth."  
"All Tories get a lot of practice from cleaning up Labour's messes."  
"Go on, Cameron-I believe you were saying something unprethedented."  
"I usually am."  
Ed turns to stare at him. "Really, Cameron? Really?"  
Cameron sighs. "Miliband, I know you're unfamiliar with basic facts, but even you must realise that usually when people make a statement, it's because it's what they actually mean."  
Ed stares at him. "Firthtly, you're a _politician._ Thecondly, I thintherely hope that statement was ironic-"  
"Well, in your case, it would have to be, but-"  
"No, what's ironic is the thame man who put up tuition fees and had his Deputy apologizing for every falthe statement he ever made having the nerve to criticize every thtatement Labour make-" On-screen, the girl's lying on the floor screaming, but Ed's got his eyes fixed on Cameron, a wave of relief washing over him at the sheer familiarity of it, that this is something he _knows_ with Cameron, something he's used to-"What'th ironic is that the man who should really have the words _broken promise_ as his election byline-"  
"You've got popcorn in your hair."  
"Having the nerve to accuse-" Ed blinks. "What?"  
Cameron's lips twitch as the torchlight touches his face. "Right there at the side." He indicates on his own head and Ed glares at him, frantically combing his fingers through his hair, cursing the popcorn, the bowl, the film, and David bloody Cameron all at once.  
"Oh, for God'th-" His fingers tangle in his hair and he glares at the bowl on the table, wishing he'd never started watching the stupid film.  
"Here" and Cameron's reaching towards him before Ed knows what's happening, his fingers tangling gently in Ed's hair, brushing his scalp as he carefully slides the piece loose. "There." Cameron drops the popcorn on the table but then his hand moves back to Ed's hair and smooths it back into place. "Gosh, it's a mess now-" Cameron's still grinning but his voice is lower and even though Ed can't be sure in the dark, it looks as though there's a faint tinge of colour in his cheeks. Ed opens his mouth, fumbling for words, as Cameron pats his hair back into place.

"Thankth." Ed notes vaguely that he seems to be spending a lot of time this evening thanking Cameron right after throwing an insult at him.  
"Yes-well-nothing worse than getting something stuck in your hair. I learnt that the first time I watched this film." Cameron winces. "Getting gum stuck in your hair can be a real problem when you have no explanation as to how it got there-"  
"I'm trying to dethide what's more surprising, you living up to your Compathionate Conservative title or the fact you actually had hair."  
"I could have pointed out that popcorn was particularly easy to spot, Miliband, since it was in a patch of hair that is losing its' colour. Much like your policies-"  
And they're back on familiar ground. "We should look on the bright thide, then, Cameron. At least our policies had thome colour to lose-"  
Cameron's already got his mouth open to reply when there's a sound from the hall, a thud.  
Cameron pauses, mouth open, to stare at Ed. "What's that?"  
"You do know I can't see through _walls_ , Cameron-" There's another thud, against the wall this time, and Ed jumps, eyes flickering to Cameron's suddenly wide gaze.  
"What was that?" This time, it's Ed asking and Cameron grins. "You do know I can't see through _walls_ , Miliband-"  
There's another thump and Ed feels his heart thudding against his ribcage.  
"It could be-the house thettling-settling, I-"  
"Miliband, Labour cannot be this distant from reality, houses do not _thump-"_ Cameron's voice is cut off by another thudding sound and this time Ed isn't the only one who jumps.  
"It's really never occurred to you to hire some security, Miliband?" Cameron hisses, too close to Ed's ear and Ed grits his teeth.  
"No, Cameron, th-strangely, my first idea was not to hire a security team to protect me from the horrorth of witnething someone retheiving unemployment benefits-"  
_"Really_ , Miliband, you want to have that debate _now-"_  
There's another thud and Cameron almost jumps out of his skin. "Dear God-"  
"Oh, tho you are afraid of horror films. That's fantathtic, Cameron, it's those kindth of promises that are keeping your government running smoothly-"  
"You're unbelievable, Miliband. You're the-what would you be doing if there was a _plane_ going down or a ship was sinking, would you just stand there and complain about the inequality of the people who built the lifeboats-God, you probably _would-"_  
"I know you like to distanthe yourthelf from reality, Cameron, but-but-you know we are not _on_ a-haunted plane-or car or lifeboat or-"  
"Fantastic line, Miliband. Haunted plane, that'll be your next brilliant comeback at PMQs-and the Right Honourable Gentleman wants to debate the existence of ectoplasmic aviation-"  
Ed feels the blood rushing to his cheeks. His heart is pounding hard enough to hurt and he can't believe that this might be how he's spending the last minutes of his life-clutching a cushion in a pitch-black room with pieces of popcorn scattered around the floor, debating David Cameron about the probability of the existence of ghosts.  
"I mean, I would personally suggest an explanation that doesn't sound _insane-"_ Cameron breaks off as there's a thud on the wall. "Dear God, what are we going to do?"  
Ed stares at him. "You do know you're meant to be the perthon the country looks to in life-threatening situations?"  
Cameron glares at him but before he can reply, the door creaks once-a long, drawn-out creak that leaves Cameron staring at Ed, eyes wide. Ed fumbles behind him for something, anything, that he can use as a weapon. "OK-" His fingers close around something and he holds it up between them. "We've got thith-"  
Cameron stares for a very long moment and Ed follows his gaze slowly down to his own hand, grasped firmly, weapon-like, around a remote control.  
"Oh, that's-that's brilliant, that's _fantastic_ -what are we going to do with _that_ , Miliband, _mute_ it to death?"  
_"You_ come up with a better suggestion-" Ed's fingers are wrapped so tight around the remote control that his hand is shaking (and that is the _only_ reason his hand is shaking.)  
  
"Oh, well, I'm sure it's putting an ample amount of reconsideration into its' whole assassination plan _now-"_ The door creaks again and Cameron's fingers fasten on Ed's sleeve.  
"Yeth, Cameron. The athathin who chose to carry out his attack in front of the television, it's well-known as a highly dangerouth location-"  
"I suppose it beat Labour headquarters on that list-"  
"Oh, _shut up, Cameron."_  
As Ed hisses the words, the door creaks again and this time, Ed's fingers fasten around Cameron's sleeve.  
"Don't worry, Miliband. I'm sure all you have to do is flick the off switch and whatever it is will evaporate into thin air."  
Ed almost smacks him with the remote control. "I know we should all be uthed to your lack of consideration from the way you run the country-"  
"You do know I could give you up to this thing, anytime, Miliband-"  
The door creaks again and this time it doesn't stop-it keeps moving, slowly into the room, a chink of yellow torchlight spilling across the carpet. Cameron's hand tightens round Ed's sleeve and Ed doesn't pull away as a long black shadow stretches down the middle, a figure that slowly moves into the doorway. Cameron's eyes meet his in the dark and Ed swallows, his heart pounding almost painfully. He hears a sound from his throat that sounds suspiciously like a whimper and his hand tightens on Cameron's sleeve.  
The figure stops dead, black in the middle of the light, and says "Boo."  
Or at least, that's what Ed thinks it says. The sound is somewhat muffled by the distinctly shriek-like sounds coming from his and Cameron's mouths, the sound of a remote control hitting the wall and a noise that's remarkably like high-pitched laughter.  
The voice is muffled due to someone's arms currently being wrapped around Ed's head and but it is not the voice of a wall-thumping demon and actually bears a remarkable similarity to the voice of his son.  
"Did you watch a scary film?"  
Ed waits a few moments before he raises his head to see Zia standing in the doorway, lips twitching, the two little boys, still clad in full Halloween regalia, both helpless with laughter, and Cameron's eyes fixed on his own, with an expression that suggests they're both coming to the same slow, excruciating realisation that they might just, possibly, maybe have been completely had.  
Cameron's eyes are remarkably clear in fact, as they're only a few inches above Ed's own. And-Ed glances down slowly, as the truth dawns on him-the truth that the sheer terror of a slowly moving door has apparently proved so traumatizing that he has ended up with his head buried in Cameron's shoulder.  
And with Cameron's arms around his shoulders.  
And with Cameron's hands in Ed's hair, his body arched protectively over Ed's chest.  
They both pull away at the same moment, their arms tangling together as they struggle to prop themselves upright. Ed turns to the nanny, already tripping over his explanation. "I can-this-I can explain-"  
The boys are sniggering, Cameron is glaring and Zia is watching them both and slowly, slowly shaking her head with a sigh. "I look forward to the story."  
 

* * *

  
David is not a betting man but if he was, he would, in the past, have put substantial money on no Halloween night turning out quite like this.  
He glances up over his cup of tea to find a small pair of round, blue eyes fixed on his own.  
"If you're the Prime Minister" Daniel says, his little voice very solemn, "Does that mean you can send my daddy to jail?"  
David smiles at the concern in the little boy's eyes as he stares up at David, blinking anxiously as he waits for the answer. The children are still bubbling at the fact that the lights were out and they've been studying David for the last several minutes with no small amount of curiosity. David's phone is also safely back in his hand, Zia having braved the dangers of the cupboard to retrieve it. Whilst inside, she had also taken the opportunity to turn the lights back on, having located a rather obvious switch that, when Miliband had gawped at it, she had pointed out quietly that it had always been there.

"No" David says, with a smile. "I won't send your daddy to jail. I promise."  
Daniel frowns. "Daddy says you're a To-too-"  
"Tory?"  
Daniel nods. David smiles. "Well-yes. I am."  
Daniel frowns again. "Daddy says you can't trust Too-too-Tory promises."  
Miliband is in the middle of taking a gulp of tea when his son comes out with this illuminating statement.   
David waits until Miliband appears able to breathe again before he replies. "I know that's what your daddy thinks" he says slowly. "I happen to think that's a little bit of a generalization."  
Daniel's forehead furrows as he absent-mindedly brushes his brother's hair with one hand. "What does gen-gen- _Sam_ -" as his younger brother crawls into the back of his knees, pushing a truck as he hums under his breath. "Gen-zation mean?"  
"It means-" David begins at the same time as Miliband says "Daniel, a generalization ith-" They both break off at once and David waits for Miliband to continue the explanation.  
But Miliband shakes his head. "Go on" he says and smiles when Daniel glances at him, confused. "Mr. Cameron will tell you."  
"Oh, Dave's fine." David turns back to Daniel, resting a hand on the little boy's shoulder. "A generalization is when someone says a lot of people are all the same because they have one other thing in common. Like say there was a little girl with blonde hair in your class who was good at maths." Daniel nods, eyes fixed intently on David. "A generalization would be if you then said that all little girls with blonde hair are good at maths just because they all have blonde hair. Do you see?"  
Daniel nods, brows creased. "Yes-I think." He blinks suddenly, apparently struck by a new thought. "You talk like my daddy."  
"Is that a good thing?" David laughs, as Zia pulls Sam further onto her knee. "Well, we do very similar jobs."

"Yeth.  It'th about having different ideas."

  
Daniel nods slowly. "Daddy has the red team and Mr. Cameron has the blue team."  
 This explanation is interrupted by Sam suddenly standing up straight, turning to David and then, without warning, hurling himself straight into David's knees.  
David just manages to save his tea, laughter spilling out of his throat at the sight of two bright little eyes staring up at him, above a dimple-edged smile. "Goodness me-"  
His remark is drowned out by Zia's voice. _"Sam-"_  
 She steps across to the little boy, taking him firmly by the shoulders and turning him towards David. "Sam, no running, you've been told-"  
Sam's already blinking up at him, grin not dimmed in the slightest. "Sorry" and without further ado, he scrambles up into David's lap, to hide his face.  
Daniel stands to the side, blinking awkwardly, as Sam settles himself into the crook of David's arm. David's eyes rest on Miliband's elder son and he feels a small pang in his chest. He holds out his hand gently and slowly, Daniel reaches to take it.  
"Here-" David carefully lifts Daniel onto the couch, letting him nestle into the crook of his other arm. He glances at Miliband. "Is this-"  
"What? Oh-oh, no, it's fine-" Miliband's watching him with an expression on his face that David can't quite place. He's distracted quickly by Sam pushing a truck over his knee and saying "When you and Daddy got scared-"  
David and Miliband exchange glances.  
"You were precting Daddy-"  
"Protecting-" Miliband corrects him even as he and David avoid one another's eyes. David can't quite shake the memory of his arms somehow ending up round Miliband's shoulders, his nose almost buried in the other man's hair.  
He's distracted by Sam blurting into David's shoulder "That's good, cos Daddy-Daddy can't win in a fight."  
David does laugh this time and Miliband's lips twitch as Zia smiles quietly to herself. Even Daniel is giggling as he curls up against David now, as Sam yawns, knuckling at his eyes.

Zia stands up, already heading for the little boy, arms out. "I think it's bedtime in a minute."  
Sam blinks and shakes his head. "No, no, one more minute, one more-" David can't help but notice that neither Sam nor Daniel looks at their father very often.  
 Zia sighs, eyes moving from one boy to another. "One more minute."  
Sam turns happily back to David. "Do you like our daddy?" he says, without preamble and David grins, raising an eyebrow at Miliband over his son's shoulder. Miliband arches his own.  
David turns to Sam and Daniel. "Of course I like your daddy" he says. "We don't-" He searches for a word to describe the constant arguing between himself and Miliband. "Always agree" he finally settles on and sees Miliband's mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye. "But your daddy-" He watches the little boy for a long moment. "He always tries to do what he thinks is right" he finally settles on and when he glances at Miliband, sees the other man watching him, a small smile at his mouth.  
"Daddy, do you like Mr.Cameron?" asks Daniel, as Sam wraps his arms around David's neck, the little boy's head burrowing into David's shoulder.

"Do I like Mr. Cameron?" Miliband meets David's eyes over Daniel's head. For a moment, their eyes lock, each of them silently daring the other. Then Miliband turns to his son. "Of course I like Mr. Cameron. He-" He trails off, his eyes flickering back to David's momentarily and then he says "Well-even if we don't always agree with each other-Mr. Cameron does a lot of-good things for the country. Even if we don't agree. And that's important, isn't it?" He addresses the last part to his two sons, but both of their gazes drift away from him.

* * *

  
 As Ed walks him to the door, David realises suddenly that it's the first time they've been alone since the moment Zia and the boys opened the door, and the silence suddenly feels a little stretched between them. David glances at Miliband, only to catch him hastily looking away.  
When they reach the front door, David swallows and turns to face Miliband. "Well" he says and Miliband glances down at his feet awkwardly, shuffling back and forth for a moment.  
"Thank you for the documents" he says, rather hurriedly, and it's only then that David remembers his original reason for coming over. "I'll look-look over them over the weekend-"  
"Oh-well-" David struggles for a moment. "That-that was-um-"  
Miliband's eyes dart to his and then away again. David clears his throat. "Call me if you have any more encounters with irascible ghosts, Miliband."  
"Cameron, I know that you'll be dreading the election but I really don't think Ghothtbuthters would be a viable alternative career."  
"Well, I'll make sure to carry a remote control at all times."  
Miliband nibbles at his lip and David grins. "You're laughing, Miliband."  
Miliband furrows his brow. "No, I'm not."  
David shakes his head. "Making up stories, Miliband?" When Miliband's lip twitches again, he softens his voice. "You have two wonderful sons."  
Miliband lets a genuine smile creep over his mouth. "Thank you" he says, though David can't help but notice that he almost but not quite winces.  
David smiles. "They make rather good debaters. Of course, given the standard I'm used to-"  
"Cameron, maybe you'd better stop before you ruin it."  
David doesn't even try to hide his smile. "Fine." He turns around, already wondering what he's going to tell his security about how he managed to disappear into Miliband's house for nearly three hours-"Cameron?"  
He turns on the doorstep to see Miliband staring at him. "I-um-thank you" he says awkwardly. "For-um-for being here tonight-for staying, I mean-"  
"Oh-" David swallows. "No, thank you. For having me."  
Miliband opens his mouth, as if about to say something more but then he turns back towards the hall. "I'll-um-" He breaks off and then holds out his hand.  
David takes it. "Night, Miliband."  
Miliband meets his eyes with a smile-a quieter smile than usual, shyer at the edges. "Night, Cameron."

They stand like that for another moment, their fingers wrapped around each other. David smiles. "Night, Miliband."

* * *

  
David feels a strange pang as they pull away and it isn't until he's in his car as they're driving away that he realises it's disappointment.  
_Disappointment. Miliband._  
 Maybe Sam's right when she says he's working too hard.  
 

* * *

  
_Playlist_  
_Common Ground-Kodaline -"And people will tell you what you want to hear/But the people who know you well and make it all clear...Sure we will all be forgotten/And we all grow bored/Yeah, we will all be forgotten/But a common ground is a good place to start"-this pretty much suits David and Ed's conversations in this chapter._  
_Talk!-The 1975 -"I think you're trying too hard with your lungs in tar/And your kitchen full of pop stars...Passing grammatical mistakes/Totally wrecked and polemic in the way he talks/Vocal sabbatical delayed by churning out the same...And I've been thinking lots about your mouth/A conversation superseded by the way he talks"-this really fits the way David and Ed argue with each other._  
  _Home Is A Fire-Death Cab For Cutie -"Home, home is a fire/A burning reminder/Of where we belong, oh/With walls, built up around us/The bricks make me nervous...Plates they will shift/Houses will shake/Fences will drift/We will awake/Only to find/Nothing's the same"-this fits some of the atmosphere David picks up on at Ed's._  
_This Night Has Opened My Eyes-The Smiths -"The dream has gone/But the baby is real/...And I'm not happy/And I'm not sad/And I'm not happy/And I'm not sad"-given David loves the Smiths, this kind of fits his conclusions at the end of the night._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation Ed remembers about steam trains with Justine walking to conference is from 2012 and can be seen here: https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/labour-party-conference-ed-miliband-and-wife-walking-to-news-footage/693160484  
> Florence had started school that year: https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/samantha-cameron-snubs-queen-because-4176851  
> Nancy calls David Phil Dunphy, after Modern Family :  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3035592/Ouch-Modern-Family-fan-Nancy-Cameron-mocks-PM-s-attempts-cool-dad-putdown-Phil-Dunphy.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/camerons-just-a-sad-dad-to-his-daughter-t0w3m8j6876  
> David infamously left Nancy in the pub: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-18391663  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2157912/Nancy-Cameron-asked-parents-David-Sam-left-pub-her.html  
> Nancy reminds him of it & refused to allow David to come into the classroom with her on school tours-Sam does do DIY/electronics:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-3023033/Samantha-Cameron-s-major-interview-Dave-runs-country-school-run.html  
> The line about the Education Secretary refers to when David demoted Michael to Chief Whip, following negative polling figures:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-28302487  
> The "massive David Cameron problem" refers to this PMQs:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1jAayt0FHw  
> The PMQs in this chapter here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FZ1eAuBTgE  
> The schools are ones David and Samconsidered for Nancy when she was starting secondary school-she eventually went to Grey Coat, where Michael's daughter, Beatrice (who'd gone to the same primary school) was already attending: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11456423/David-Camerons-daughter-Nancy-to-attend-state-secondary-school.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2796964/cameron-set-tory-pm-send-children-state-secondary-viewing-three-four-schools-wife-samantha.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/10674662/Michael-Goves-daughter-wins-place-at-state-school.html  
> The Camerons put Lady Margaret first:  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/cameron-girl-denied-first-choice-school-z29dqwbfzfr  
> Ed did mention not going through a rebellious period:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11455766/Ed-Miliband-turns-to-Justine-to-help-bolster-ratings.html  
> Ed lived in Boston for 6 months as a kid: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/profiles/ed-miliband-dad-indulged-me-in-my-red-sox-obsession-8919253.html  
> Ian, Ed's next door neighbour, is David's close friend & speechwriter:  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-1349727/Andy-Coulsons-replacement-Ian-Birrell-Neighbour-whos-got-Ed-Miliband-spin.html  
> His daughter Iona has Ohtahara Syndrome, the same condition Ivan had:https://www.independent.co.uk/voices/commentators/ian-birrell-iona-and-ivan-ndash-a-tale-of-two-children-and-two-families-1632390.html  
> The PMQs where David called Ed M & Ed B muppets is here:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-26853631/pmqs-cameron-and-miliband-exchange-muppet-and-dunce-taunts  
> Ed's favourite biscuits are Jaffa Cakes:http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/8394736.stm  
> Ed's kids do love The Octonauts:  
> http://www.redonline.co.uk/red-women/interviews/ed-miliband-pictures  
> David has a Calm Down Dear, It's Only A Recession poster (which was later moved to his kitchen):  
> https://www.pressreader.com/uk/the-daily-telegraph/20170803/281496456367188  
> Ed did refer to Labour & the Tories as the "red team/blue team" to his kids:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/womens-life/11582576/General-Election-2015-24-hours-with-Justine-Miliband-Labours-weapon.html  
> Ed mentioned his kids dress up for Halloween but that he's not sure what they do.  
> Flo and Sam were born only three months apart:  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1282589/Now-Ed-Miliband-new-baby-way.html  
> Justine is a governor at their kids' school: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/labour-elites-stamping-ground-moves-north-well-out-of-islington-jqm7n63sqcl  
> Ed's cleaner: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2044244/Is-Ed-Milibands-cleaner-washing-car-Labour-leader-squeegeed-middle.html  
> The Camerons went to a small church state school:  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/conservative/1941660/David-Camerons-daughter-wins-place-at-faith-school.html  
> Bea had a small Halloween gathering: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2822562/Sarah-Vine-Beauty-Sleuth-Don-t-let-STRESS-sabotage-skin.html


	4. The Unifying Qualities of Fireworks, Haribos and Bright-Eyed Questioners (Or, How To Convince One's Political Opponent's Daughter That Sheep Are Magical)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which a ten-year-old can be one's most terrifying political opponent, Haribos are by far the most superior ring and there is absolutely no question that sheep are magical."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, so guys, here's Chapter 4! And thanks for your lovely comments on the last chapter-keep them coming in! Feel free to leave them for this chapter too-let me know what you enjoy about this lil fic! Let me know what you think of quotes, playlists, etc., too!

 

_No love without a little innocence- The Myth of Sisyphus, Albert Camus_

_"It's perfect" she said. "It's not like asking him for a date so it takes away all the pressure and you can show off like mad and get all your friends to pretend to think you're marvellous."- Bridget Jones' Diary, Helen Fielding_

* * *

 

"Dad" says Elwen, staring at David wide-eyed over his porridge. "When you and Mr. Milband-"

 _"Miliband"_ corrects Nancy.

Elwen rolls his eyes. "When the ghost was coming in-"

"There wasn't a ghost, Elwen" David reminds him gently, buttering his toast. "Mr. Miliband and I just got a bit carried away, that's all."

He pictures Miliband crouched on the sofa, holding a remote control and wonders if that understatement could be allowed under the Trade Descriptions Act.

"Yes, _but-"_ Elwen holds his spoon like a gavel, banging the handle into the table. "When you thought there was a ghost-who would have beaten it up first, Mr. Miliband or you?"

Sam, carefully wiping Florence's mouth round the other side of the table, makes a sound suspiciously like a snort. David frowns at her. "I'm sure if it had been something that needed "beating up", one or other of us could have handled it." He leans over to remove the spoon from his son's hand and place it back in his bowl. "As it turned out, Mr. Miliband proved quite adept with his remote control."

Another snigger from Sam. David sighs. Sam and the kids have listened to his tale of Halloween night (ever since they returned from Michael's house, faces smeared with Halloween make-up, sweets spilling out of their hands, and eyes bright with overexcitement) shaking with laughter and have demanded many retellings since Friday, often accompanied by Nancy getting up to dramatize some of the events, along with embellishments (David is almost positive that at no point had Miliband donned a knight costume to intimidate the phantom.)

"Well-" Sam plants a kiss on David's cheek as she lifts Florence from her chair, their daughter's arms already reaching for David. "It sounds as though you and Mr. Miliband had an interesting evening."

David tries to frown at the smirk playing around his wife's mouth. It isn't as though he was _terrified_ on Friday. He'd simply been-a little perturbed.

"Anyway" Sam says in an undertone, as Florence scrambles happily onto her father's knee. "You and him seem to be getting along a lot better."

David spreads his hands, as best he can with Florence's warm weight now firmly positioned on one knee. "Why does _everyone_ assume we don't get on?" he demands indignantly, though the effect is somewhat lessened by the fact that Florence is now trying to brush his hair with one hand, as he presses a kiss to the soft baby chubbiness of her cheek. "We-get on-"

He stops and searches for the correct word for what it feels like with both of their voices crashing into each other at once, demanding to be heard.

Sam's still watching him with an arched eyebrow and David stares back. "What?"

Sam blinks, then shakes her head as if coming out of a trance. "Oh-just wondering if we're still on for George on Wednesday?"

"Can we have Catherine wheels like last year?" asks Elwen, now scrambling down from the table.

"Probably." David pushes his plate away, as Nancy beats her brother to the door. "Michael can't come, though, I think they've got a prior arrangement-"

Sam gives him a quick wink over Florence's head. "Why don't you invite Ed?"

It takes David a moment to figure out who she's referring to. "Who- _Miliband?"_

Sam shrugs. "Well, why not? Since you two seem to be getting along better now-"

David swallows. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. The idea-which he'd been fully prepared to dismiss out of hand as nonsensical-is not as incomprehensible as he might have guessed. Or liked.

"I-" He glances around to see Sam and Florence with their eyes fixed on him.

"Well-I mean-he probably wouldn't want to come-" he manages awkwardly, but it's a point, now he comes to think of it. Yes, he turned up at Miliband's house on Friday night-but it was unexpected for both of them and events had taken a rather bizarre turn with the lights and that had led to him staying-it would have just been _unfair_ to leave Miliband to deal with everything alone.

But maybe it's simply a one-time thing, something Miliband would never want to repeat.

"How do you know?" Sam asks fairly, kissing Florence's head and for a moment, David wonders if she's read his mind. "You can always ask. He might like the offer even if he can't make it."

David has to grudgingly agree with this. He sighs and says, without looking at Sam "I'll ask him. But-" He fidgets and wonders how he's able to face the opposition benches any Wednesday but finds himself completely helpless when it comes to his own wife.

"But what?"

David sighs and shakes his head. "I'm warning you, he'll say no."

"Come on. Bet me £20. Bet me."

"Fine. Get George to calculate how much you'll owe me."

"It'll be £20, no matter who's right."

"I'm adding interest."

 _"Interest?"_ Samantha seems to swell as she turns round to stare at him. "I'll give you _interest-"_

Part of being the Prime Minister is knowing when to end the conversation and David decides right then would be a fantastic moment to leave the room.

* * *

 

David fully intends to ask Miliband if he would like to join them politely and formally, using a polished greeting phrase.

As Miliband bites into a sandwich, he opens his mouth.

"MilibandIknowyoudon'thavetoifyoudon'twanttobutwouldyouliketocomeoveronBonfireNight-GeorgewillbethereyoucanbringJustineandthekids-but-um-there's-there's no-pressure-"

The sound is mangled, twisted and less coherent than the sounds Flo used to sweetly burble when she was learning to talk. David considers summoning Brown back to the office simply for the task of throwing a phone at his own head.

Miliband's eyes widen slowly as he lowers the sandwich. David feels the blood rise to his cheeks and he swallows. "I mean-I just thought-I wanted to give you an invitation-I mean, I know you probably already have plans-I just-well, you and Justine-and-and the boys, would be very welcome-" His voice tails off and in the long silence that follows, David curses himself for not just texting the invitation to Miliband.

Miliband blinks rather rapidly. "I-" He swallows and David catches himself watching the movement of his throat. "Thank-thank you, Cameron-I mean-that'th-that's very-um-thoughtful-we'd-I mean, we'd be happy to-I'll have to check with Juthtine-but if we're not doing anything, then yes, y-yes-if we're not doing anything, I'd be happy-we'd be happy to-to come." He chews at his lip and then, worriedly, says "Thank you."

David nods slowly. "Yes-yes, well, we'd all like to have you. And-my kids will be there as well, so the boys won't be bored-"

"Oh-oh-yeth, of course-" Miliband's lips twitch. "I mean-I'm sure, they'll be excited enough as it is-I'm thure we're not busy tho we'll be able to come-"

"Right, well-I mean-you know the address-"

Miliband's smirk is becoming more pronounced by the second. "Very thubtle, Cameron."

David smirks back. "You could always bring your remote control, Miliband. You know, in case you want to inspect Downing Street for irascible ghosts."

He leans forward, his arm across Miliband's desk, at the exact same moment as Miliband gently shoves the wrapper towards him. His smirk's still playing about his mouth and their eyes meet at the same moment as Miliband's arm bumps into David's. Their fingers fasten around each other for a split second and David's hand has a confused impression of warmth and skin, Miliband's grip tight around his own.

They both snatch their hands back at the same moment, even as David feels the apology rise in his throat. "Sorry-"

"It'th fine-" Miliband's eyes dart around for a few moments before he offers David an awkward smile. "Zia told me Daniel and th-Sam have been talking about you leaping in for me against ghosts."

David laughs a little too loudly, the heat of Miliband's fingers seeming to linger. "Nancy and Elwen have been re-enacting your stunt with the remote control all weekend. They were a lot more impressed with you than me."

"They sound th-sensible." Miliband smirks at him and David, without thinking, gives his arm a gentle nudge. Miliband's grin grows, deepening what look almost like dimples in his cheeks.

"I have to say, though." David dabs at his mouth with a tissue. "I think they were a little annoyed that I begged off the trick-and-treating . I think sometimes their dad being Prime Minister might not be their favourite thing in the world."

"Is it anyone's?"

"Hilarious." He sighs. "They know how privileged they are-but I suppose it's hard at their age, when sometimes all they see is their dad not being there-"

He pauses, glancing almost anxiously at Miliband, waiting for some remark about _Hopefully, they won't have to deal with that issue in a few months,_ but instead, Miliband just nods, eyes thoughtful as they rest on David's own.

"It'th difficult-" Miliband fumbles with something in his pocket. "Daniel-Daniel athkth why I'm alwayth on the phone." He tries for a laugh but the sound is strained. "It's confusing thometimes, you know. How to make the world a better place for them, but at the thame time-"

"How to be there for them" David finishes softly, and Miliband's eyes meet his again. "Yeth, exactly" he says quietly, and he brings his hand up, holding, David is amused to see, a Rubix Cube. Miliband turns it over and over in his fingers, apparently unconsciously, as he talks. "I mean, you try to eth-xplain to them but it'th hard for them to take in at that age-

"How old are the boys again?"

A ghost of a smile flickers across Miliband's mouth. "Five and almotht four. Yours'?"

"Ten, eight and Florence's four too."

Miliband laughs. "Like th-Sam, nearly." He shakes his head. "I'm th-sorry." He colours but David acts as if he hasn't heard. He's used to Miliband's lisp by now.

"I shouldn't be making thith about me" Miliband continues, a little more clearly. "You were talking about-"

David shakes his head. "It's fine. We're dealing with the same issue, really. For once."

Miliband laughs, the Rubix Cube spinning a little more slowly now. "And you've admitted it, Cameron. For once."

David shakes his head. "I might have known this couldn't last."

Miliband's still spinning the Rubix Cube and David stares at the quick movement of Miliband's long fingers, almost a blur of motion. They slow a little as he catches sight of David's eyes on them.

"What?" he says, a crack in his voice that makes David glance up, his brow furrowed. For a moment, he wants to touch Miliband's fingers, quicken them again.

"Nothing" he says hurriedly, scrabbling for words to take his own mind off Miliband's fingers. "I was just thinking-"

Miliband's eyes meet his and David swallows, the air suddenly a little heavier, the moment stretched taut between them. David's eyes fall on the Rubix Cube.

"If you're as good at balancing your children and work as you are at balancing that and conversation-" Miliband's fingers are making quick work of the puzzle. "You've got nothing to worry about."

Miliband's smile is something that sends David grinning too, and that makes it easier to forget that that statement is partly a white lie.

(Miliband would say no lie's white. David would then say that it's a truth and a lie and Miliband would say there's no such thing.)

(Typical bloody Miliband.)

* * *

 

**_Daniel and Sam are greatly anticipating their visit to Downing Street on Wednesday._ **

_You can come, then?_

**_No, Cameron. We're letting you adopt them both._ **

_And your keen sense of humour is back._

**_Hilarious. Is there anything you would like us to bring?_ **

_No. No price of admission :)_

_**That's rare under your government.** _

_Well, we decided to branch out. By the way, Nancy wants you to know that she hopes there's a ghost so you can save us all with a remote control._

**_Tell Nancy if Downing Street happens to be haunted, I will be more than happy to oblige._ **

_I would pay money to witness that, Miliband._

**_Taxpayers' money._ **

_Labour's department, not ours._

**_Rich for the party raising taxes._ **

_Rich for the party spending money._

**_Rich, Cameron? Really?_ **

_You used it first!_

_**That was to see if you picked up on the irony**._

_Really, Miliband? Really?_

**_By the way, what time on Wednesday?_ **

_I saw the subject change. And about five, if that's all right._

**_Subject transition. And that should be fine. Daniel and Sam are very excited._ **

_So are ours'. Florence is too big a fireworks fan._

**_Which means?_ **

_Last year we caught her trying to grab one. So, huge safety precautions followed._

**_Would you like us to bring any (obviously kept out of reach of fire-loving minors)?_ **

_Yes, if you've got any. No need, if not, though. All children kept away from dangers. (Including Labour's policies.)_

**_Well, I'd advise caution. It's not exactly a new experience to see Tory plans go up in flames._ **

_Flames set by Labour._

**_Is that so?_**

_An admission? And I'm being informed by Florence that I'm neglecting my bedtime story duty, so I will speak tomorrow._

**_Not quite. And I'll speak to you tomorrow. Make sure the book isn't flammable if Florence is such a fan of fireworks._ **

_Like Labour's policies? :)_

**_Emoticons again?_ **

_:)_

**_Eloquent. Goodnight, Cameron._ **

_Goodnight, Miliband._

* * *

 

"We go Mr. Cameron's house" Sam announces to Daniel, banging his fork down on the table so that Zia swipes it away from him. "For Bo-fire Night."

"I know" Daniel says, with all the wisdom of an elder brother. "It's _Bon-_ fire Night."

Sam's face falls. Ed winces for him. A memory flashes briefly of himself excitedly bouncing up to David to tell him he had figured out Father Christmas couldn't be real because there were several holes in the theory and David just looking at him with one raised eyebrow and saying "Of course he's not real, Ed. We were just waiting for _you_ to work it out." He remembered the way he had blinked, wrong-footed, as David turned back to his work and the lump that had swelled in his throat as the knowledge rooted him to the spot, that sure, sure feeling that everyone was older and wiser and smirking over his shoulder, waiting for him to catch up.

"Daniel" he says, voice a little sharper than usual. "Don't be unkind, pleathe, th-sweetie."

Zia turns at his tone and Daniel's eyes widen. Ed instantly feels like the worst father in the world. He tries to ruffle Daniel's hair awkwardly, wondering if that's how you're meant to tell your children off, if that's gentle enough.

 Sam tugs at Daniel's sleeve. "Mr. Cameron's house" he says again. "And we get to see fie-works-and Daddy wants to steal Mr. Cameron's house."

Ed splutters on his tea. The children look up at him wide-eyed as Ed struggles for words.

"What-where did you-" For one mad moment, Ed wonders if the children have somehow gained access to the tabloids, before he remembers that people have said a lot of things but so far no one has labelled him a house-breaker.

"You go  to take Mr. Cameron's house" Daniel says, as if he's talking about the weather. "If you win the 'lection-"

"No-" Ed shakes his head. "No, Daniel, I'm-" He sighs. "Mr. Cameron-if I win-will have another houthe to go to and it's only if I win-"

"But we don't have to _move_ house." Daniel nibbles happily at his toast crust. "You just have to be there in the _day."_

Ed takes a longer sip of his tea than he needs to.

"Why are you drinking _tea?"_  Daniel takes another bite of his toast, apparently unperturbed. "Is it going to answer for you?"

Ed suppresses the urge to tell his son that if it wasn't for the fact politics is the one area he never wants his children to go into, he'd be a natural.

The fact is, he and Justine haven't agreed on what to tell the children about moving house. But he can feel Zia's eyes on him and after taking as long as humanly possible to lower his cup to the table, he says, "No, Daniel, we're not going to move house."

"Good." Daniel continues munching his toast and Ed keeps his eyes on the table, hating the lie that hangs in the air between them, half-regretting his decision to come down to the basement and see the boys before Zia takes them to school.

"But you take house" says Sam and Ed sighs. "No, Sam. It's a tradition."

Sam blinks up at him, three-year-old confusion.

"But you and Mr. Cameron are friends" says Daniel calmly, now dancing a piece of crust along the rim of his plate.

Ed swallows. "Well-" He stares at his two sons, neither of whom are really looking at him enough, and lets the question dangle in the air between them, which prevents him having to think too hard about whether or not he could class Cameron as his friend.

"Stealing _wrong"_ Sam announces, banging his fork again. "Daddy's a t-eaf."

"Daddy's not a thief" Daniel informs his brother. "Daddy _wants_ to be a thief."

* * *

 

It's when he's near the door, dragging the coat further round his shoulders that he bumps into Justine, who's already on her way out, pulling her helmet on. 

"I was just talking to the boyth" he tells her, and she blinks, as though she's forgotten for a moment that they have children. "Zia's getting them ready-"

"Good" she says, zipping up her coat. "That's-"

"Look, they were-" Ed glances back at the door that leads down to the basement. "I think it might be time to tell them-they were talking about moving-"

Justine blinks.

"If they're picking up on it-"

"It's just-" Justine sighs, re-checking her bicycle bag. "It's a bit too close to measuring the curtains, Ed."

"Getting them ready isn't measuring the curtains."

"We can look at it again nearer the time-"

"And what if we don't have time nearer the time?" He hasn't asked Zia about it, but the thought of simply springing such a big decision on the boys with less than a few days to get used to the idea-let alone in the glare of press and camera flashes and everything else there will be to contend with if this should even ever become necessary-jolts slightly even with him.

Justine sighs. "Ed, we're talking about something that-" The pause is only for a second but he hears it and then she's saying "Isn't going to happen until May" but Ed heard the unspoken words between them and he swallows hard, debating on whether or not to say it, to bring it out in the open-

"We still need to tell them" he says, his voice lower now. "Otherwise-if it-it'll just come as a shock."

Justine's arms are folded, a sure sign that she's digging in on something. "I just don't-want us to get ahead" she says, zipping up her coat more firmly. "I mean-let's just take one day at a time-"

"This _is_ taking one day at a time" he argues. "It's just-anticipating one of the days a little earlier."

"Ed, we talked about this, and we agreed, we _agreed_ we shouldn't be measuring the curtains-"

"This isn't measuring the curtains. This is-putting the curtains into boxes. Buying the curtains. _Moving_ the curtains."

The thing is, measuring the curtains, while it might not be real enough to grab onto quite yet is still there, and the thought of their sons not having a clue that this time next year, they might not be in the house they know, in the rooms they know, is something else altogether.

Justine sighs, as if he's another troublesome client. "Ed-"

 He closes his eyes because he's got to get to work and he can't have this argument right now. "Fine. We'll discuss it later."

"Ed-all the books say it's bad to unsettle children for no reason. This is the area they know, and their school-we worked hard to get them into that school-"

"I know" he says but he can hear loud and clear what he's not saying-their boys might end up being unsettled anyway and they might have to accept what they don't want to get what they do want.

But then Justine's bustling out the door, calling out a "Bye, chaps" over her shoulder, and Ed's left wondering if the boys can actually hear her down in the basement and when she last went down to see them before she left for work.

* * *

 

Lunch after Prime Minister's Questions is one of the times David is grateful for his and Miliband's naturally combative relationship-sooner or later, one of them's throwing another line at the other and the previous ones darting across the Chamber are forgotten.

Today proves no different. Miliband is waiting outside David's office with a sandwich. "Here" he says, handing it over. "I was thinking of, you know, getting nothing, from a nothing leader-"

David rolls his eyes. "Thanks" he says, taking the sandwich. "Are you still able to come, tonight? I wouldn't know being a-"don't-know Prime Minister-""

Miliband laughs and David resists the urge to do the same. He wonders if any other politicians, Prime Minister or otherwise, have had this strange a relationship with anyone.

He keeps the joking up throughout lunch which saves him having to ponder the rather disconcerting fact that he might have just thought of whatever he and Miliband have as a _relationship._

* * *

 

"Libbie's looking forward to tonight" says George as David buttons his shirt, the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. "Luke's going through the stage where nothing we do is good enough for him so we might as well get the last few moments with Libbie before she gets swallowed up into the Teenage Coven of Gloom."

David laughs. "You might want to save Nancy on the same rescue mission. I mean, she's started on the quest for pierced ears, already."

"Oh God. So's Liberty-they must be swapping notes-"

David laughs. "Luke gracing us with his presence tonight?"

"Oh, Frances will make sure of it. Unless it would be easier for you if we locked him up?"

"Handling Nancy's debates would make Luke a welcome relief."

"Sounds like Nancy could give Miliband a run for his money."

"Speaking of Miliband-" David straightens his collar, presses a kiss to Sam's cheek as she brushes past him into the bathroom. "He's coming."

"Really?"

"Yes." If there's one thing David's learnt-whether it's in politics or facing three irate children-it's to sound firm. He swallows and waits for George's reaction.

"Tell him to be careful with the tea-"

"George, let the tea _go."_

George is already laughing. "It's a joke, Dave. Are his kids-"

"Yep, and Justine. They're lovely boys, you know. Very bright."

"How old are they again?"

"Sam's a couple of months younger than Flo and Daniel's a year older."

"Ah. You know-" And George tails off. "You and Miliband seem to have vacated Portcullis House recently."

David blinks at the abrupt shift in conversation but quickly recovers himself. "Well, I suppose we've just had a lot to discuss" he manages, dragging his mind back to the last time he sat in Portcullis House. Now that he thinks about it, it has to be a while-a couple of weeks, at least.

"Well, you know, he _is_ welcome" says George, a little awkwardly. "We're not going to turn Miliband into the kid who has to eat alone in the corner."

"That's a load off my mind."

George laughs and the awkward moment shatters between them. "Dave-" He swallows. "Look-you know I don't have anything against Miliband?"

David swallows. "I know" he says, voice soft, and it isn't a lie.

George clears his throat before resuming, sounding more like his usual self. "Anyway. I'm sure it will be enjoyable-"

"Well, Boris is dropping in. If conversation fails-"

George is still laughing when David hangs up the phone.

* * *

 

George is there, ten minutes later, with the obligatory "We got lost in the corridor" line, which as David gently points out, he's been using since 2010. Luke mumbles a hello and Liberty beelines straight for Nancy, and the two of them stand whispering together, with an occasional pre-teen eye roll at everyone around them. David watches as Florence and Elwen tug at Luke's sleeve, as the older boy struggles to maintain his aura of teenage aloofness.

It's Frances who says over Sam's shoulder, with a smile "Justine's coming tonight, isn't she?"

David blinks. Then it hits him. "I always forget you two are friends" he remarks, gently lifting Florence up and ruffling Elwen's hair, guiding him back to give Luke a chance to recover his teenage dignity.

It's then that Nancy and Liberty break off their whispered conversation to exchange glances. "Is Ed Miliband coming, Dad?"

David pauses in the act of tidying Florence's hair to say "Yes he is, Nancy. With his family. And it's Mr.Miliband, remember."

"That's not what you call him."

George snorts and Frances gives him what looks suspiciously like an elbow in the ribs. David wonders if there is any political opponent more terrifying than one's own ten-year-old daughter. "Well, it's what _you're_ going to call him" he says firmly, and it's Elwen who turns suddenly and says, a grin almost splitting his face in two, "Can I ask him about the remote control on Friday?"

David knows the moment he sees George's face that while there may be few political opponents more terrifying than one's ten-year-old daughter, one's eight-year-old son may come close.

A retelling of the tale follows, with Nancy and Liberty both chipping in additional details. "I wasn't aware either of you were there" David says reprovingly at one stage and Nancy sighs and says with an arched eyebrow, "But you aren't aware of lots of things, Daddy" which prompts George, the traitor, to cheer, while their mothers try to hide their smiles. Even Luke cracks a grin at the chaos.

Nancy and Libbie both give their fathers pained looks as they try to share their own knowledge and David and George are left facing reassurance from their wives as they catch the tail end of Liberty's dark mutter "It's their age..."

* * *

 

With a buffet already set up in the flat upstairs and the children happy to wander downstairs and out into the gardens with paper plates ("This could be our next tagline" George jokes. _"We Have Paper Plates, Too")_ David grins when his phone vibrates and he reads Miliband's message.

**_En route. Accompanied by children incapable of realising that angry screaming does not lead to achievement._ **

David grins and types back _They take after their father? :)_

**_I'm too busy laughing to send an eloquent reply_ **

_:)_

**_Which you're clearly taking care of for me. Be there in ten minutes._ **

_Looking forward to seeing you_. The moment David hits send, he winces.

The reply comes through a few moments later. **_Likewise._**

David smiles at the phone, feeling an absurd sense of relief as he walks into the kitchen. He can hear the shrieks of the children out of the window, as they engage in a game of tag in the rose gardens, each wrapped up in several layers of clothing.

David tugs at his shirt collar, examining his reflection in the back of a saucepan. He's just wondering if he's chosen the right shirt, when another figure appears behind him and nearly gives him a heart attack.

"Sorry" George says, now filling a glass at the sink. "Staff are more than busy with the buffet and Sam's outside."

"Where's Frances?"

"Trying to persuade Luke to make eye contact with someone. Nancy and Liberty are watching some Zoella person on Libbie's phone. Where's Gita, by the way?"

"Gave her a night off, she's with her husband." David rakes his hand through his hair.

George frowns at him. "Problem?"

David sighs. "Just wondering if I picked the right shirt."

George looks as if David has quietly requested he punch a fish for fun. "Dave" he says, after a few moments apparently spent recovering his power of speech. "Nancy's in the garden-I'm sure if it's fashion sense you-"

"Hilarious" David mutters. "I just mean that-I mean, is it casual-"

George shakes his head. "I can't believe we're actually discussing this, but you said "casual." Like you do every year. And you look casual." Suddenly, he looks concerned. "Miliband's not going to turn up in a _suit_ , is he?"

"No, no" David says distractedly, still gazing at the saucepan. "I was pretty clear-" He stares down at his own shirt. "I just-I don't know."

George raises an eyebrow. "David, if you've suffered a mental breakdown and need us to take over the running of the country, I'm sure Nick won't mind."

"You could just give the job to Nancy" David mutters. "She'd have Lib in your job, _Mean Girls_ and _Frozen_ compulsory viewing-it would be like Disneyfied North Korea by Christmas."

George sniggers. "At least you've still got your sense of humour. You didn't lose that when you started quoting _Frozen_ and dressing up for Miliband-"

David's shoulders jerk as if he's been shot. "What do you mean by-" George eyes him with interest and David feels the blood rise to his cheeks-even though there's obviously no _reason_ for it. "I am not- _dressing up_ for _Ed Miliband."_

George stares at him, before a grin curls his mouth and his eyes widen. "I was joking but-" His eyes widen. _"Are_ you?"

David stares at him. "Have you gone insa-"

George is already laughing and David tries to glare at him. "This is childish, you know."

George is laughing even harder now and David rolls his eyes. "Honestly," he mutters, bending down to lift some more plates. "It's like something one of the kids would come out with. I can picture Nancy saying it now. _"Ooh, Daddy, are you dressing up for your girlfriend, Mr. Miliband-""_

George clears his throat rather ostentatiously and David turns round to see Nancy and Liberty standing behind him, arms folded, eyebrows raised.

David coughs. "Hello, darling."

Libbie merely arches her eyebrow a little higher but Nancy folds her arms even tighter across her chest. "We wanted Doritos."

David swallows. "As many as you want."

Nancy nods as she and Liberty head for the cupboard. David and George exchange a glance as David dares to breathe out.

"By the way-" Nancy says as she passes a packet of Doritos to Libbie-"-You got that wrong. Mr. Miliband would be your boyfriend, not your girlfriend."

George explodes into laughter and David turns round to see Sam and Frances now standing in the doorway.

Sam raises an eyebrow. "I don't even want to know."

David shakes his head. "Oh, for-"

"Be careful." George winks at Nancy and Liberty, who both dart out the door, giggling. "Don't want to spill Dorito dust on the shirt you wore for Miliband."

Frances is already laughing. "That's more than George does for me."

"Thanks a lot!"

David turns to Sam but she's already smirking. "So _that's_ the reason you've been agonizing over your clothing choices."

"Oh, for God's sake-"

"Thirty five minutes he spent choosing what to wear tonight" Sam informs the others.

"Thanks, Sam-"

Frances lets out a whistle. "Sounds like love."

David almost drops the tray of canapes he's holding. "I am-" He's spluttering. "I am not _in love-"_

"Ah, you're blushing." Sam puts her arms around his shoulders.

"I am not blushing-"

"Because you want to go out with Mr. Miliband." David splutters wordlessly at the sight of Elwen calmly reaching for a chocolate bar.

George puts a hand on David's arm. "Well, this could look very progressive for the government, very progressive indeed-"

"Hilarious."

The door buzzes and David knows before he even reaches the hallway who it's going to be.

* * *

 

Ed has hardly taken a step into the flat above 11 Downing Street before Cameron is in front of him, saying "By the way, if anyone asks if you're in love with me when you come in, just ignore them."

Ed blinks. "I'm not sure which one of us I hope you're talking to."

David shakes his head. "Long story."

"Sounds like one" Justine laughs, as she lifts Sam a little higher, even as he makes a disgruntled sound and leans away from his mother.

Ed holds out the bottle of wine, which David takes, looking delighted. "Just a token-"

"Thanks." David presses a kiss to Justine's cheek and Ed feels a surge of _something_ in his chest that makes him glad that David pulls away quickly. A moment later, Ed's lifting Daniel higher, urging "Th-say hello to Mr. Cameron, Daniel-" with the thought still nagging at him at how ridiculous that surge of feeling was-what was he imagining, that  _Cameron_ would be interested in _Justine-_

"Hi, Mr. Cameron" Daniel choruses, wriggling until he's lowered to the floor. David just ruffles his hair. Sam is shyer, ducking away, but peering at David from underneath his dark curls.

David laughs and stands back, holding out his hand. Ed places a hand on Daniel's shoulder, shifting him aside awkwardly, as he holds out his own, and then blinks as David's hand heads higher than he's expecting. Ed swallows as David pats his shoulder. "Glad you came" and David's voice is a little lower now, so that just Ed and he can hear as he says "Even if you'll be planning where to hang the curtains."

Ed laughs, lets his hand brush David's sleeve. "It's nithe to see you facing facts, Cameron."

David laughs, the sound low in his chest, and Ed takes him in. David's wearing a light blue shirt and Ed swallows-he's only seen Cameron out of shirt and tie a few times and as he drags his gaze back up the thought hits him that Cameron's eyes are bluer than he's noticed before.

"Justine!" Frances appears in the doorway as David guides them down the corridor and into the kitchen, and Justine really beams for the first time Ed can remember that evening. George steps forward to greet them all, grinning at Ed. "Nice to see you, Miliband."

"Daniel and th-Sam" Ed says, indicating both of his sons, before David chips in to his wife, who's ruffling each of the boys' hair, "Sam and Florence are almost the same age."

On cue, Florence runs into the kitchen, pouting. "Mummy, I can't find _Larry_ -"

"Oh, darling, it's OK-" Samantha's already lifting her. "Larry's upstairs, sweetheart, we didn't want him to be scared of the fireworks."

"Ignore Luke" George advises her, already approaching the window and scanning the garden for his son. "He's a teenager. Which means he's forgotten that we once watched him walk around the garden in his mum's high heels."

"Well, they all do that when they're little."

"That would be comforting if it wasn't last week." George winks at Florence, who's already giggling. "Joke."

David presses a kiss to Florence's head as Samantha hands first Justine, then Ed, glasses of wine-Ed knows Justine won't drink much of it. Daniel's already toddling after Elwen, and Florence gives them an anguished look, wailing "You won't let me _play-"_

 In Justine's arms, Sam is also struggling.

"Daniel didn't _wait"_ he says, the last word ripped a little higher in almost-four-year-old anguish. Ed tenses, scrabbling for any thought of what he's supposed to do if one of the children throws a tantrum.

"Sam-"he warns but Justine is already lowering him to the floor. Ed feels a pang, but then notices Samantha gently guiding Florence's attention towards him, taking in her puckered little lip.

"Flo" Samantha says gently. "This is Sam. He's four, like you."

Florence stares at Sam for a long moment before she reaches out and touches his hand gently. "My name _Florence"_ she says, the threat of tears now gone from her voice.

Sam holds up his other hand. "I _nearly_ four" he says and Florence nods. "I  _four"_ she says.

David bends down to look at her. "Do you want to look after Sam, Flo?"

Florence stares at her father and Ed smiles awkwardly as she fixes her big blue-eyed gaze on him for a moment. "Yes" she says, after a few moments of careful deliberation and she takes Sam's hand.

Samantha ruffles both of their hair.  Florence stares at Sam for a moment before she leans into Sam and, in a stage whisper that carries round the whole room, says into his ear "Sam, don't tell anybody but my daddy's the Prime Minister."

There's a ripple of laughter but Sam stares at her solemnly for a moment. The he leans forward and says, in an even louder whisper, "My daddy _wants_ to be Prime Min-ster."

George almost collapses in laughter. Ed lets his own smile broaden as his eyes meet David's, whose face is wreathed in laughter as the two children gaze solemnly round at the adults.

"They're _grown-ups"_ Florence informs Sam calmly. "Come on, I'll show you where you can _hide."_

Ignoring the renewed laughter, Florence tugs Sam by the hand towards the stairs that lead down to the back gardens.

David turns to Ed. "My daughters could see me out of a job."

Ed laughs. "Is that an admission, Cameron?"

"Would I tell you if it was?" But David's grinning as the women detach into a smaller group and Nick and George join David and Ed. Ed chances another snatched look at him and notices David's eyes lingering on his shirt.

Ed glances down at it quickly. It's a dark blue that Rachel had picked out for him for a photo shoot at home-Ed was just happy that it fit and it was clean. (He'd have happily applied this logic to most of his clothing.)

He glances up to see David hastily averting his gaze, before his eyes slowly travel back to Ed's.

"I was just-" David swallows and busies himself lifting a carton of mango juice. "Um-your shirt-it's-um-very nice-"

Ed blinks at him but before the conversation can go any further, they're interrupted by two young girls crashing through the door.

Ed's gaze falls on the two young girls. They're huddled together, whispering with the occasional muffled giggle, and they're both staring at him. Ed smiles uncertainly back at them. This makes the darker-haired one giggle even more.

David glances at them, apparently unperturbed by the giggling. "Oh-Ed, this is my daughter, Nancy" he says, indicating the other girl-the darker-haired one is now helpless with laughter. George steps forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. "And this is mine" he says, with a chuckle and a ruffle of the girl's hair, which immediately makes her squirm and pull away with a loud _"Da-ad."_ George rolls his eyes. "This is Libbie. Liberty."

Liberty's blushing as she replies "Hi" but Nancy is the one who enquires in a louder voice "Are we allowed to call you Ed or Mr.Miliband?"

 "Nancy, I _warned_ you-"

Nancy shrugs. "You always say that people should ask the difficult questions."

Ed looks at David with a grin. "You can call me Ed" he says to Nancy, who nods, looking somewhat mollified. "Hello, Mr Ed Miliband." She holds out her hand and Ed takes it slightly awkwardly. "Nithe to meet you, Nanthy."

Nancy's expression doesn't change but when their hands fall apart, she stares at him for a long moment. She isn't smiling, though. Instead, there's something in her expression that's more curious.

David meets Ed's eyes and the two stare at one another for a moment, a smirk playing at David's lips before he turns to ask "Nancy, can you check on Flo and Sam?"

"We already did!" This is called from across the kitchen, the two girls already retreating to the door, heading back to the gardens.

George has turned to speak to his wife as Cameron's eyes roam back to Ed's and he raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps the shirt was too nice, Miliband."

Ed's face is too hot for comfort and Cameron grins. "Charming George's daughter, apparently-"

Ed swallows. "You think I'm charming, Cameron?"

The words hang in the air between them and Ed feels his cheeks grow warmer, as he realises just how the words sound.

Cameron smiles and Ed hears himself begin to stutter. "I-I mean-I-I don't mean-I mean,um, I-I-"

Cameron's grinning now. "I know you have trouble with inferring meaning, Miliband-" The peace could only have lasted so long. "But I'd have thought what I said was obvious."

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it again. It's at that moment that he looks around the kitchen and becomes all too aware of the fact that somehow, in the course of their exchange, the rest of the adults have vacated the kitchen and he has somehow ended up alone with Cameron.

Cameron seems to realise at the same moment and they both point to the door simultaneously. "Shall we-"

Ed follows him and tells himself that Cameron can't go five minutes without trying to demonstrate his wit. And that the only reason his cheeks are burning is because it's warm for November.

* * *

 

Forty five minutes later, with adults and children alike having helped themselves to the buffet, Frances and Justine are catching up, filling Sam in on the conversation. Liberty and Nancy, meanwhile, are standing in a small huddle across the garden. Nancy keeps sneaking glances at the adults, as does Liberty, though with slightly different expressions.

George nudges Ed in the ribs. "My daughter keeps looking at you."

Ed splutters, blushing. George snorts.

"Well, ever since Boris showed up-" David claps Boris on the shoulder, grinning when the blond-haired man turns with a grin and a raised eyebrow. "Luke's been looking a little more animated."

"Well-" Boris bites into a sausage roll. "I sincerely hope not by myself."

"I doubt it" George mutters and Boris looks at him, askance. He points the sausage roll like a weapon. "I'd avenge my besmirched name but I am currently occupied partaking in culinary delights."

David almost doubles over laughing. Ed watches him, feeling a smile twitch at his own lips at the way David _-Cameron_ -laughs. Cameron straightens up, apparently slowly regaining the ability to speak and manages to blurt out "I meant Cassia."

Boris blinks. "Cassia? My _daughter_ Cassia?"

Cameron frowns. "I don't exactly know many Cassias.

"Well, with all the Tories here, you can see how he'd make the mistake."

Cameron swats his arm and Ed feels an odd jump in his stomach.

"Maybe it's just something to do with our genes" Cameron says, his voice lower now so just Ed can hear. "Your Sam seems to love my daughter."

Ed glances across the garden at Sam, who is currently beaming at Florence from under his messy dark curls, while she claps their hands together, her voice high and fluting, childish laughter bursting through the gardens.

Cameron nudges him. "Not going to warn your son off a Tory girl?"

Ed raises an eyebrow. "Tory girl? Already planning for the next Tory leader, Cameron?"

Cameron gives him a quick wink, which sends a sharp jolt of something through Ed's chest. "Nurture them young."

"Oh, shut up" says Ed unthinkingly but any urge to apologize vanishes when Cameron dissolves into laughter.

Cameron's laughter's quiets and Ed becomes aware that the other man's gaze is resting on him. He turns round and both of them step back at the same moment as he realises they've somehow moved so close to one another that his arm's brushing Cameron's.

"Wha-" he starts to say but is cut off by Cameron indicating the house with a quick jerk of the head and saying "Come inside a moment?"

It's a question rather than a command which Ed tells himself is what throws him off and not the fact that Cameron-rather awkwardly-touches his elbow as he indicates the building. Either way, somehow he ends up moving without thinking about it, and before he knows what's happening, he's following Cameron back into Downing Street.

It's Cameron who turns and says with something that could almost be a wink "Not measuring up the curtains yet, are you, Miliband?"

Ed rolls his eyes. "Really, Cameron?"

Cameron's hand brushes his arm. "Joking." His eyes linger on Ed's for a moment and Ed suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. He feels the colour rise in his cheeks and immediately fixes his gaze on one of the portraits on the walls, feeling the weight of Cameron's gaze on him.

When Cameron leads him into one of the living rooms, Ed's gaze falls on the bookshelves. He remembers being a schoolboy, the feeling of relief that would wash over him whenever he entered the school library, the rows and rows of tomes laid out in front of him, waiting to be explored.

Cameron follows his gaze and a small smile twitches at his mouth at Ed's rapt gaze. "Wish my children looked like that when it's time to do their reading homework" he remarks, pulling out one of the volumes. "Though to be fair, they are quite keen, usually."

Ed approaches the shelves almost without thinking, finger running along the spine of one of the books. He can feel Cameron watching him but his eyes are taken up with the titles. There're novels, biographies, politics-even cookbooks.

"This is-" He realises the stupidity of the remark, even as he says it. " A lot of books" he finishes, feeling like an idiot, but Cameron's eyes drift to his with a small smile. Ed stares at them and then Cameron steps up beside him, gently guiding Ed's attention to a book he's holding.

"Oh-I've read this-" Ed takes it carefully, worried about damaging it even slightly. "Iain Macleod?"

Cameron nods, and lets his sleeve brush Ed's. "Here, open it" he says, voice suddenly a lot quieter. Ed does, careful to only let his fingers brush the pages (he and Cameron might not agree often, but he's hardly going to destroy his possessions.)

Ed blinks at the author's signature on the front page, and then lifts his eyes to Cameron's. "You got it signed?"

Cameron shrugs. "A friend did it."

Ed smirks. "Trying to make me jealous, Cameron?"

He expects a vehement denial but Cameron just smirks in a way that means Ed can't help grinning back. "I am glad you came tonight" Cameron tells him quietly. "I-I was a little worried you wouldn't." He clears his throat a little too loudly, turns back to the bookshelves, and Ed stares at him, at the colour creeping up Cameron's cheeks.

"I thaid I'd come" he says quietly, and his voice is far softer than he expected. "Don't trust me, Cameron?"

The words are light but there's an edge of sadness to them, and Cameron turns to him with a small smile. "Do you really want me to answer that, Miliband?"

Ed smiles at him and then Cameron's hand brushes his elbow and he says, voice lower "I did trust your word on tonight, though. I suppose-" Cameron hesitates for a moment and then shakes his head. "Doesn't matter" he says and Ed feels an irrational surge of disappointment that he can't shake. He supposes he rarely sees this side of Cameron-the vulnerable, fallible side-and there's a part of him that's already missing it, wanting to see it again.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Cameron stares up at the ceiling, absent-mindedly running his finger over the spine of a book. "I mean, to think that-" He laughs suddenly. "I still forget, sometimes-" He replaces a book carefully, runs his hands through his hair. "And I've been here for five years. But sometimes, it just hits you, you know-I mean, how many people have lived here. It's-" Another laugh, a little thinner this time. "A little intimidating, to be honest with you."

Ed stares at him and then takes a step closer to him. "Th-spare a thought for me" he says, keeping his tone light. "If I ever move in here, it'll be after you and then in addition to all the previous leaders, I'll have the thought of you haunting the place."

Cameron's eyebrow arches. "I don't plan to be dead, Miliband."

"You'd probably find a way to haunt the place without death-"

"Thanks for the implication I belong here so deeply." Cameron gives him that stupid, Etonian, smug grin-that stupid, Etonian, smug grin that Ed always ends up smiling at. Which is incredibly annoying, especially right now.

But he says "Thanks for showing me the book" and then carefully passes it back to Cameron. Cameron shoots him a curious look and Ed says "I-" He's already regretting starting the sentence but he rushes it out, anyway. "I-suppose I'm always a little-nervous when I'm holding people's things. I juth-just-um-"

He can't finish the sentence but Cameron nods as if he understands. "It can be a bit of a minefield. Like the time Flo nearly pulled off the Queen's brooch as a baby. Thought we might be about to be sent to the Tower for a few moments there."

Ed's grinning but Cameron shakes his head. "Sorry" he says, voice a lot quieter than usual. "I-seem to keep bringing the conversation back to me."

Ed smirks, more easily this time. "That'th hardly new, Cameron."

Cameron gives him a grin and a touch on the arm-a gentle, remonstrating pat that for some reason makes Ed bite his lip, quickly ducking his gaze to avoid Cameron's eyes.

"Thank you" he says, and the room suddenly seems a little warmer. "For tonight."

Cameron pulls at a button. "It's fine" he says, that clipped, Eton edge to the words back in his voice. "I wanted you here."

Ed's eyes drift to Cameron's and after a few moments, Cameron gives him a small, almost shy smile that rather belies the tone. Ed chews at his lip but can't help but smile back.

* * *

 

They're smiling when they step into the garden and are almost immediately cornered by their wives. Ed blinks, wondering if some unspeakable tragedy has occurred, but judging by the smiles he sees wherever he looks, that isn't the case.

"What-" he starts, but it's Samantha who says, clearly trying to hide a grin, "Apparently, our kids have something to tell you."

Ed blinks at the sight of Sam and Florence, both regarding him and Cameron with expressions of utmost solemnity. Boris is standing between Samantha and Justine, biting his lip in an apparent attempt to stifle laughter. Liberty and Luke appear to be engaged in a game on one of their phones while Elwen and Daniel are chasing one another around. Nancy, however, is nowhere to be seen.

"Dad" Sam says solemnly. "Me and Flo-ence are enraged."

Ed blinks. "What-" he begins but his words are drowned out in the sudden gale of laughter that erupts.

"No, no, honey-" Samantha laughs. "It's en-gaged, not enraged. Engaged."

Sam looks up at his father, as the laughter dies down and sounds the word out carefully. "En-ga-ged."

There's a long moment of silence, during which Ed does his best to wipe any hint of a grin off his face. "I see" he says, while next to him, David's shoulders shake as he bites his lip and Ed digs him in the ribs.  "Whose idea was that then?"

Florence beams happily up at her father. _"Mine,_ Daddy-it means you go to get married and there's a big wedding _dress-"_

David nods. "Well-" There's a pause during which David glances down at his shoes, squeezing his lips tightly together, before looking once again at his daughter. "Did you ask Sam to marry you?" Ed's pleased to see that it's not just him struggling to keep his composure. 

Florence, merrily oblivious, shakes her head. "No" she announces proudly. "I _told_ Sam to ask me."

"I see" David says, while Sam reaches one hand up to Ed who reaches out and takes it while his son carefully lifts Florence's hand too.

" _Ring"_ Sam informs them solemnly and Ed blinks at them. "A ring?"

Florence, smiling, holds out her hand. Adorning her ring finger, nestled just over her knuckle, is a small red-and-white Haribo ring.

"I see" says Ed as Florence proudly turns her hand this way and that until they've admired the ring from every angle. "Well-that certainly is a lovely ring."

"Exquisite" David remarks, having recovered himself a little. "It looks lovely, darling."

Florence beams. Sam smiles proudly at his father.

"Well-" Samantha plants a kiss in her daughter's hair. "Since I don't think the two of you will be getting married _just_ yet, would you like to see the fireworks?"

This triggers a round of excited squeals.

Ed swallows as Samantha and the others lead the children off and turns to David who, now that they are safely out of earshot, has apparently felt it safe enough to give full vent to his humour.

"Well-" He can't help but smirk as David wipes his eyes. "Apparently, they can conquer a class divide."

"A class divide?" Now, David's laughing even harder. _"A class divide?"_

"Oh, you know what I-"

"We do the _same job,_ Miliband-"

"Actually, Cameron, I think you'll find there's quite a difference between leading the opposition and leading the _country-"_

"Oh, for goodness' sake-"

The argument goes back and forth for a while until Florence comes running up  with her arms up and Sam pops her head in between them with the cautionary announcement "I don't think our children will be thrilled with their in-laws fighting" at exactly the same moment Osborne pops up and does a double-take at the word "in-laws."

"Either the marriage age has lowered considerably" he says mildly, taking a sip of his drink. "Or I've been gone a lot longer than I thought."

Cameron, still laughing, begins to launch into an explanation for his friend, with Florence chipping in with her own details. Even though Cameron's eyes meet Osborne's every few moments, they stray over and over again to his daughter's face and there's a look there of such tenderness that Ed can't help but keep watching them, drinking in that look on Cameron the way he holds his daughter so gently, the way he stares at her like there will never be anything in the world more important than the child he's holding right now. Ed stares at that look, the blue eyes full of that tenderness, like a dream.

Ed's attention is drawn away from Cameron when he catches sight of another gaze focused on him. Osborne is watching him watch Cameron with his head tilted to one side and a rather peculiar expression. He doesn't look angry or bemused; instead, there's just a narrowing to the eyes, a strangeness in the way he's taking them both in, his eyes flickering between Ed and Cameron. Ed frowns but the second their gazes meet, Osborne drags his back to Cameron so quickly that Ed's left wondering if the moment occurred at all.

* * *

 Being Prime Minister exempts you from a lot of daily tasks but setting off fireworks is not one of them.

David is right in the middle of setting down a particularly bright-looking rocket-the first few fireworks have temporarily quietened the children and now the others face the task of occupying them until the next batch are readied. Justine is trying to coax a stubborn Daniel into putting on mittens, holding him a little away from her as though not quite sure what to do with him. Boris meanwhile is requesting a note of Florence's presence from Sam-"I have been informed by your youngest, Samantha, that one Right Honourable George Osborne owes her the sum of one Yorkie bar and it is my solemn duty as the Mayor of London to ensure that the Chancellor pays his debts"-and Luke appears to be having a lecture delivered to him by Frances on his habitual usage of his mobile phone. David shakes his head and then frowns as his eyes land on Nancy and Liberty.  Nancy is staring off into space, absent-mindedly chewing at her nails. David frowns worriedly at his daughter.

"This should be interesting." David glances up to see George standing over him. He holds up a firework to his friend and smiles. "Any help?"

George smirks and ducks down to help him. David takes the opportunity to rest his eyes on Miliband, who seems to be about to engage in some sort of race with Elwen, who seems to be doing the chattering for both of them. David hears the laughter break from his own throat at the sight of Miliband's arms windmilling wildly as he almost falls down, much to the shrieking delight of David's own son.

"What?" George follows his gaze and grins at the sight of Miliband, lips twitching in a rueful grin, as he awkwardly pats Elwen's shoulder before almost losing his balance again. David can't stop the grin that spreads over his own mouth, as he takes in the sight of Miliband, dark eyes bright, cheeks clearly flushed even in the dark. David can't help staring at him, taking in the rather odd but admittedly quite endearing sight.

George taps David's shoulder and he jumps a little. "Miliband seems to be having fun" George remarks, and with another glance over at Miliband and Nick, David has to admit that that seems to be the case. "Pity that Michael and William couldn't make it, though."

George shrugs. "It's Bonfire Night-people make plans." David nods, a little distracted. He grins at the sight of Miliband ruffling Elwen's hair a little awkwardly.

George glances past Miliband, however, to let his eyes rest on his and David's daughters, one of whom is smiling, the other's gaze still lost in space. David follows his eyes and feels the smile slide off his face like butter.

"Is it just me-" He tugs at George's sleeve and nods surreptitiously across the garden at their daughters. "Or does Nancy look less than thrilled with Bonfire Night?"

George squints in the same direction. "Now that you mention it, she does look a bit down-in-the mouth." He frowns. "Godfathers notice these things."

"After actual father points it out to him, yes."

The two exchange a quick grin before David sighs. "Perhaps I should have a talk with her."

George snorts. "Good luck with that. The other day, I asked Liberty how school went and she almost bit my head off. I thought Frances was going to be cleaning up the feathers for days afterwards."

David smirks and George shakes his head. "Later on, she came up, gave me a hug, then asked me for £25."

David laughs. "Is that all?"

George shakes his head, squinting pensively at his daughter. "It's not a laughing matter. Right after I told her not on your life, she told me "I thought you were supposed to be the Chancellor of the Exchequer?" I said "Yes, and this is your budget cut.""

"I suppose that answer thrilled her."

"I'm surprised you didn't hear. We had a total of _four-"_ George holds up four fingers as if David might not be sure of the number. "Doors slammed shut. In rapid succession."

David laughs again. "She and Nancy must compare notes." He glances again at his daughter and feels his smile fade. "Maybe I'll get Sam to have a word."

"Which one, your wife or your son-in-law?"

David elbows him as they stand up, calling the others over to watch the firework display. David is about to head over to his elder daughter to inquire-in a hopefully non-Phil Dunphy way-about her wellbeing but he's ambushed as he gets to his feet by his younger one, accompanied by her fiance, each holding a sparkler proudly, Samantha's watchful eyes on them, hands ready to snatch the sparklers back at the hint of any danger.

"Daddy, watch me and Sam write our names" Florence announces and David holds her carefully by the shoulders, one hand moving to steady Sam as the two children lift their sparklers. He feels something brush his own shoulder and then Miliband is standing next to him, his own hands resting almost nervously on his son's shoulders, with one briefly landing on Florence's. For a second, they exchange smiles, both holding their children tightly, as Florence and Sam raise their sparklers into the air, each writing the other's name in careful golden sparks spitting out against the darkness.

* * *

 

Several fireworks later, Ed retreats upstairs into the Downing Street flat for a few minutes-he's exhausted from deliberately losing races to small boys who seem to have boundless amounts of energy.

That's the first reason. The second is that outside, he can't see his younger son anywhere.

When he'd pointed this out to Cameron, Cameron had frowned, placing a hand on his arm. "Do you want me to get the aides looking for him?" Even in the midst of struggling to tamp down on the slowly rising panic, Ed hadn't been able to help noticing that Cameron's eyes had been darting around the gardens as rapidly as his own. One arm had already been out, about to summon an aide, and Ed had been about to roll his eyes at this typically Cameron-ish gesture, before he caught a glimpse of the worry in Cameron's eyes and felt a pang of guilt. Cameron was just trying to help after all, and maybe this was the best way he knew how.

"I'm sure he's fine" he'd managed, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. "How about I have a look for him and if he hasn't turned up in a few minutes, I'll let you know?"

Cameron had agreed, with concern still creasing his brow, and Ed had turned back to the search for his younger son. Despite the fact he was scanning around himself frantically for a glimpse of his son's big, dark eyes, he'd had to shake his head, grinning, at Cameron's typically Cameron-esque-if rather endearing on this occasion-gesture of concern.

"Oh, and if he's not out here" Cameron had called over his shoulder. "Feel free to check inside."

That remark and the absence of any sign of Sam in the gardens is the reason Ed is currently wandering the living quarters of 10 Downing Street.

He has to admit, it sounds the sort of terrible excuse that would probably get someone arrested.

But now, he's found himself standing at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the Camerons' bedrooms, listening to the very definite sound of children's laughter coming from above.

He dithers for a moment, hovering at the bottom of the stairs before he decides to throw caution to the winds-he can already hear Cameron's voice in his head _Does that usually involve drastic measures for you, Miliband? Loosening your tie, that sort of thing? -_ and he heads up the stairs, telling the voice to just shut up.

It's not difficult to follow the sound of children's voices down the landing and Ed passes a bunch of doors which are closed. Through one, he catches the glimpse of a double bed, which he hastily averts his eyes from. He knows it's a childish impulse-he's sat through a horror film with Cameron, after all-but something about imagining Cameron- _lying_ _in bed_ has an element of strangeness to it and he feels the heat creeping into his cheeks. He shakes his head as he follows the sound of the children's voices.

He recognizes his son's the moment he reaches the door that stands half-open. "What's that?"

The next voice is Florence's, happily authoritative. " _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets._ Daddy and Nancy read it to me and Elwen."

Ed, holding back his grin, steps into the room as Sam, nodding earnestly, tells her "My daddy tells Booboo Heehee stories but he not here lots."

Ed's grin disappears as he feels a pang in his chest.

 "Daddy-" Sam, catching sight of him, grabs Ed's hand and tugs him into the room, pointing at the walls. "Look-Florence's _room-"_

"I can see." Ed smiles at Florence, who has her arms folded and is looking at him with the expression of someone who is trying to make up her mind about something. "You can come in" she says, after a long moment. "But the only reason you don't have to know _password_ is 'cos you're _Sam's_ daddy."

She yawns suddenly and rubs her hands across her eyes. Sam is rubbing his eyes, too, and then he murmurs "Daddy, tell Florence about Booboo and Heehee."

Ed stares at his son for a moment, trying to remember the last time he told him a story.

"OK" he says, glancing from one child to the other. "I'll tell you and Florence a Booboo and Heehee story if you both have a lie down."

He's expecting a storm of protest from his son but maybe he's forgotten the novelty of being in someone else's bedroom. Both children scramble onto Florence's bed and nestle up against the pillows, two pairs of wide eyes fixed on him.

Ed clears his throat as the two children tuck themselves under the covers. "Booboo and Heehee live on the moors" he tells Florence, who nestles her head against Sam's as she listens. "They have to look after each other and-"

"They have baa-language" Sam tells her and Ed nods. "That's right."

Sam almost bounces as he sits upright, eyes bright. "Because they're _sheep!"_ he almost shouts and Ed shushes him gently. Florence is glancing solemnly from one side to the other and then suddenly she stares at Ed. "Mr. Miliband?"

Ed stares at her. "Yes, Florence?"

Florence tilts her head to the side. "Can sheep go to Hogwarts?"

Ed blinks but before he can respond, Sam's bouncing again. "Yes, Daddy, Daddy, Booboo and Heehee go _Hogwarts."_

Ed swallows, trying desperately to recall all the details of the Harry Potter books that he knows. He has read them, knows his sons have watched a couple of the films-he thinks Zia might read them the books at some point.

"OK" he says and Florence tugs at his sleeve. "Would Booboo and Heehee be _allowe_ d to go to Hogwarts?" she asks and Sam glances at his father, worried.

Ed nods. "Oh, I'm sure Mr. Dum-"

 _"Dum-dore_ , Daddy" Sam chips in and Ed nods. "Of course. Mr. Dumbledore-"

 _"Professor_ Dumbledore" Florence corrects him and Ed nods again. "Of course. Professor Dumbledore would let them stay, I'm sure."

"But what if they're not magic?" Sam asks worriedly. Ed wracks his brains for a way to convince his three-year-old son that sheep can be magical.

"Maybe they can stay in the grounds with Hagrid" Florence says, coming unwittingly to his rescue, and Ed nods, relieved, trying to remember who Hagrid is.

"Daddy, Daddy-" Sam lowers his voice to a whisper at the sight of his father shushing him. _"Hagrid look after Booboo Heehee!"_

Ed draws in a deep breath, takes in the shining eyes of the children in front of him. "OK," he says, smoothing his son's hair, who blinks at the unusual gesture, and then Florence's too. "On the 1st of September, Booboo and Heehee were driven to King's Cross Station to board the sheep carriage of the Hogwarts Express..."

* * *

 

Halfway through a recitation of Booboo and Heehee's impressions of Hagrid's cabin, which he's googled on his phone, Ed glances up to find that the bedtime story has done the trick-both children are fast asleep, and Ed smiles at the sight of Florence's head tucked against Sam's. Carefully, he pulls the bedclothes up over them both, patting them nervously.

A voice low, just above a whisper, comes from the doorway. "You found them, then?"

Ed turns to see Cameron standing in the doorway, an amused smile dimpling his cheeks. He moves into the room quietly, joining Ed as he stares down at the two children.

"I did say I'd kill any boy I found in bed with my daughter" Cameron whispers and Ed gives him a grin, as Cameron reaches out to smooth Sam's hair back from his forehead.

"No line about broken promises?" Cameron whispers and Ed rolls his eyes. "Murdering my son would hardly be a good example of hospitality, Cameron."

Cameron returns the grin. "Which I'm sure you would never fail to remind me of."

Ed smiles back before he, very cautiously, reaches out and pets Florence's hair. She doesn't stir in her sleep. "I hope it'th all right" he says, once he's upright again, further from the children's hearing range. "But they both looked tired and they wanted a story."

Cameron chuckles. "Florence ask for someone or something goes to Hogwarts?"

Ed smiles, carefully bending and tucking the covers under Sam's chin, the way his son likes. "Two th-sheep."

Cameron snorts with laughter and Ed hastily shushes him before they both back away from the bed, shoulders shaking as they struggle not to disturb the two sleeping children.

Ed tries to glare at him once they're safely near the door. "It'th not entirely improbable-"

Cameron almost convulses with silent laughter, his hand slapped over his mouth and Ed can't help the giggle that escapes from his own mouth. The look Cameron gives him is enough to make it worse and as the laughter dies away, he realises Cameron's still watching him, head tilted, with an expression that Ed can't quite read. He stares back and the moment stretches out between them. David's eyes soften for a second but the look's gone before Ed can catch it.

"Thank you" David says quietly and his hand hovers next to Ed's arm as if about to touch his elbow but then thinking better of it. "For putting them to bed."

Ed shrugs. "It wasn't any trouble."

David smiles and stares at their two children, curled up together. "They're sweet when they sleep, aren't they? Only time we get any peace. That little gift you got Florence" he murmurs suddenly. "After Sam was born and we bought those gifts and you got her the little mobile-the one with the song. We used to play that whenever she wouldn't sleep and she'd go right off."

Ed swallows, suddenly aware of how close they are. He's never noticed just how blue David's eyes are before. "That hat you th-sent Sam" he says, keeping his voice low. "We still have it-he calls it his Prime Minister hat."

David laughs. "Don't tell me he's already planning a career in politics."

"I've already told him I wouldn't advise it." Ed pushes his hands into his pockets. "Particularly againtht his brother."

He doesn't know where the words come from-all he knows is that suddenly they're out there, heavy with something that sounds like longing and tastes like bitterness. David glances at him sharply and he swallows hard, keeping his eyes on the bed so that when David's hand brushes his arm, it takes him by surprise.

Ed opens his mouth but as he does so, there's a shuffling sound in the doorway and both of them turn at once, stepping back from one another as the shuffling becomes the creaking of a floorboard. At the same moment, Florence stirs in her sleep and Ed meets David's eyes and knows that for once, they're both thinking the same thing.

"I'll check-" David indicates his daughter at the same moment that Ed says "I'll check-" and points to the door.

David smiles then and Ed finds himself returning it. They stand there together for an awkward, drawn-out second and then both of them move at once to their respective tasks. David's hand brushes Ed's arm as they pass, a fleeting squeeze of the elbow so brief that Ed could almost believe he'd imagined it.

When he pushes the door open, he almost falls over a small, huddled figure crouched outside on the carpet. Glancing down, he realises with a jolt that he has actually tripped over a Nancy. A Nancy Cameron.

A Nancy Cameron who is staring up at him with an expression that is completely devoid of the giggling that had infused it earlier, when she was whispering with Liberty.

"Hello, Nanthy." Ed swallows and glances back at the door where he can vaguely hear Cameron giving a whispered assurance to his daughter-something about sheep, souls and Dementors.

Nancy just stares at him, blinking balefully, before she wraps her arms tighter around her knees and huddles further into the wall. Ed considers for a moment, torn between fetching Cameron and not wishing to disturb two sleeping children, so, after a moment, he sinks down next to Nancy, awkwardly wrapping his own arms around his legs. Nancy glances at him briefly, then looks away, resting her chin on her knees.

"Um-" Ed wonders vaguely what universe children drift to once they hit the pre-teen years and whether or not they travel with a one-way ticket.

He glances at Nancy and finds her staring at him. She doesn't look away when he catches her-she just stares back. Something in the tilt of the head, the stubborn steadiness of her gaze, is rather strongly reminiscent of her father.

"So-" Ed's already wondering quite how he's supposed to manage this. "Um-have you enjoyed the night?"

Nancy gives him a look that suggests he's an idiot. Ed shrugs.

Nancy shrugs, nestling her chin on her knees and Ed sighs. Debating with fully grown politicians, he'd take any day, over trying to get coherent answers out of a ten-year-old.

"I think your dad'th a little worried about you" he says and Nancy blinks. Ed swallows, hoping he hasn't just made a monumental mistake. "He-well, he-" He's hardly failed to notice Cameron's worried gaze straying continually to his daughter throughout the evening. "He-well, he-maybe he wonderth why you've been so quiet?"

Nancy draws in a deep breath and for a moment Ed thinks she's just going to ignore him. Or maybe he's got it all wrong. Maybe quiet is just some childrens' natural state.

Then, she says quickly and quietly "Don't tell Daddy."

Ed stares at her. "Don't tell Daddy what?"

Nancy rubs at her eyes. "That I'm sad" she says very quietly.

Ed stares at her before awkwardly letting his hand rest on her shoulder. "But-Nanthy, your daddy will want to know if you're sad. So he can help-"

Nancy shakes her head. "No. You can't tell him." She glares at him. "Or I won't tell you anything."

Ed reflects grimly that Nancy already seems to be honing a political strategy.

He sighs. "Why are you sad?" he says, after several moments of morose silence from the little girl.

Nancy shrugs and tugs her hair around her finger. Something in her eyes is so lost that Ed feels something wrench hard in his chest and awkwardly, he lets his arm slide around her shoulder, hand rubbing her back soothingly. With the other, he ruffles her hair awkwardly.

Nancy doesn't seem to mind. Instead, she leans against his arm and then says "Mr Ed Miliband?"

"You can call me Ed, Nancy, but what-"

"Do you have a brother?"

The words hang in the air between them. Ed keeps his voice exactly the same level, exactly the same tone. "Yes, I do."

"Does he live a long way away?"

Ed nods. "Yes, he does. He lives in America."

"Where?"

"New York."

"Do you miss him?"

Ed swallows. Nancy is staring up at him, wide-eyed, expression completely devoid of guile.

Ed meets her eyes. "Yes, I do."

Nancy nods and nestles into Ed's arm. "Even-even if-"

Ed waits, but Nancy trails off and after a few moments, the question dissolves in the silence between them.

Nancy yawns and nestles her head against Ed's arm as if she does this every day. "Ed Miliband"?"

"Yeth, Nancy?"

"I'm tired" she says, and with that, she closes her eyes.

Ed is just resigning himself to the fact that David Cameron's daughter might spend the night asleep on his shoulder, when suddenly, her little voice whispers again. "Ed Miliband?"

"Yes, Nancy?"

"Liberty says you have soulful eyes. Don't know why."

Ed feels the blood rise to his cheeks. "Oh. Um. Tell Libbie-thank you very much for that."

There's no reply and when Ed glances at Nancy a moment later, he sees that her eyes have fallen shut and her breathing is deeper, more even. He's been sitting there with her for several moments when the door opens and he almost falls backwards into the room. He saves himself at the last minute, turning to see Cameron regarding them both with an arched eyebrow and an amused smirk. "I'm beginning to think you missed your true calling as a nanny, Miliband."

Ed raises his own eyebrow. "I get enough practice babysitting in our meetings, Cameron."

Cameron sighs. "Really, Miliband?" But his face softens as he glances down at his sleeping daughter and says quietly "At least she looks a little more cheerful now."

Ed carefully moves his arm out from under her shoulders as David gently lifts her. Her head rests on her father's shoulder, eyelids fluttering peacefully as she dreams. Ed chews his lip, thinking of her words to him only a few moments before about his brother. He wonders what else she wanted to ask.

He watches Cameron for a few moments, opens his mouth. He could tell him right now.

But then he looks at Cameron, the way he's staring at his daughter, taking her in, the way he gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He swallows and reminds himself that there are guests downstairs and that he doesn't know what's wrong with Nancy and maybe she was just having one bad night-

Ed knows it's a weak excuse but he lets himself accept it.

And so he watches as Cameron gently carries his daughter to her own room, with a smile at Ed over his shoulder.

* * *

 

It's when they're leaving, with a sleeping Sam lying awkwardly over Justine's shoulders-"I know how he feels" Cameron had whispered, passing him over, "I've got a flight to Helsinki tomorrow morning"-that Ed steps closer to Cameron. "Thank you" he says quietly and Cameron blinks. "I think I should be thanking you-"

Ed shakes his head. "Not just for having uth-I mean-for-you know-upstairs-and-just-being-"

Cameron's shaking his head but there's a smile playing about his mouth. "Thanks for helping the way you did with the kids."

Ed doesn't hear that often.

Ed smiles and then Cameron takes his hand-firmly, the way he has many times before.

"Thank you" he says and his fingers squeeze Ed's for just a moment.

Ed bites his lip. "You're welcome." For some reason, the words feel thick in his mouth. A grin flickers at the corner of David's and he inclines his head so that he and Ed are almost touching. "And don't worry, Miliband. I know you'll bring up this little incident of thanks at Prime Minister's Questions."

Ed raises an eyebrow. "Cameron, you know it'th not a good sign if you're _already_ planning excuses."

Cameron laughs and his hand lingers on Ed's arm for just a moment. As they turn to the door, Cameron now bidding goodnight to Justine and a rather drowsy Daniel, Ed pushes away the thought of what Nancy has whispered to him and more than that, the way Osborne's eyes are lingering on him and Cameron, one eyebrow raised.

But when Ed turns to meet his gaze, Osborne's talking with Frances, with no trace of that look on his face and Ed turns to his own wife, Cameron's hand brushing his sleeve, once again wondering if that look had existed for a second or if he'd imagined the whole moment after all.

* * *

 

 

_Playlist_

_Codes And Keys-Death Cab for Cutie -"We won't get far/Flying in circles inside a jar/'Cause the air we breathe/Is thinning with the words we speak/That we speak/You and me/That we speak/You and me/..But the codes and keys/They can protect you/From the pangs of jealousy/When you scream, love you see/Like a child throwing stones at the sky"-this _really reminds me of the codes underneath what people are saying here-what they might be thinking but not realising or saying aloud.__

_I Think That We Are Gonna Be Friends-The White Stripes -"Here we are, no one else/We walked to school all by ourselves/..We don't notice any time pass/We don't notice anything/We sit side by side in every class...And when I wake tomorrow I'll bet/That you and I will walk together again/Yes, I think that we are gonna be friends/Yes, I think that we are gonna be friends"- _I was listening to this when I was writing the scene where Florence and Sam meet.__

_ Caught In The Middle-Kodaline _-"Any other second, I try to make it better/Try to never leave me alone/I wanna see you now while I'm breathing I'm wide awake and dreaming/And now you're starting to show/I really want you to know/I'm just caught, I'm just caught/I'm just caught in the middle waiting for you every night"-I was listening to this while I was writing the scene with the books._ _

_Kid-The Pretenders -"Kid, what changed your mood/You've gone all sad so I feel sad too...Your eyes are blue but you won't cry/I know, angry tears are too dear/You won't let them go"-these lyrics just kind of suits the conversation outside the kids' bedroom and Ed's worries about his kids._

_So Unaware-Best Coast -"Do you see me 'cause I see you/But I don't even have a clue/...Did I even care or is it just that I am so unaware?/So unaware, so unaware"-this perfectly fits all the underlying confusion and conflicts going on._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a reminder-this isn't meant to reflect anyone's real-life actions, etc. It's fiction.  
> All the kids' parentage, etc. is accurate IRL.  
> George is Nancy and Elwen's godfather, David is Liberty's:https://www.standard.co.uk/news/politics/font-politics-the-age-of-power-godparenting-7804628.html  
> https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/239808/my-special-son/  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/dave-new-world-0rx0z66gl7r  
> Ed is a J.K. Rowling fan:http://www.redonline.co.uk/red-women/interviews/ed-miliband-pictures  
> Justine does cycle to work: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3056670/Justine-Miliband-veers-right-breaks-countless-cycling-laws-process.html  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/ed-milibands-wife-justine-miliband-rolled-her-eyes-when-the-labour-leader-described-the-milifandom-10209202.html  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband-interview-a-labour-government-will-build-more-homes-limit-rent-rise-and-champion-equal-10218243.html  
> The Booboo and Heehee stories are genuine ones he told his kids that his dad told him:https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/meet-ed-miliband-family-guy-155867  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3011977/After-playing-happy-families-park-not-forgetting-kitchen-clanger-Ed-makes-boys-subject-photo-opportunity.html  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oq267Wf5tho  
> David's kids do love Frozen and Harry Potter: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/10151929/David-Cameron-If-youve-got-any-sense-you-want-to-be-Harry-Potter.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2941061/How-SamCam-son-Arthur-stood-wasps-nest-Prime-Minister-does-not-power-turn-Let-Go.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11392854/David-Cameron-suggests-he-has-heard-Frozens-Let-it-Go-too-many-times.html  
> David and Ed do buy gifts for each other's kids-David's present to Sam when he was born was a hat:https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2010/nov/25/ed-miliband-baby-gift-simon-hoggart  
> David does have a book signed by Iain Macleod.  
> Ed didn't tell his kids they might move to Downing Street:https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/generalelection/ed-miliband-interview-there-is-only-one-party-standing-up-for-the-integrity-of-the-uk-10193534.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/picture-this-my-selfie-in-no-10-l5dh6z7npnx  
> He and David did used to compare notes on how to balance their children and work:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2946688/Bleary-eyes-bed-hair-Miliband-admits-doesn-t-mornings-s-proof-stage-managed-photo-opportunity.html  
> Ed and Justine did say they didn't want to measure the curtains: http://home.bt.com/news/news-extra/what-does-ed-miliband-talk-about-when-he-comes-home-from-the-election-trail-11363978339523  
> Ed did say he doesn't want his sons to go into politics:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/8986933/Ed-Miliband-admits-family-tension-remains-over-tough-Labour-leader-election.html  
> Justine and Frances are friends from law school:https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/frances-osborne-the-view-from-no-11-fvsldhpp25c  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1317240/George-Osborne-buy-Christmas-tree-Labour-spent-800-one.html  
> Justine did refer to the children as "chaps"-you can see it here, when they were trying to persuade them to pose for photographs for their father's political image, and the boys didn't want to, in 2013:https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/labour-party-conference-ed-miliband-arrives-with-family-news-footage/696579430  
> https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/181808247  
> You can see the PMQs mentioned here:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0v783qcrVOs  
> David did mention Nancy asking about getting her ears pierced:https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/103755/my-kids-take-mickey-out-of-me-but-want-blue-team-to-win/  
> Despite David being PM, the Camerons lived in the flat above Number 11 Downing Street, as it was bigger and they had more children-the Osbornes lived in the smaller flat above Number 10:  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2010/aug/25/cameron-move-11-downing-street  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/news/politics/the-political-interview-george-osborne-on-heathrow-haircuts-and-family-life-in-downing-street-9144042.html  
> Ed and Justine were described as serving "communion-like" portions of wine:  
> https://www.ft.com/content/84d86fa6-9584-11e4-a390-00144feabdc0  
> Flo did nearly pull the Queen's brooch off: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-3023033/Samantha-Cameron-s-major-interview-Dave-runs-country-school-run.html  
> https://graziadaily.co.uk/celebrity/news/tory-leader-wife-samantha-cameron/  
> Leave a comment, let me know what you liked! Thanks so much for the previous comments, too! Next chapter will be up far sooner!  
> 


	5. Apocalyptic Apologies, Saviours Left Standing, And The Intricate Travesties of Tie-Fastening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which David does not appreciate being compared to Richard or Judy, Ed is not the Son of God, and Nick and George think they may just have witnessed the beginning of the apocalypse. And Bercow does pirouettes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, here's the next chapter. Pretty please, leave a comment! :)

_There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe, but nothing could be done about it, and if you can't fix it, you've got to stand it.- Brokeback Mountain, Annie Proulx_

 

_Cassie: You love Tony._

_Sid: ......Pardon?_

_Cassie: You love Tony! You always talk about him!_

_Sid: ........Do I?_

_- Skins s1ep2, "Cassie"_

* * *

 "You know we're not going to win."

"Did I say that? I don't recall saying that in those exact words-"

"Can it, Peter. You know fucking well he's a complete disaster."

"I didn't deny that in those exact words."

"Would you shut up?"

"In which case why did you ring?"

"Because we've got names. Fucking names, Peter. And we could get 100 of them."

A pause.

"That could be rather interesting."

"Yeah, it fucking well could be rather fucking interesting. It could be a fucking lot more than rather fucking interesting, if we could get Alan to fucking agree."

"Hmm. And judging by your customary choice of phrase, all related to fornication."

"Shut the fuck up, Peter."

* * *

 

 

 

"I suppose unpredictability can be an intriguing quality in a Prime Minister."

David stares at his campaign chief and wonders for a moment if Lynton's started drinking before work. He settles for an uncertain smile in return.

Lynton raises an eyebrow. "You and Miliband-" he drawls, leaning back in his chair. "Have apparently gone from loathing the sight of one another to having fucking dinner parties together."

George sniggers and David shoots him a glare. "I-we-" He swallows. "We've been spending-a little more time with each other, I suppose."

Lynton smirks and, in one swift movement, lifts the copy he's holding and lets it drop open. David stares at the headline, peering through his reading glasses, then closes his eyes with a sigh.

_"PUNCH-AND-JUDY POLITICS? TRY RICHARD-AND-JUDY-CAMERON AND MILIBAND TAKE BOOK TOUR OF DOWNING STREET IN BONFIRE CELEBRATIONS."_

It doesn't matter that he has his eyes closed, however, as George, rather too eagerly, commences the task of reading the article aloud.

_"At Prime Minister's Questions, they labelled each other a "nothing leader" and a "don't-know Prime Minister" but just hours later, David Cameron and Ed Miliband were apparently able to put their political rivalry aside-to enjoy Bonfire Night celebrations with their families._

_It would seem David Cameron is apparently extending the hand of friendship to all and sundry-including his political opponents. Labour Leader Ed Miliband was apparently among the guests at a small gathering in 10 Downing Street on the evening of Bonfire Night-the same address he'll be hoping to take from Cameron in the wake of next year's General Election._

_However, there was reportedly no sign of antagonism exhibited by either Cameron or Miliband, who attended with his family, throughout the evening. Nor was there any objection displayed by any of the other guests, which included a few familiar-though perhaps less surprising -faces, including Chancellor George Osborne, Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg, and London Mayor Boris Johnson, who all attended with their families. The evening apparently included a buffet and much of the do was spent in the Downing Street Gardens with a lavish fireworks display being one of the highlights of the party. Cameron has reportedly thrown parties for family and friends-including political colleagues-in the Downing Street Gardens before, but this is one of the few times Miliband has been seen attending. The Leader of the Opposition matched his host when it came to manners-apparently, along with his wife, barrister Justine Thornton, presenting the Camerons-the Prime Minister and his wife, businesswoman Samantha Cameron-with a bottle of wine as a token of appreciation._

_Perhaps the presence of wives and children brings out civility-either way, our source reported Cameron and Miliband to be not just civil but "friendly" to one another inside the party. The PM and the Labour leader were frequently seen "engrossed in conversation", often including their families and other guests. However, Cameron and Miliband also seemed to be getting along just fine in one-on-one interactions-with Cameron at one point reportedly showing Miliband around his personal library. The two leaders, who will battle it out for the office of Prime Minister in May, appeared to be in high spirits, as did the younger guests. Sources claimed that the children of both the Prime Minister and his guests spent the evening watching a fireworks display in the Downing Street Gardens, running around, and " having the time of their lives."_

_While their families enjoyed themselves, we could be forgiven for wondering whether or not we'll see much more of these sorts of interactions between Cameron and Miliband in the near future. With the election approaching in May, all eyes will be on these two men as we wait to see which will be leading the country for the next five years-a contest which may leave less time for cross-party socializing._

_However, this looming spectacle didn't appear to bother Cameron and Miliband. At the end of the night, the two, who just hours earlier had labelled each other's parties "a dead parrot" (Cameron's assessment of Labour's current condition) and "a boil that has to be lanced" (Miliband's comment on the rumours of divisions within the Conservative Party), did not appear to be dwelling on political insults. Instead, the two reportedly exchanged farewells that certainly erred on the side of friendly and could even be described as "warm." According to our source, Cameron and Miliband's wives hugged while the two men appeared to speak affectionately with one another's children. As for Cameron and Miliband themselves-they are said to have bidden each other goodnight with smiles, humour and even "a quick squeeze of the arm."_

_Whether or not this will affect the men's next battle across the despatch box remains to be seen. Perhaps, in future, the two may throw party invitations at one another rather than insults. Or maybe it will provide them with some new topics for debate in the House of Commons? "Could the Prime Minister tell us exactly why he brought a substandard bottle of wine to our soiree when we presented him with a £500 bottle of Chardonnay?" "It's a fine day when the Leader of the Opposition claims to find my personal invitation designs inferior when it is obvious his bears the stamp of his party! Badly-designed, roughly sketched and far too late-they've just been registered as Labour's trademark!"_

_Sadly, it's unlikely we'll ever see a debate that interesting in the House of Commons. But then again, with a General Election approaching and the preparations for campaigns growing more detailed by the day, perhaps it is best to expect the unexpected. Only time will tell._

_A spokesperson for the Prime Minister and a Labour Party press official have been approached for comment."_

George lowers the paper and turns to David with a grin. David sighs. "Go on." He beckons him. "Give me the remark."

"What remark?" George affects a look of wide-eyed innocence which belies the smirk already dancing at his mouth.

David waits for a moment, then turns to Lynton.

"Of course, Nick and I will have to be jealous now."

David glares at him as George bursts out laughing. Lynton seems to be fighting back a smirk as he lowers the paper. "Well, there've been worse headlines." He raises an eyebrow as he peruses the various other papers spread out in front of him. "And the rest seem to be taking a fairly positive view. Not that any of them will see the light of day, of course."

David groans. "There are more?"

"Oh, yeah." Lynton smirks as he shuffles the papers. "There are a few choice ones, here-"

George's reaching for them too, and David doesn't even bother trying to stop him. George's grinning already, as he reads out the headlines. _"Cameron Keeps His Enemies Closer.""ConLib? Better Call It LabCon." "Measuring The Curtains, Ed?""Deny Thy Party And Refuse Thy Name?"_

"I get the picture" David manages, while Lynton sniggers. David glares at him and Lynton shrugs. "Like I said, we've had far worse."

"How come they won't be seen? I thought that was the point-"

"We'll lean on the editors. Don't want it to make it look like we're making too much of it. All we need is a few rumours to show that you don't hate each other."

David knows better than to argue with Lynton's tactics.

But, casting his eyes over the headline that won't ever see the light of day, he groans again. "You'd think we were two teenage girls."

Lynton shrugs. "Well, if this gives everyone the impression we don't treat all of Labour like a bunch of gold-selling, money-losing twats, it can only be a good thing for us." The smirks twitches again. "Plus, if it makes you and Miliband happy-"

George smirks. "Maybe next, you can progress to sleepovers-"

David glares at him. "Shut up, George."

Lynton laughs, tossing a paper back onto the desk. "Well, it looks better than the two of you constantly bickering." He smirks at the headline once more, eyes scanning the article. "Since you two seem to be warming up to each other, maybe hold off on buying him a friendship bracelet-"

George dissolves into laughter once again. David sighs, rolls his eyes heavenwards and then turns to George with infinite patience. "George, it is not that amusing. Miliband and I are grown men, not a pair of schoolchildren shouting insults across a school cafeteria."

George nods, biting his lip, apparently swallowing down his laughter. David turns away and then back immediately, as another thought strikes him. "By the way, Miliband can sit at our table now, Nick decided it was fine."

David appreciates George and Lynton finding some amusement out of him and Miliband making the tabloid pages, but once the laughter reaches a solid four minutes, he thinks they may be overreacting just a tad.

"Still" Lynton manages, wiping his eyes. "Miliband would probably prefer them to the _actual_ headlines he's going to see."

David tries not to wince as a copy of that morning's paper is dropped onto the desk before him.

* * *

 

_Ed Miliband faces call to stand down from backbench Labour MPs._

Ed is staring down at his papers when he becomes aware that the room has been silent for a little too long.

He glances up to find every member of his Shadow Cabinet staring at him as though he's walked into the meeting with a spoon in his hair. (Ed pats at his head reflexively to check, even though it was years ago and Haverstock simply wasn't the best place to fail to notice cutlery in one's hair, no matter how fascinating one found the latest edition of Manic Miner cheats.)

Now, finding no cutlery, Ed stares back at the sea of silent, grinning faces. "What?"

It's Andy who says, with a smirk that's becoming more pronounced by the second, "Can we see it then?"

Balls snorts. Yvette kicks him. Ed stares at them, wondering how many of them knew these headlines would appear, were waiting for him to see them. "What?"

Douglas is grinning. "You know. Whatever little trinket Cameron gave you. A friendship locket, one of two matching rings-"

Were _hoping_ he would see them.

Ed rolls his eyes as Andy dissolves into laughter. Tristram's smirking at the table and even Sadiq appears to be biting back a grin as he shoves a copy of the paper-yet another paper-over to Ed.

"Rather hurtful, really" chips in Stephen. "None of us get an invitation."

"And what's wrong with us?" Lucy spreads her hands meaningfully. "Honestly-"

"Rather a rejection, really." Chuka gives a mock sniff. "I almost feel a little insulted. How were _we_ not adequate for Cameron's fireworks party?"

_How serious is the threat to Ed Miliband?_

At this, even Sadiq bursts out laughing and Ed rolls his eyes again. Yvette shakes her head sorrowfully as the laughter dies down. "I have to say, Ed-" She dabs at her eyes. "I'm really rather hurt. Don't you remember that drunken little promise you made me back in that flat that whoever first had a Tory come onto them-"

"Oh, for pity's-"

Balls snorts. "Christ, don't put that image in my head. I've just eaten."

"That's a fairly permanent state for you, though, isn't it-"

"Shut it, Burnham-"

"Boys" rebukes Harriet, though even _she's_ holding back a smirk. Ed tries to glare with the appropriate amount of disdain but he can't quite manage it.

_Ed Miliband faces Labour leadership crisis._

"But, really" Douglas chips in helpfully. "Don't go mixing business and pleasure. Remember Major and Currie-"

At this, there is an outbreak of hysterical laughter and Ed wonders just what he's done to deserve this. Sadiq is smirking, Tristram is sniggering, Balls is guffawing, Andy's half-hysterical, Harriet is telling all of them to settle down and the rest all appear to be in various states of barely-concealed laughter.

"I'm glad this amuses you" Ed manages, when he can be heard and Yvette nods happily back at him. "Oh, it does. Greatly."

They may have come a long way since their flat-sharing days but at that moment, Ed finds himself longing to return to '90s tactics and throw a cushion at her head.

He wonders if she's one of the senior Labour sources.

_Ed Miliband's problem is not policy but tone-_

As it is, he sighs, folds his hands together and waits for the laughter to die down once again. When it finally does, Ed looks around at them all. "You know we could remember we're supposed to be the Labour party?"

Further down the table, a voice that sounds remarkably like Chuka's mutters "LabCon."

Ed might not have a cushion to hand but, as gales of laughter break out around him again, he's seriously considering practicing his aim with his pen.

_-and increasingly, he seems trapped._

* * *

 

_Was it a novelty for you today to seat yourself at a Tory table?_

**_Novelty is one word for it._ **

_Were the others less complimentary?_

**_Are you sure you want to hear them?_ **

_And I thought you prided yourself on your honesty. Seriously-you weren't uncomfortable?_

**_Astonishingly, Cameron, your friends are not the most intimidating political factors of my career. And no, they were all perfectly polite. Thank you for asking._ **

_Well, it would be difficult to improve on the intimidation standards of bacon sandwiches and Rubix Cubes. Apologies for George's jokes, by the way._

**_Hilarious. And which ones?_ **

_All of them._

**_I couldn't agree more._ **

_Particularly the wedding ones. Difficult to persuade George & Michael that their jokes lack amusement._

**_I imagine that's an unfortunate side effect of being a Tory._ **

_You might want to check your Shadow Chancellor's allegiance, then._

**_I'm amazed that the Tories talk about allegiance. And I learnt not to take what your Chancellor says seriously. Much like most of the country._ **

_Very droll, Miliband._

**_I thought so._ **

* * *

 

**_Sam has not stopped talking about Florence for three days now._ **

_Concerned about your son's political allegiance, Miliband?_

**_More about his tendency to obsess. I can see that being misconstrued in the future._ **

_He's four, Miliband._

**_Nearly four. And on that note, we'd like to invite Florence to his birthday party._ **

_Florence will be delighted to accept._

**_You and Sam are welcome too, of course, with Nancy and Elwen._ **

_Thank you. We'll be delighted to attend. Which date?_

**_It'll be around the 16th. His birthday's 7th but we've got the Remembrance Sunday weekend, so we put it off a week._ **

_That sounds fine. The children will be very excited._

**_You'll be in with the Labourites, Cameron. So you're forewarned._ **

_I'm sure my nerves can withstand it._

**_I hope so, Cameron. People of a certain age, you know, they find it difficult to cope with stressful situations._ **

_Let me know how you're finding your nerves in three years, then. Obviously, an inconceivable amount of time._

**_It's a good sign for the country you're becoming more familiar with your figures, Cameron. When do you gain another year?_ **

_Just say birthday, Miliband. And 9th October._

**_Rich for a Tory to reprove others for hyperbole. And your birthday was last month?_ **

_Hyperbole isn't even the correct term, Miliband. Try loquaciousness. And yes._

**_Have you been spending more time with Boris? And I'm sorry. I didn't remember about your birthday._ **

_Don't concern yourself. It's forgettable._

**_Still. I remembered other years._**

_You're Christmas Eve, aren't you?_

**_Yes. I'm waiting for the obligatory saviour being born joke._ **

_I couldn't phrase that even in jest, Miliband._

**_Usually no subject is safe from your penchant for jest._ **

_When you know you have a talent, it's difficult not to use it._

**_I'd say you have a talent for irony._**

_That's actually rather touching._

**_I didn't say for you. It's me who has to face these lines at PMQs, you know._ **

_You're in an envied position._

**_I didn't think your attempts at humour could worsen, Cameron._ **

_You learn something new every day._

**_Certainly from you._ **

_I'm choosing to take that as a compliment._

**_I didn't say it wasn't._ **

_Was it meant as one?_

_Touching, Miliband._

**_I thought so._ **

_Thank you. If it was meant as one._

**_You're welcome. And we're not all Tories, Cameron, some of us do say what we mean._ **

_I might withdraw that thanks, Miliband._

**_I might withdraw the compliment, Cameron. :)_ **

* * *

 

_Just reminding you about the arrangements for Sunday. We have to be there earlier._

**_I have been Labour leader for five years, Cameron._ **

_Just a reminder. And that might be the entire length of your leadership._

**_What's that supposed to mean?_ **

_There's something called an election in May, Miliband. What else?_

**_You saw the articles._ **

_Yes, I saw the articles. I wasn't referring to that._

**_Really?_ **

_Yes. You can't really think that I'd refer to that, Miliband?_

**_Because Labour disagreements would bring you no disadvantage?_ **

_You know as well as I do that that's not true. But I wouldn't relish you leaving. At all._

**_Oh?_ **

_No. I wouldn't._

**_I'm sorry. I misjudged you._ **

_That's fine, Miliband._

**_No, really. I am sorry._ **

_I know. It's fine. Honestly._

**_Thank you._ **

_You're welcome. Also, being born on Christmas Eve-two consecutive days that are birthdates of saviours of the poor. Shall I ask the Vatican for your name to be included in the Bible?_

**_Hilarious, Cameron. Consider the other day's compliment withdrawn. Also, I'm Jewish._ **

_So was Jesus._

**_I am not Jesus, Cameron._ **

_That's one of the more intriguing texts I've ever received, to be honest._

**_Shut_ _up, Cameron._ **

_You shut up, Miliband._

* * *

 

"He won't do it for me!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Fucking _Alan."_

"I didn't realise you'd become that close."

" _Shut up, Peter."_

"We knew it was a long shot."

"Yeah, it was a fucking long shot. But it was a fucking good long shot and it was the only fucking long shot we ever fucking had."

"Again with the-"

"We're going to lose."

A long silence.

"Maybe not."

"You know we fucking are."

* * *

 

Remembrance Day is always a solemn occasion, but it's one of the few times that he, Nick and Miliband can appear to be in complete agreement with one another. Which is one of the only reasons he, Nick, Miliband and George are all currently in the kitchen of 10 Downing Street.

"You like to do things your own way, I have to say" Chris had muttered with a grin, upon catching sight of Miliband's car pulling up. David hadn't been able to resist grinning back. He liked Chris, sometimes thought no one could help liking Chris. The man had managed to work effectively with _Brown_ , for God's sake. David sometimes wondered if there'd been some sort of hypnosis involved.

"You've seen the headlines" he'd muttered back. "How d'you reckon that's going to go?"

Chris had winced, glancing at some of the choice ones on his phone. _"New crisis for Ed Miliband as senior Labour MPs back leadership change", "Ed Miliband has "until Christmas"-"_ I'd say 50/50 here."

David had blinked. "Really?"

Chris had nodded. "Those two were from the _Guardian_ and the _Mirror._ "

"Jesus."

Chris had nodded again. "If Alan can be persuaded to take over-"

David had run a hand through his hair. "He's been asked to stand before" he'd muttered. "He didn't say yes, then. Would he really want to take over six months before a bloody election?"

Chris had shrugged. "Probably not. He's made it pretty clear he didn't want to come back even into the Shadow Cabinet, let alone take over the whole bloody party."

David had chewed at the inside of his cheek. "We'd need a whole different strategy. Probably what they're counting on."

"I wouldn't worry." Chris touches his shoulder. "The fact he's hung on this long suggests he's intending to stay. It's whether they're going to actually have the gumption to force him out. And their party might not recover from that image in the eyes of the public."

Now, David is standing next to the man who is still currently Leader of the Opposition, holding a cup of coffee, with his Chancellor and Deputy next to them, waiting together to leave for one of the few public duties that can unite them all.

"At least, this takes a bit of pressure off Sam" David points out as Miliband gazes into his cup of coffee, tie draped loosely over his arm. "She's always terrified one of the kids will throw a fit in front of the entire country, and we didn't want to leave them with Gita today."

Miliband's mouth twitches. "They take after their father?"

David glances at him and sighs. "Miliband, today is Remembrance Sunday. You'd think that today, of all days, we could show some form of solidarity."

Miliband stares at him. "I didn't know it meant that much to you."

"Well, it does." David lowers his head and waits for Miliband to touch his arm. "Um-Cameron-I-I didn't mean to-to insult you-"

David slowly lifts his head and lets a wide, smug smile spread over his face.

Miliband's hand drops and he glares at David, bottom lip jutting out. "Hilarious, Cameron."

"It was, wasn't it?"

Nick and George glance at one another. "No" they say simultaneously, before George touches David's arm. "Have to go. Duty calls. Or Frances calls, which is the same thing."

Nick shakes his head. "Terrible. Frances could hear you."

"Which she won't."

Nick widens his eyes and adjusts his collar. "Not from you."

George glares at him. "Oh, shut up, Clegg-" With a farewell aimed at the other two and a smirk at Nick, he makes his way down the hall and Nick turns to grin at David. "Just going to give Miriam a call. You know what it's like with three boys-"

David snorts. Nick should try having two daughters.

It's only once Nick too is out of the room that David aims another grin at Miliband. "Come on, you can't still be annoyed about the Remembrance Day thing?"

Miliband cocks his head to the side. "Ith that what you've written on your wreath, Cameron?"

David rolls his eyes. "Hardly hilarious, Miliband."

Miliband smirks but the smile disappears almost instantly as his eyes flicker to the tie draped over his arm. David follows his gaze. "What is it, the tie?"

Miliband's scowl is answer enough and David grins. "You need help with it, don't you?"

Miliband scowls harder. "I'm perfectly capable of fathtening my own tie, _Cameron."_

"So am I but even I sometimes go all fingers and thumbs." When Miliband doesn't stop scowling, David shrugs. "Excellent. Go on, then."

Miliband glares at him. The bottom lip's now sticking out so far, David could rest his cup on it.

Miliband glowers. "I jutht had some difficulty with it this morning-"

David smirks. "Come here."

"....What?" Miliband stares at him, bemusement creeping into his eyes now.

David puts down his cup, grabs the tie and loops it around Miliband's neck, under his collar. Miliband raises an eyebrow. "Not to imply anything, Cameron, but do you often think about putting, putting thingth around my neck?"

David blinks and his grip tightens momentarily on Miliband's collar. Miliband blinks. "I-I mean-"

David feels his mouth twitch. "It's how I fall asleep at night."

Miliband rolls his eyes and David carefully lifts his collar, wrapping the tie around gently. "Here-" David loops the tie into a knot, stepping a little closer and when Miliband tilts his head back, David's hand catches in his hair. "No, lean forward-"

He swallows. Miliband's hair is softer than he would have expected and their eyes meet as David pulls his hand away, finger brushing the back of Miliband's neck. "Sorry-"

He watches the movement of Miliband's throat as he swallows hard. "It'th-fine." David's never noticed how long Miliband's eyelashes are before.

He quickly looks away, focusing his gaze on Miliband's tie. He knots it carefully, pulling it through and giving the end a quick flip. "There. I'm becoming accustomed to solving Labour's problems."

Miliband rolls his eyes. "At leatht the modesty's starting to show." He fingers the end of the tie nervously. "Thankth, though. Just wouldn't seem to-um-go right."

"It's fine." David realises he's still got a hand on Miliband's suit and as he goes to pull it away, Miliband moves to straighten his shirt. Their hands bump into one another and for a moment, their fingers are gripping each other.

Miliband blushes, colour creeping up his cheeks, and David feels the warmth in his own that tells him Miliband's not the only one. "Um-" He glances down and Miliband does the same. David looks up and their eyes lock again. He swallows. Miliband is chewing his lip, dark eyes blinking rather nervously. David clears his throat. "Well-"

"Right, well, apparently they made it into the car with no disasters-" He and Miliband spring back from each other immediately as Nick stops dead, eyes flickering between them. "What?"

"Nothing" and David doesn't even have the nerve to make a joke about the fact he and Miliband have spoken at exactly the same time.

Nick raises an eyebrow but merely says "Come on, the cars are ready."

David hastens to the door and ignores Nick's questioning smirk and the fact that he and Miliband are studiously avoiding one another's eyes.

A voice that sounds a lot like Miliband's whispers in his ear about _Tories avoiding the issue_ and David tells it silently to shut up.

* * *

 

He and Nick have grown used to sharing a car over the last five years-ease and a desire not to pollute the atmosphere further is generally behind the decision-and so for a few minutes, a comfortable silence reigns. Then, leaning back, David asks "How are your boys, by the way?"

Nick sighs. "Active. Attitude-y. Stubborn. Won't ever listen to reason."

 "Don't tell me that's going to be your election motto."

Nick arches an eyebrow. "That's a rather Miliband-y line" he remarks. "Maybe we should keep you two apart."

"Yes, _all right."_ David rolls his eyes as Nick descends into another laughing fit. He supposes most Prime Ministers would consider him lucky, to be able to joke with his Deputy this way-his Deputy from another party, come to that-but right now, he's too busy focusing on the way Nick is sniggering helplessly to count his blessings.

"I don't understand why everyone's making such a big deal out of it" he says, once Nick's got most of his laughter under control. "We-we get on perfectly well-just because we've been spending a bit of time together-"

"Quite a lot of time for a PM and Leader of the Opposition" Nick points out fairly.

David sighs. "I never said I hated Miliband. For God's sake, I was friendly with Tony from time to time-they didn't make this much fuss about him and I."

"You did say you wouldn't call him a friend."

David glares again. "I was-downplaying it." When Nick raises an eyebrow, David shakes his head. "But they never cared about that. Or Gordon and I, for that matter-" He breaks off, annoyed, because Nick's spluttering again. "What now?"

 _"Gordon and you?"_ Nick's gasping for breath, actually holding onto the door handle. "Gordon and you, _friends?"_

David glares. "I could be cordial with the man."

When Nick has finally managed to sit up and wipe the tears of mirth from his eyes, David sighs and leans back against the seat. "The point is, they didn't. Act like this."

"Well-" Nick's apparently finally willing to take the situation seriously. "There is an election coming up. I suppose everyone's presuming now's the time you'd be sharpening the pitchforks for each other."

David glances at his Deputy. "Is that what you think?" he asks, trying to make the question sound light-hearted. "That I'm sharpening a pitchfork for you?"

Nick smiles-Nick nearly always smiles, even when it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Hardly" he says, in a tone that almost matches David's. "We're too busy sharpening our own." He flashes David a slightly mischievous grin. "I have been your Deputy for five years, you know."

It's November. It's getting harder to pretend that May is far away.

They stare at each other and then David raises an eyebrow. "Clegg, I hope that the Deputy Prime Minister of this country wouldn't even consider adopting such a nefarious method of blackmail?"

Nick widens his eyes. "You know me well, Prime Minister. I'm sure you must feel quite secure in your mind as to your knowledge of what techniques I might or might not use."

He arches an eyebrow and then winks and David can't manage to keep his face straight for another moment before he dissolves into laughter. Nick is almost as bad, barely lasting a second longer than David before he too descends into hilarity, shoving his hand over his mouth to muffle the worst of it.

Even in the mirth of the moment, David is surprised to find that he can admit to himself that yes, he is going to miss this. He doesn't know what he expected when he first held out his hand to Nick Clegg all those years ago. He doesn't even know what he expected when, in the few days after the maddeningly imprecise general election five years ago, mind almost beyond anxiety with tension and overwork, he first picked up the phone to Nick Clegg, with George miming frantically at him in the background, Oliver glancing between them, amused, as George stood there, jabbing his finger frantically at their conversation points as if David might forget them at any moment, but he knows it wouldn't have been him and Nick, five years later, sniggering over how they might depose each other.

He wouldn't have expected that the part of him that doesn't want to look beyond 7th May isn't worrying about just his career. And he wouldn't have expected that a part of him would still be dwelling on that stupid headline about Miliband being toppled.

He doesn't say that out loud of course, so his eyes meet Nick's and he just focuses on their laughter, which is, for the moment, loud enough that neither of them have to hear anything else.

* * *

 

"You and Cameron not come to blows yet?" says Ed Balls, falling into step next to Ed.

Ed rolls his eyes. "Not quite" he says, wondering just how long it would have taken for Balls to resort to that tactic had he become Labour leader and then if he's managed to forget the articles that have had them locked up in their offices for the last two days trying desperately to come up with a response, while struggling to work out the identities of twenty Labour rebels.

Balls snorts and claps Ed on the shoulder. "Then again, that wouldn't be a problem if you and Cameron are best buddies-"

Ed sighs. "I hardly think Cameron would consider me his _buddy."_

_And I hardly think you would, either._

Balls elbows him. "Could have fooled me." Ed resists the urge to remark _Easily._ "Hanging out at his house, reading bedtime stories, we're all waiting on a happy announcement now."

Ed tries to roll his eyes again but he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks and he bites his lip, ducking his head, furiously berating himself for not exercising his power and simply telling Balls to shut up. His eyes dart and Balls stares at him.

"Wait, we're not actually going to _get_ one?"

"Of course not!" Ed glances up to see Balls grinning and rolls his eyes. "Hilarious."

_Senior Labour MPs-_

Balls stares at him, laughter dying away suddenly." Miliband-you're _blushing."_

Ed glares at him. "No, I'm not."

Balls grins. "Yes, you are."

Ed can feel his cheeks becoming even warmer and Balls is grinning even harder and he can hear himself tripping over the words. "I-I am not blush-I am not blushing, I just-" He breaks off and Balls raises an eyebrow. "Just what?"

Ed sighs, glares, chews his lip. He doesn't look anywhere near Balls. "Cameron-Cameron may be coming to Sam's birthday party next week."

Balls blinks. "You're kidding."

Ed glares. "Sam and Cameron's daughter happen to be friendly" he says, in an attempt to sound as though he has no idea why Balls is staring at him as though he just announced he's helping Cameron hand out leaflets for the Tories. "And-" He swallows and forces himself to go on. "And I don't see any reason why we shouldn't. He was kind enough to invite Justine and I to his party the other night."

Balls stares at him and then slowly, sadly shakes his head. "So, that's Tory-hating off the table. Oh, sad goodbye to the days of debating whether Cameron or Clegg would be the more satisfying to punch."

Ed rolls his eyes. "That wath you."

"Of course it was. No offence, Miliband, but I wouldn't fancy your chances of winning that fight."

Ed sighs, though he'd rather consider this fight than the ones they've been poring over the last couple of days.

Balls grins. "Just remember you are running against him in May."

"I'm sure _he_ remembers that-"

"I meant, make sure _you_ do." Balls' voice is lower now and Ed is reminded of how nervous he was of Ed Balls when they first met, in those long-ago days in the Treasury, when Balls had been Yvette's boyfriend and even in his glasses, a lot bigger than Ed, and how Ed had just hoped he wasn't quicker.

"Just-don't go getting your wires crossed, Miliband. The last thing we need is for you to have the Tories infiltrating Norman Shaw South." He laughs. "Before we shove them back there next May."

Ed rolls his eyes. "They're not all the same, you know, Balls."

Balls snorts. "God. It's happening. We're losing you."

Ed sighs, glancing about at the people milling around them. He swallows hard, hoping that Cameron and Clegg turn up soon so he isn't the only party leader standing at the front next to the wreaths. "I wath pointing out it was a generalization."

"I just don't want you to end up forgetting you and Cameron are meant to be fucking _rivals."_

" I think I can manage to remember he's a _Tory-"_ _And I'm the one who beat you for a leadership_ , he reminds himself.

Balls shrugs. "Fine. But does Cameron know he's going to be the only Tory at Sam's party?"

"Oh. You know-we haven't finalized the guest list-" They haven't really thought about it, if he's honest. He's not even sure what they're going to do.

Balls holds up a hand. "No. Knowing you, you'll end up inviting Clegg as well and then you might think that you'd better invite Osborne too-" Ed doesn't miss the grin that creeps to Balls' mouth at the mention of Osborne. "And then you might think about Gove, and the next thing you know, it'll be Prime Minister's Questions in your sodding garden with Bercow sitting on the patio roof, blowing party whistles and screaming "Order" when the balloon animals burst."

Ed glances around, wondering if there are any cameras nearby. Wondering what the commentators are making of his expression, of what he's talking about. Of how it _looks._

They'd been outside the house that morning, with Rachel standing by the door, peering out of the window, sending them off with clear instructions. _Just say good morning to them. Nothing else. Don't give them anything they can use._

They hadn't seen the boys this morning, he remembers vaguely. Or maybe briefly, but they were in the living room, watching TV with Zia, he thinks.

 _Are you losing the support of your party, Ed?_ one of them had asked, and he'd deliberately not looked at them.

 _Morning_ , was all he'd said, wondering if he should have taken Justine's hand, if that would have looked better, but deciding against it.

He hadn't thought about taking it in the car, either, and by the time it was time for him to get out at Downing Street, it was too late for it to matter.

* * *

 

George has seen David engage in a lot of strange discussions over the years but as he and Nick exchange glances, he thinks that, for once, they might be in agreement that this is the strangest thing they've ever witnessed.

"To be fair" Nick mutters, leaning in so that just George can hear. "It's what they do, usually."

George raises an eyebrow. "In Trafalgar Square?"

"They kept it together while they were going through arrangements for the wreaths" Nick points out. "And the ceremony hasn't started yet. They probably need to pass the time."

Both of them glance at David and Miliband, a few metres away, hissing at each other. George grins as he watches, as David and Miliband begin something that looks remarkably like an elbow fight.

"I wonder if they'll be doing that when the cameras come on" he mutters to Nick, torn between exasperation and amusement. God, if anyone _sees-_

Nick shakes his head. "Nah. Then they'll have to pretend to smile at each other. Probably text the rest of the argument in the car afterwards."

George sniggers, even as he struggles to keep a straight face. He has to admit David and Miliband together have always been the source of some secret amusement, especially during David's-many-post-work rants about how Miliband really is quite possibly the most irritating person he has ever come across (during which George has always nodded sympathetically and agreed that Miliband really is an utterly annoying pillock while simultaneously struggling not to ask if David ever gets tired of constantly talking about him.)

But George has to admit, while he himself has never hated Miliband-the man can be rather endearing occasionally, for a Labourite-he's always suspected that despite all their claims to the contrary, David and Miliband actually rather enjoy their spats. He rarely sees David as fired up as when he's debating Miliband and something about the way the exchanges continue outside the chamber has always provided George with no small amount of amusement. Something about the twitch of David's mouth, the awkward smirk that darts into view at Miliband's, always makes George look closer, generally with a grin.

He'd never ask David about it, of course. He likes being alive.

Now, however, George has to work harder not to burst out laughing. There's something really rather amusing about watching the Prime Minister-lean over to elbow the Leader of the Opposition in the ribs.

Nick snorts. "Imagine if he'd done that to Gordon" he mutters and George bursts out laughing even as Nick nudges him and whispers "Shh." George shakes his head, drags a sleeve over his mouth to muffle his laughter.

Now, watching Nick watch David and Miliband, George wonders how this dynamic will change come May. He knows there's a part of David that doesn't want to think about it-that would like to brush it away under political announcements and strategies. But it's getting more and more difficult to ignore the fact that in a matter of months, it might just be David and George standing here, without Nick at their side.

It might be necessary but he has to admit, not having Nick and Danny there-Nick there to roll his eyes at while they prepare for PMQs, Danny there to jab in the ribs when David makes a joke they really can't let pass-isn't one he likes to dwell on.

(Plus, without Nick and Danny, George will be dealing with David's jokes on his own. And David's jokes really are _terrible.)_

But right now, Nick and Danny are here and George tells himself that May is so far in the future that there's no point in thinking about it.

He tries to pretend he believes it.

* * *

 

David's grateful the cameras aren't on. It means he doesn't have to be as careful yet-doesn't have to watch what he's doing with his hands, make sure to keep his face clear of expression. Which would be difficult when Miliband is being his usual aggravating self.

"Being _childish-"_

"It is _not_ childish, it is a perfectly reasonable statement of fact-"

"I was pointing out that boarding school breeds a certain technique regarding emotion-"

"Cameron, do any of your conversations _not_ revolve around Eton?"

"Apparently, neither do any of your arguments."

"Oh, for God's thake, we're at a _ceremony-"_

"Which hasn't started yet."

"You do know as the Prime Minister, you're meant to th-show a little more maturity than the average four-year-old-"

"This from the man who texted me four emoticons in a row this morning-"

 _"You_ are criticithing my emoticon usage?"

"You didn't even use the correct _face."_

"Oh, well, my apologies if I didn't have an emoji the-thauruth-the- _thesauruth_ at hand-"

"It wouldn't be on hand. It would be on phone."

"Oh, _for God's th-sake_ , Cameron." Miliband is glaring at his shoes and David finds himself biting his lip. It's the same whenever Miliband glares-he seems to imagine that it's a quelling look, one that will strike fear into the heart of his opponent. David, however, always finds it serves as a remarkable reminder of a squirrel attempting to warn another squirrel off his place on the branch.

"Which wreath is yours'?" David asks, once Miliband is looking a little less like an angry squirrel. He indicates the wreathes still being carefully examined, that will be handed to them in a few moments. Miliband jerks his head towards the middle of the three men holding a wreath. David squints at him. "Don't tell me you're taking up the silent approach, Miliband. Nancy does that when I send her to her room."

At the mention of Nancy, a shadow crosses Miliband's face. David frowns but a second later, Miliband is muttering "Cameron, you cannot accuse _anyone_ elth-se of being childish."

David rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Miliband, I'm trying to be _nice._ I did help you this morning."

"I would have worked it out, Cameron."

"Really?" David flicks the end of his tie before he can stop himself. Miliband stares at him askance. "If I undid it-"

He makes a grab for the knot in the tie and Miliband slaps his hand away. It stings more than David would have expected. _"Ow!"_ He shakes his hand and stares at Miliband, aggrieved.

"For God's th-sake, Cameron! " The words are snapped and Miliband is glaring at him, lips pursed. "We're at a _th-c_ _eremony-"_

David stares at him. "Fine." He tries to ignore the stab of hurt at the words. "For all your talks about cross-party dynamics-"

Miliband makes a sudden movement next to him, and for a moment David thinks Miliband is about to grab his arm. But instead, Miliband stops, his hand an inch above David's wrist, and hisses "I know you like to think of yourself as a compassionate Conthervative, _Cameron,_ so I'd like to think you could exercith-exercise a _shred_ of empathy right now."

David stares at him. The teasing edge is gone from Miliband's voice, his eyes are brighter than usual and the colour in his cheeks has risen.

"Miliband-" He reaches for his arm but Miliband jerks away. David swallows, wracking his brains for what he can have said, what he can have done to set Miliband off, what he _hasn't_ said or done-but then he thought Miliband wouldn't _want_ him to talk about the wretched newspaper headlines-

He tries to open his mouth, to make himself ask the question, but the words crumble before they can make it past his lips. Boarding school etiquette of avoiding awkward questions apparently still holds strong, he reflects glumly.

He glances at Miliband every few moments, occasionally opening his mouth, and then closing it as the words fail him. (David doesn't like to think that anything _else_ is failing him. Like his nerve.)

After several moments of glances and of Miliband catching his gaze only for David to hastily stare at his shoes, he makes the mistake of opening his mouth for the third time and then failing to utter a word, and at this, something in Miliband seems to snap. He makes another convulsive movement as if he's going to grab David's arm but thinks better of it. Instead, he leans in so that only David can hear him.

"Look" he says, his voice a fierce whisper. "This might be a matter of duty for you but-"

David finds his voice then. " _A matter of duty?_   _What-"_

"I didn't mean it like that." Miliband takes in a deep breath and blurts out the words before David can embark on what was going to be a detailed and furious rant. "Look-I-I didn't mean it-I didn't mean it to th-sound like that-it'th-it's just that-" David's close enough to Miliband to feel him trembling a little and that alone is enough to shock him into silence.

"It jutht-my dad fought and people-people th-say-" Miliband bites his lip, clearly already regretting his outburst. But he swallows hard and, with a visible effort, turns back to David. "It-it'th not exactly-I-" Miliband breaks off and swallowing, shakes his head. "Forget it."

David stares at him. "Miliband-" and then he realises he has no idea how to finish his sentence.

But the announcement blares that the ceremony's about to start before David can get the words out and Miliband is staring steadfastly ahead which leaves David with little option but to do the same.

When they and Nick step forward, holding their wreaths, David chances a quick glance at Miliband and his eyes linger after he's laid his own wreath, as Miliband steps forward, holding his. He watches the way Miliband settles it down carefully, the way that he bites his lip as he bows his head, and swallows hard as he steps back into line. David watches and then snatches his gaze back to the monument, with all those names, feeling the guilt squeeze his stomach.

Nobody watching would guess there was anything wrong and that just makes it worse somehow.

It's after they can leave, when the ceremony is over, that David places a hand on Nick's arm and mutters "Hold on a moment" and then almost runs after Miliband who's already established a brisk walk. David rolls his eyes as Miliband almost trips over his own feet and feels a surge of some painful mixture of wanting to laugh and at the same time-he can't decide what else he wants to do at the same time.

So instead, he just calls "Miliband!"

Miliband stops as if debating whether or not to ignore him, then very slowly turns round.

David's standing behind him now and he swallows, wishing-not for the first time around Miliband-that he could have a speechwriter.

"I-" God, writing a three-page speech is so much easier that right now he'd take it, even if it meant a night of no sleep and Sam asking when he's coming upstairs and increasingly inferior coffee-"Listen-you're, um-God, I-you were right."

Miliband's brows arch and David groans. "Don't give me _that_ look. I just-you were right, OK? I-I should have been more respectful. I mean I-I didn't realise it was disrespectful-but obviously-um-you were right. You were right-and well I'm-I'm sorry."

Miliband stares at him for a long moment. David clamps his mouth shut and feels the blood rise to his cheeks. He tries not to let his fingers slot in and out of one another.

Miliband raises an eyebrow. "If only you'd said that earlier, Cameron, we might actually have captured it on camera. Rarer piece of footage than a th-sighting of the Loch Neth Monster-"

David rolls his eyes. _"That's_ your comparison?"

Miliband arches an eyebrow again and David sighs. "I know, I know-but you're hardly _easy_ to apologize to, Miliband."

The corner of Miliband's mouth twitches. "And the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom returns."

David sighs. "To ensure you do not bring this up in every conceivable speech you give about taking personal responsibility for the rest of our careers-I'm sorry." He swallows and has to force himself to say the next words. "I mean it. "They're true but that doesn't make them any easier to say.

Miliband seems a little less sure of himself now, one hand tugging at his tie. "Ah-well. Thank you. I mean for-for th-saying that." He holds out his hand a little uncertainly and David takes it, their fingers squeezing each other for a moment."And listen-" Miliband swallows. "I'm thorry. That-I-well-bit your head off. I honethstly didn't mean-I thuppose-I'm just-a little th-sensitive-about-"

David touches his arm. "It's fine. I mean, I would never-I mean, it's more than duty. I mean-I hope I didn't give the impression-" He gestures awkwardly. "I was trying to-you know, just lighten the atmosphere-"

Miliband nods earnestly. "It's jutht that-I th-suppose it's just-a, you know-I mean, my father _fought_ in the war-" He laughs, that awkward little laugh he does when he's scrabbling for words and David feels a pang at the sound. "I mean-not the Firth-First World War-I mean, he was an older parent, but-but not that old-" He laughs again, a little too loudly, and David feels a smile tug at his own mouth at the sound.

"It's jutht-" Miliband's clearly still trying to explain. ""I really didn't mean-it's jutht-I think about-I just got a-"

David's hand is on Miliband's shoulder before he can stop himself. "I know. I-I'm sorry about your family-" he says rather hesitantly. "I mean-" He knows that Miliband lost several of his ancestors in the Holocaust, remembers all too clearly the jibes hurled at his father over a year ago now. (When David had first heard about it, he'd snapped out even before Craig had finished speaking that of course he'd support Miliband and had then spent the better part of twenty minutes pacing his office wondering if it would be an acceptable use of his Prime Ministerial powers to get the Daily Mail shut down.)

A smile twitches at Miliband's mouth. "As anomalouth as it is to hear anything complimentary about my family from you, Cameron-"

David rolls his eyes. Miliband winces. "Sorry. And-thank you. Really." He touches David's arm and David feels the warmth of relief bloom in the bottom of his ribs. He lets himself smile and is rewarded with an answering grin from Miliband.

The touch lasts for several seconds, before Miliband slides his hand into his pocket. "On a seriouth note, do you think you could thay that apology again? I'd like to have a recording-"

"Oh, shut up." David reaches for his tie. "I worked on this this morning-"

 _"Worked on thith?_ You _fastened a tie-"_

"I could unfasten it-"

"Get off, Cameron-" Miliband ducks back, almost giggling, as David reaches for his tie and almost steps into someone. "Sorry" they both say automatically but it brings them back down to earth and reminds them that they're currently both standing here, slapping at each other like two schoolchildren.

Miliband gives David a sheepish grin and David holds out a hand. "Shall we?" he says and the two of them head forward into the crowd to find their families, David's hand lingering on Miliband's shoulder a moment longer.

* * *

 

Behind them, Nick and George have stopped dead. George doesn't even notice when Danny drapes a yellow tie over his shoulder until Nick bursts out laughing.

George swats the tie from his shoulder. "Shut up, Clegg."

Nick shakes his head. "I'd make a remark but I'm too busy waiting for something."

"What?"

"The apocalypse. David and Miliband engaged in a conversation, where David _apologized."_

George stares at them, the tie still dangling over his arm. "Do you want to tell Danny to get ready to run the country with us or shall I?"

Nick picks up the tie and George glances at it. "Where did he get this from?"

Nick shrugs. "It's Danny and Lib Dem memorabilia. Best not to ask."

* * *

 

David's been accused more times than he can count by Sam of being too sentimental but even he can see that right now is not the time to be dwelling on sentiment.

 George is insisting to Libbie and Nancy that he's down with the kids-"I know NWA, I've been to his concerts-I've seen your dad do Gangham Style, I just need Boris to help me-" Boris himself is laughing his head off, blond hair flopping as Elwen hangs onto his wrist.

It's entirely the wrong time to be thinking of sentiment-for heaven's sake, they've just seen Bercow do a pirouette to amuse his children while Theresa and Michael both watched, looking remarkably amused-but suddenly, David finds himself glancing around at them all and quietly, worryingly, wondering who'll still be here next year.

"Penny for your thoughth, Prime Minister." Miliband's voice is close to his ear and David turns with a grin to see Miliband raising an eyebrow. "Of course they'd probably cost a lot more in your case-"

"Thank you for acknowledging the value of my thoughts, Miliband."

Ed grins, that gawky, awkward grin that always ends up tugging a smile to David's own mouth. "You thertainly look thoughtful."

David sighs. "Just thinking about next year. You know-what it will be like."

Miliband smirks. "Don't worry, Cameron. I'll ith-ssue you with an invitation."

David stares at him for a long moment and then bursts out laughing. His hand brushes Miliband's shoulder as it travels to wipe at his eyes, shaking his head. For some reason, the remark isn't as annoying as it would usually be. Instead, laughter dying away, he finds himself staring at his children, wondering how exactly they'd take leaving Downing Street. (And then wondering exactly what type of fit it would send Lynton into if he knew that David was even contemplating defeat.)

"In all seriousness" he says, before he can think twice. "I mean-isn't it strange to consider that-what's going to happen after May-"

He waits for the typical _Good to see you preparing for defeat already, Cameron-_ but instead, Miliband shakes his head. "It is a little-" He trails off, his own eyes travelling around the room. "I mean-" He laughs then. "I suppose I'm uthed to you, Cameron. They say you can acclimatise to anything, after all-"

"I knew it couldn't last."

Miliband touches his arm then, one finger brushing his wrist, and David's breath catches in his throat. Miliband's eyes catch his and his lips part as if he's about to say something and then Libbie and Nancy appear-Bea has exercised her right as a child now attending secondary school to spend the morning at home in front of the TV-Nancy tugging at David's sleeve.

"Dad, we're walking Sam and Flo about-" Nancy is blinking up at him and then her gaze slides to Miliband. Miliband smiles and after a second, so does Nancy but her eyes linger on Miliband a moment longer. David frowns-Libbie's staring at Miliband too, but Nancy's watching him differently, chewing her lip, a little more contemplative.

"That's fine" he says to the girls and before he can ask "Where are they?" he feels a tug at the sleeve and looks down to see two pairs of large eyes fixed on his own.

"Daddy, if me and Sam get married, we are going to have _big house_ " Flo says, her hand wrapped tightly around Sam's wrist.

"Is that right?" David flashes a grin at Miliband and ruffles his daughter's hair. Flo nods, blinking up at him. "We both get _money."_

"Wise decision." David chucks her under the chin. "Happy birthday, Sam, by the way."

Sam dimples.

"Looking forward to your party?"

Sam nods silently. "Mummy-Mummy and Daddy'll be-be there-"

"Of course-"

"They weren't there, yes-yesterday-"

David frowns but that's when Flo beams "We're going with  _Nancy and Libbie",_ sliding her hand snugly into Sam's and David nods. "Well, both of you be good."

Sam nods seriously, as Nancy takes her sister's hand. The two girls lead the little ones away and David turns to Ed with a grin. "Think you might have a little capitalist on your hands there, Miliband" he mutters and Miliband shakes his head, a flush at his cheeks. "You're loving this."

"I'm not denying it."

"Not denying what?" Sam swats at his arm. "Whatever it is, it makes a change."

"This is going to be your next line at Prime Minister's Questions, isn't it?" David says and Ed's already laughing before he gets to the end of the sentence.

Sam puts her hand on Ed's arm and David feels a strange flicker of something-something not quite like _annoyance_ , but-but then Nick's speaking and he's distracted.

"So-" His Deputy's voice is irritatingly smug, the way Nick always gets when he knows he's right. "Take it our fears about you and Miliband killing one another may have been unfounded?"

David rolls his eyes. "I never said-"

"Well, anyway-" Nick continues breezily, as Elwen and Alberto rush past, prompting Miriam to call _"Tranquilos, chicos-_ "At least, we can rule out the Prime Minister being arrested-"

David's about to tell Nick how childish this all is when a tap on the shoulder brings him round to face Andy Burnham. "Andy."

Andy smiles awkwardly. "Prime Minister" he says and nods at Nick. "Deputy Prime-"

"Oh, it's Nick" Nick chips in, before Andy can even finish the title. "Then again, no one else uses my name, at least not according to the headlines-"

Andy laughs. "I just wanted to tell you both-um-" He clears his throat. "Well, it's rather nice to see you and Ed spending so much time together. I mean-" He swallows. "Not that you spend an inordinate amount of time together-God, I'm messing this up-"

"You're not" David laughs, even as Nick grins and, reaching out to a passing waiter, hands Andy a glass of wine. "And-"

"They live in each other's pockets" Nick chips in. "The tabloids are getting jealous for me."

"Oh, for God's sake, we do _not-"_

"George." Nick turns to glance at George and Boris, who are currently engaging in a heated debate about whether prawns are better heated or cold. "Whose pocket does David live in? Apart from yours'?"

George doesn't even blink. "Miliband's. I mean, yours' as well, but Miliband's." He gives David a quick grin which is somewhat of a relief-David's oddly tense for some reason, anticipating something-he's not quite sure _what_ -in George's answer.

"Shut up, George" is all he manages in response, which might be rather un Prime-Ministerial but makes George burst out laughing.

"Honestly" Andy says, lowering his voice and beckoning David a little away from the others now. "I think-um-Ed really appreciates it. The time you spend together. He'd hate it if he knew I was telling you but it's not exactly political secrets we're trading here-" A nervous laugh escapes. "I think he quite enjoys spending time with you, honestly."

David feels the blush creep to his cheeks and tries to suppress the grin that comes too easily as well as the spike of sharp glee that rises in his chest at the thought.

"Well-" He clears his throat. "It's-um-it's-well, it's more than reciprocated."

 _Reciprocated._ Out of all the words in the world, he had to choose _reciprocated._

Andy laughs. "Well-I suppose everyone was a little surprised. At you two spending time together, I mean. Harriet was waiting for it to turn out to be an act of sabotage, to be honest-" The laughter falls from his face and he slaps a hand over his mouth. "Jesus, sorry, that was meant to be a joke but it came out the wrong bloody way-"

David shakes his head, that grin still tugging at his mouth. "It's fine. Lynton probably thought the same thing, to be honest with you."

Andy nods and a slightly awkward silence falls between them. It's broken by Andy taking a deep breath and placing a hand on his arm. "But really" he says. "It's not sabotage. Not that I know of, anyway."

David laughs. "Not that I do, either." They both smile and David knows they're both a little grateful when Nick interrupts the conversation to introduce Andy to Miriam.

It's not that David dislikes Andy-the opposite. In fact, sometimes, ever since playing a cricket match against him, he wishes Andy wasn't quite so likeable. Because sometimes, all he can see are the divisions that will be scored firmly into place in the next few months-and not just between him and Andy.

* * *

 

"This isn't going to work."

"I could have told you that."

"Why did you fucking go along with it, then?"

"Because we needed it to."

"You can't honestly be fucking giving up."

"I thought you were the one who said we were going to lose?"

* * *

 

 _"Crisis For Miliband"_ is what Tom reads out, once Zia's got the children downstairs, away from the paper that Ed's now staring at, as though that might somehow rearrange the letters into a different predicted headline.

"I know what it thayth" he manages, after a moment. "I just thought-"

 _Thought_ is another word for _hoped_ and all Ed can do is stare at the headline and shrug, hopelessly.

Tom squeezes his shoulder for a moment before turning to Bob, who's sitting on the couch, eyes travelling back and forth between them. "We need a plan of action" he announces, and Ed nods, grateful to hear the words.

There's a knock at the door and Ed jumps up as Justine pops her head round. "Everything all right?"

"It's fine" he manages but it's obviously not convincing enough because Justine lowers her voice so that just the two of them can hear. "Are you sure?"

Ed doesn't know why something about the question riles him. Perhaps it's the sheer fact that there's a myriad of headlines spread out in front of him, questioning his ability to be sure.

"I said so, didn't I?" He struggles to keep his tone light but a touch of something-not quite irritation, but close enough-creeps in.

He sees the words hit Justine, and immediately flinches himself, opening his mouth with no idea of what to say but Justine just says "Fine", her tone distinctly cooler than before and before Ed can get out more than "Justine" she's retreating, saying something about the study, the door closing behind her.

Ed stands still, staring stupidly at the door for a few moments before Stewart clears his throat awkwardly. "Ed-Lucy's on her way and we said we'd make a start before she arrived-"

Ed closes his eyes for a moment, silently opens up to another Sunday afternoon spent like this, clearing up the mess of some other disaster. Some other disaster centred around him.

Ed's getting tired of disasters that centre around him.

But he closes his eyes and then opens them and forces a smile. "Fantathtic" he manages, turning to sit down again. "Where do we th-start?"

As Tom reaches for the article to read out one of the offending paragraphs, Ed finds himself thinking, reluctantly, that right now he could do with Cameron to shake his head and say, with a grin, something about  _Labour leaving homework until Sunday night again?_  Or just grin. Anything to distract Ed from the fact that this is his Sunday afternoon, and it won't be the last.

* * *

 

It's not until they're at home and the kids are in bed that Sam says "You seemed a bit quiet today."

David nods. "I suppose-" He swallows, makes himself say the words. "I suppose I was thinking."

"About May?" Sam says shrewdly. Off David's look, she says "Nick was telling Miriam the same thing."

David isn't sure if it makes him feel better or worse that Nick shares his concerns. "Well-it's just strange, that's all" he manages. "For all of us."

Sam touches his arm. "But Nick. The thought of competing against him-"

David swallows. A lot of it is Nick. The last five years might have had jolts but they've somehow come through them and somehow, that's made him value Nick even more. The thought of having to descend into the vicious tides of election in less than six months isn't one David's anticipating with any great joy.

"A lot of it" he tells her honestly. "I mean-it's just difficult-having to put aside anything-" He searches for a word. "Personal" he finally settles on.

Sam sighs. "Dave. I know. But-I know how much the election means to you."

"It's not just for me" David argues. "It's for-I mean-Ed's-Miliband's ideas-they're just not practical, for God's sake and that-" _That should make it easier_ , is what he wants to be able to say.

Sam sighs. "It's like when I try to persuade Flo to take medicine" she mutters. "It doesn't matter how often I tell her it's for her own good, she still doesn't-"

"Sam, I really don't think Flo's medicine is comparable."

David hears the bite in the words the second they're out of his mouth and Sam's arm falls from his shoulders. "Well, sorry for using such a pathetic analogy."

"No, I didn't mean it like-"

Sam gets up from the bed, turns to the wardrobe. David is familiar with this-the way Sam turns away when she really wants to deliver a point. Sometimes, he thinks that they've got it all wrong, shouting at each other in the House of Commons-it's when someone turns away from you that you listen harder, sharper, because a part of you is wondering if you've already pushed them too far.

"It's hard, sometimes, to know what to say to you" she says, reaching for a long T-shirt, her voice quiet. "Your problems have to come first. And I understand that, Dave. I always have. But it just-"

"Sam, I don't mean for you-"

"Could you let me speak, Dave?"

David falls silent, as she stands still, clutching her T-shirt.

"It's just-hard" she says, without looking at him. "To always feel like your problems are-the less important ones. Even if they have to be."

David blinks. "Sam, you-you know, you and the kids, you're-" He tries to sum it up, any of it. What they are to him. There's no point in even trying. It's something he'll never be able to do.

So he settles on the simplest of terms that still say something. "You mean everything to me." He clears his throat and then-"You're all the most important things."

Sam sighs. "I know. I know and I know it's not exactly a nine-to-five job you're doing. But-it's difficult, sometimes." She turns slowly and David watches helplessly as she tries for a smile. "I know it's not your fault. But-it can be hard when you feel like you're stuck somewhere that's not your gig."

She shakes her head a second later. "It's stupid, forget it-"

"It's not stupid." David gets up, pulls her into his chest. "Not if it bothers you."

A hint of a smile dances at the edge of Sam's mouth. "Can we talk about it another time then? It's just, I'm tired-"

David nods. "I'm sorry. That I snapped at you."

Sam nods and after a moment, her head rests on his shoulder and he puts his arm around her, pressing a kiss into her hair. "Good analogy too, by the way" he murmurs. "Lady Thatcher would be impressed."

Sam laughs into his shoulder. "Is that supposed to be a compliment, Dave?"

"You decide." He feels her laughter vibrate through his shoulder and he tries to hold onto it, to catch the sound between his fingers, to play it over the _future_ and _May_ and _election_ spinning through his head.

* * *

 "So we're giving up, then?"

"I wouldn't say giving up."

"But you would, even if you're not."

A silence. Then "Giving up on this, yes. Giving up on the party-"

"They might as well be the same fucking thing."

Another long silence. Then, "Do you mean that?"

A pause. Then, "Do I?"

* * *

 

Ed opens his eyes to see Sam standing next to the bed. "Th-Sam-" He glances at Justine but she's fast asleep next to him. He'd debated sleeping in the spare room again-it had been hours after Justine was asleep that he'd come to bed-but he'd ended up here, anyway.

 He stares at the clock. "Sam, it's half-three."

Sam stands still, blinking at him over the teddy bear clutched tight over his chest. "I had a bad dream, Daddy."

Ed sighs, wondering where Zia is-he's sure Sunday night should count as Monday-Friday. But he knows Sam won't leave him alone, and so he swings himself out of bed, holding his hand out, muttering "Come on, then" a little too roughly.

After a trip to the bathroom, a trip down to the kitchen for a glass of water, and then a check under the bed for monsters, Ed's tucking Sam back under the duvet. He wonders how Zia does it without getting annoyed, without tugging the duvet too fast, wanting to get back to bed.  

Sam blinks up at him from his pillow. "Daniel pushed me in front of train in dream."

Ed does his best to keep his voice level. "Did he?" He pulls the duvet tight over his son, tucking him in, pecking an awkward kiss to his forehead.

"Daniel hated me" Sam says,  cheek pressing into his pillow. 

Ed opens his mouth, but Sam's eyes are already closing.

Ed sits there for a moment, those headlines splashed across his brain indelibly,  those murmurs underneath the party pricking at his thoughts. He can see two kids, hands knotted in each other's hair, separated by miles of ocean.

He sits there for a few moments, watches his son sleeping without touching him, and listens to his thoughts and in the midst of them all, the house breathing quietly around them, all in different rooms.

* * *

 

_Playlist_

 

_News Of The World-The Jam_ _-" _Don't take it too serious, not many do/ _But read between the lines, and you'll find the truth"-pretty much fits the situation with the headlines.___

_Everything You Do-He Is We-"_ __Upside down off the ground is what you do"_ _ __...."I still get those stupid butterflies"-pretty self-explanatory, but definitely fits Dave helping Ed with his tie.__

_Fast In My Car-Paramore- " _Been through the wringer a couple times, I came out callous and cruel/ _And my two friends know this very well, because they've been through it too/ _The three of us were initiates, we had to learn how to deal/ _And when we spotted a second chance, we had to learn how to steal..."this fits the coalition dynamics as they approach the election perfectly._____

______Come Undone-Placebo - _"You don't know how you come across/ _Acting like you don't give a toss.../ _You don't know how you're coming across/ _You don't know how you're coming across/ _And I don't think that you're aware of the cost/ _So you come undone"-this really works for David and Ed's polar-opposite attitudes to things._______ _ _ _ _ _

  _Cool-Tigers' Jaw - _"It's a cruel world, but it's cool"-this definitely suits the last scenes and the interspersed bits of dialogue throughout the chapter.__

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David did take his kids to the Remembrance Services-you can see him here with Florence in 2014 (when this is meant to take place) and Elwen in 2013:  
> https://goo.gl/images/kSK4kL  
> https://goo.gl/images/g8t5YA  
> https://goo.gl/images/dGw5xs  
> https://goo.gl/images/LZaGCK  
> https://goo.gl/images/B4HFX3  
> The headlines refer to the attempted leadership coup against Ed which took place in November 2014 as he was performing a reshuffle, orchestrated partly by Alastair Campbell and Peter Mandelson, two of the architects of New Labour, in response to Ed's poor ratings, during which they attempted to persuade veteran Labour MP Alan Johnson to mount a leadership challenge: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/nov/05/miliband-reshuffles-election-team-response-to-questioning-of-his-leadership  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/nov/08/ed-miliband-crisis-labour-mps-back-leadership-change  
> https://www.politicshome.com/news/uk/political-parties/labour-party/ed-miliband/news/79692/ed-miliband-dismissed-pleas-stay  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/ed-miliband-fights-for-his-political-life-amid-rumours-of-labour-backbench-revolt-9844525.html  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/nov/06/ed-miliband-faces-labour-leadership-crisis  
> https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/ed-miliband-has-until-christmas-4594216  
> https://www.newstatesman.com/politics/2014/11/ed-miliband-s-problem-not-policy-tone-and-increasingly-he-seems-trapped  
> https://blogs.spectator.co.uk/2014/11/how-serious-is-the-threat-to-ed-miliband/  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11214886/Ed-Miliband-How-Labour-rebels-turned-on-their-leader.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/ed-is-teetering-on-the-edge-with-no-one-behind-who-can-push-n502fz03sj8  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/labour/11396471/Alan-Johnson-approached-to-replace-Ed-Miliband-as-Labour-leader-months-before-election.html  
> Here's Ed and Justine leaving the house that morning: https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/labour-leader-ed-miliband-facing-leadership-questions-news-footage/647123616  
> https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/labour-leader-ed-miliband-facing-leadership-questions-news-footage/647127088  
> Dave and Boris did dance Gangnam Style together: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2217458/David-Cameron-Boris-Johnson-really-DID-perform-Gangnam-Style-dance-private-Chequers-summit.html  
> You can see some of the Remembrance Sunday service here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcULqXU6L80  
> The reference to Ed's father refers to when Ed's father was referred to by the Mail as "The Man Who Hated Britain"-David was one of the ones who defended Ed and his family:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2435751/Red-Eds-pledge-bring-socialism-homage-Marxist-father-Ralph-Miliband-says-GEOFFREY-LEVY.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2439565/As-Ed-Miliband-reacts-angrily-critique-Marxist-father--We-repeat-This-man-did-hate-Britain.html  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-24343074  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2013/oct/01/ralph-miliband-what-daily-mail-said  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2439593/Why-father-loved-Britain-Ed-Miliband.html  
> https://news.sky.com/story/cameron-supports-ed-miliband-in-father-row-10432803  
> Ed and Justine had been at the Festival Of Remembrance the night before: https://goo.gl/images/MouYdD Ed does get annoyed if his kids wake him up:https://www.ft.com/content/101913f6-acc1-11e4-beeb-00144feab7de  
> Sam did mention that being at Number 10 was tough because it "wasn't her gig":http://www.vogue.co.uk/article/samantha-cameron-fashion-label-cefinn-interview  
> Bea did apparently win a battle to stay home alone that day:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2830913/SARAH-VINE-family-pay-sins-minority.html  
> David and Andy did play a cricket match together: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2001/jun/25/1  
> Ed and Ed B did have a famously difficult relationship: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2196541/The-Ed-Ed-feud-wreck-Milibands-No10-dream.html  
> Chris is the Prime Minister's Private Secretary, who had served under Gordon Brown and David Cameron. He very sadly passed away in late 2015: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/nov/25/david-cameron-tribute-my-bernard-death-chris-martin  
> David's boarding school reference is a joke about this article: https://www.theguardian.com/education/2014/jun/09/boarding-schools-bad-leaders-politicians-bullies-bumblers  
> Sam was a bad sleeper: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/profiles/ed-miliband-cameron-is-the-last-gasp-of-the-old-guard-7856651.html


	6. Airbound Exchanges, The Etiquette of Dance Chairs and The Strange Affection of Disgruntled Labourites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which telling Andy to shut up is a sign of affection, Yvette can appear when least expected, and David and Ed take Musical Dance Chairs far too seriously."  
> (And holding hands is Not Something They Do.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment because they are like cookies to me. (And I like cookies.) :)

_"She said she never envisioned him the type of person_

_Capable of such deceit"-Long Division, Death Cab for Cutie_

 

* * *

 

 

 

"You're not wearing them on the election campaign, are you, Cameron?"

David rolls his eyes. "I'm wearing these because I had to return from a meeting to exercise my constitutional duty."

Ed raises an eyebrow. "By _meeting,_ you mean _dinner_ and by _constitutional duty_ , you mean walking into a room to vote."

"I'm shocked that you would besmirch the institution of democracy in that manner-"

"Sorry, I need to laugh-I need to laugh at the idea that _you_ are talking about besmirching democracy-"

"Sorry, I need to laugh at the idea _that_ you see a charity function as a dinner-"

"You ate off plates with _silver cutlery,_ Cameron."

David tugs his tails tighter. "Like you haven't worn them."

Ed's mouth twitches as he takes in the sight of Cameron in those tails which make him look exactly like the member of the Bullingdon Club he once was and yet somehow, does not render him entirely dripping with privilege and superiority.

Instead, Ed finds himself watching Cameron a little too long and he feels a little tug of warmth in his chest. Cameron's eyes flicker to his curiously and Ed feels himself grin, a little too wide, before he can stop himself.

****

* * *

 

****

**_Relieved not to have to face PMQs today?_ **

_Of course. It's painful to watch you try to come up with questions._

**_You know I plan them beforehand, don't you, Cameron? You are familiar with the concept of planning?_ **

_Really, Miliband? Those questions are planned?_

**_Hilarious. :)_ **

_Miliband, is that an attempt at an emojii?_

**_It's a method of battle, Cameron, to understand your opponent's weapons._ **

  1. _A) That was not a usage of my weapon, B) Is it also a method of battle to divulge your weapons to the enemy?_



**_Would that be you, Cameron?_ **

_I suppose so. If that's how you think of me._

**_Isn't it how you think of me?_ **

_I wouldn't say as an enemy, no._

**_Oh. I suppose I presumed that was your opinion._ **

_Well, no. It isn't._

**_Well, it wasn't you I was thinking of when I said enemy._ **

_Oh? Who were you thinking of?_

**_Nobody in particular, Cameron. It was more of a hypothetical statement._ **

_A hypothetical statement about a hypothetical enemy?_

**_It was hypothetical, Cameron. Honestly._ **

_No, I believe you. I'm just surprised. You actually spend your time picturing imaginary battles?_

**_Not literal battles, Cameron._ **

_With you, one could wonder._

**_Cameron, every time you use the phrase "one" you sound further away from the general public. You sound like Jacob, except he gets away with it because he sounds like Jacob. And for pity's sake, you can't have honestly thought that I was picturing genuine battles._ **

_Well, to each his own. :)_

**_You do know the difference between hypothetical and imaginary?_ **

_No, Miliband, I'm actually an idiot. Of course I do._

**_That first part's debatable. And you actually picked up a book at Eton?_ **

_Did you actually put a book down at Haverstock?_

**_Apparently, I retained more knowledge than you._ **

_Really, Miliband? It's been a year and you still haven't learnt the difference between intellectual self-confidence and intellect. And I read your speech._

**_Did you not learn to count the months, Cameron? Twelve, not ten, is a year. And thank you. I hope it proved informative._ **

_You actually kept a record of the date? And informative is one word for it. Though I'll admit it was rather good._

**_I believe that's what's known as being tainted with faint praise, Cameron. And speaking of dates, Sam's party is on Sunday._ **

_It wasn't intended to be faint praise. And anything in particular Sam would like for his gift?_

**_I think a lot of things don't come out the way you intended, but if it was genuine, thanks. And you don't need to worry, he'll have enough presents._ **

_It was genuine. And we'd love to bring him something. As I understand, young Samuel appreciates our gifts. Do you remember the hat?_

**_Thank you. And before you ask, I agree, the hat was lovely._ **

_I'm happy you liked it. He was a lovely baby._

**_I agree._ **

_Also, Florence will likely make him a card, and it will probably be covered in emojis. So you don't have to guess what they are._

**_Ah. Noted. And thank you, it's much appreciated._ **

_You're welcome._

**_Lovely idea from Florence, too._ **

_Thank you. She'll be thrilled._

**_I hope so._ **

_Really, you keep a record of the dates?_

**_Have you thought of getting your daughter to make a card for Bercow, Cameron? I understand he wasn't too happy with your side's performance at the debate the other night._ **

_It makes a change for him, being able to blame us for something for once._

**_Shut up, Cameron._ **

_:)_

**_Please, not again._ **

_:)_

_W **hat do you want me to do, Cameron, beg?**_

_What do you want, Miliband? To re-read that message?_

**_Point taken. I'll refer you to my directive a few messages ago._ **

_:)_

**_Very mature, Prime Minister._ **

_Shut up, Miliband._

**_Shut up, Cameron._ **

* * *

 

_Well, I'm seriously reconsidering the benefits of air travel._

**_Conditions of flights not meeting expectations?_ **

_Absolutely hellish._

**_He says from the privilege of business class._ **

_Sod off, you try flying twenty six hours._

**_God, right now?_ **

_I didn't mean it literally, Miliband._

**_No, I meant are you flying twenty six hours right now?_ **

_Yes. Of course. G20, remember?_

**_Well-Cameron, don't put yourself out. I mean, if you get home and you're exhausted, we'll more than understand if you don't turn up to the party._ **

_Is that a polite way of uninviting me?_

**_No, Cameron, it isn't. It's an attempt at showing empathy. I know Tories aren't familiar with it but it's concern for others._ **

_Actually, it's an ability to understand and share the feelings of another._

**_Cameron, are you Googling this?_ **

_No._

**_Really?_ **

_I have a dictionary app._

**_My apologies, that's obviously completely different, Prime Minister._ **

_Good to see you recognizing facts._

**_Honestly, I'm not trying to uninvite you. I just didn't want you to feel pressured._ **

_Thank you, Miliband. And no, I'm not being sarcastic. But by the time I get home, jet lag will have done its' work and I won't be able to sleep anyway._

**_You missed an opening there, Cameron-"I could always just spend time with you to remedy insomnia, etc."_ **

_I wasn't planning to use it._

**_Oh. That makes a change._ **

_Yes, doesn't it? Tories being the progressive party._

**_Cameron, I just dropped my phone because I honestly hope that is an attempt at a joke._ **

_Sorry to disappoint you, Miliband._

**_I'm accustomed to that, Cameron, after seeing your track record with promises. And honestly. Only come if you feel like it._ **

_Thank you, Miliband. But I'll be fine._

**_If you're sure. Haven't gambled away all our resources at the G20, have you?_ **

_No, Miliband, I'm not your former Leader. We check the price of gold when we sell it._

**_Well, that's highly original, Cameron._ **

_The truth lasts, Miliband._

**_Apparently, this is how you choose to spend your flight._ **

_Well, I'm bored and I've finished a book. Lynton and the rest are asleep and there's not much else to look at in business class._

**_I could purchase you a tiny violin, if you wish, Cameron._ **

_Hilarious, Miliband._

**_Sincerely. The world's tiniest violin for the world's smallest problems._ **

_I've now got a bigger one._

_W **as there a mistake with the caviar, Prime Minister?**_

_I was going to say I was speaking to you, but honestly, Miliband, you leap on caviar as the quintessential rich food?_

**_So you admit you're rich?_ **

_Of course I admit I'm rich. When have I ever tried to say I'm not rich? Do you admit you're rich?_

**_I'm well-off, Cameron._ **

_Miliband, your house costs more than mine did._

**_Honestly?_ **

_Yes._

**_I thought you spent money on renovations._ **

_That was for Ivan. He needed them._

**_Jesus, Cameron, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that._ **

_I know. Sorry._

**_You don't need to be sorry._ **

_I do, I know you didn't mean it like that. And anyway, yes, aside from that our house was/is worth less than yours'._

**_Is?_ **

_We still own it, you know._

**_That's good news._ **

_How very subtle of you, Miliband. And at least, you won't be going down in the world come May._

**_That's quite true._ **

_Very amusing. I'm nodding off, you know._

**_Why don't you sleep, then?_ **

_I wanted to text you. To see how badly everything was falling apart in my absence, what Labour scandals I have to look forward to, etc._

**_I'm flattered. Even if I have to disappoint you._ **

_I'm used to that from you._

**_What, me being flattered?_ **

_Perhaps._

**_Well. Maybe you should get some sleep._ **

_Another uninvitation, Miliband?_

**_No, Cameron, this time, concern for your health. Those flights can be hell and since you're coming, I don't want you functioning on one hour's sleep._ **

_I'm touched, Miliband._

**_Of course you are. Now, go to sleep._ **

_Thank you for the advice._

**_You often need it. ::)_ **

_What was that?_

**_Shut up, I've never done that one before._ **

_Can I insert a LOL here?_

**_Cameron, I'm begging you not to. Plus, we all know your track record with LOLS._ **

_Shut up, Miliband._

**_Shut up, Cameron._ **

_:)_

**_:)_ **

_See, that was a proper emoji._

**_Oh, shut up and go to sleep._ **

* * *

 

"Now, remember to be polite to everyone-" David feels a little frazzled. but then he thinks he's entitled to feel a little frazzled. He _has_ just made a twenty six hour flight less than a day ago and now they're sitting in a car, two protection vehicles around them, in Miliband's street, about to go inside and celebrate at a birthday party.

He turns to straighten Nancy's collar and tidy Elwen's hair. "And call everyone Mr. or Mrs. until they say it's all right not to. And you must remember-"

"That it's a four-year-old's party." Sam swats his arm gently. "For goodness' sake, Dave, you're more wound up than they are. Are you sure the jet lag isn't affecting you?"

David actually isn't feeling the jet lag. Or he is, but it's there in the sharpness, the odd clarity of his thoughts which are running a little faster than usual. He knows that later he'll crash-he always does-but he's got a good few hours before that sets in, and he's determined to make the most of them.

Now, looking at Sam, he sighs. "It's just-they were _good_ at being guests" he mutters, knowing he sounds petulant. "What if we're not?"

Nancy raises an eyebrow in the back seat. "Thanks, Dad."

David opens his mouth but before he gets a chance to protest, Sam leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Calm down. Everyone's going to be on their very best behaviour."

The children are sufficiently occupied for Sam to reach up and whisper in his ear "And aren't you just a little worried that it's going to be just you in a room full of disgruntled Labourites?"

David reflects that he might have found more appreciation just staying in Australia.

* * *

 

"You should have seen Ed before you arrived" Justine says quietly to Sam in the kitchen, almost a little nervously. "I think for the first time in our marriage, he actually showed an interest in housework."

Sam bursts out laughing. "It was the other way round with us. I remember George staring at the washing-up liquid once, asking Frances if that was what you use to clean the toilet, though."

Justine laughs, taking another sip of tea. "I remember Daniel trying to help with the dishwasher. Ed spent two hours asking over and over how a three-year-old could be better at domestic tasks than him."

Sam shakes her head as they watch their husbands out of the window. Sam bites back a smile at the thought of what the media would say if they got hold of this picture-David and Ed sitting cross-legged next to each other, their eyes fixed on a parcel being passed around the circle, accompanied by a Pixar soundtrack and childrens' cheers.

"Been a lot to organize" Justine says, staring down at her mug as if she's not quite sure what to do with it. "There's been a lot on at work-we weren't really sure who to invite-"

Sam frowns, only now noticing that there do seem to be very few young children about-Flo seems to be one of the few close to little Sam's age. She glances at Justine, musing that surely work can't be that much of a distraction to organizing your son's birthday party, but Justine's staring out the window, and Sam follows her gaze.

David and Ed aren't the only ones engaging in the game-Andy, Ed (the other Ed-the one David spends just as much time complaining about), Douglas and Sadiq are all crouched in amongst their children, along with some of Ed's aides' kids and a few from Sam's nursery. All of the children are glancing between the adults with beaming faces, clearly thrilled at the sight of grown men behaving like they themselves are attending their fourth birthdays. There are a lot of grown adults there, Sam notices now.

"Not exactly a good example" Justine says ruefully, as she points out of the window. "For teaching them about patience, taking turns-oh, for pity's sake, Ed, you're not going to win-" she adds and Sam grins as Ed passes the parcel to her husband as slowly as humanly possible.

The music stops and Sam winces. David and Ed both currently have their hands on the parcel and immediately, both tighten their grip.

"Dad-" Nancy, who's sitting next to Andy's daughter Annie, leaps to her feet. "Dad, Ed's holding on tighter-"

"No, no, no-" Daniel's chanting now. " _Your_ daddy got hold of it, _his_ parcel now-"

Ed Balls lets his head fall into his hands. As Justine and Sam watch, they're both startled by Yvette's voice over their shoulders. "Oh God. Don't tell me I'm going to have to tell my husband off about sportsmanship in front of the children. Not again."

Sam reflects grimly that it's hardly Yvette's husband everyone should be concerned about. Her own husband is holding the parcel with a look of grim determination that only usually appears when he's watching the cricket.

"You wouldn't think he went to Eton" she muses aloud. "With these manners-"

She stops dead, wondering if she's made an awful mistake, but Yvette is already laughing.

"You wouldn't think Ed prides himself on fairness, either" Justine mutters. The children are watching avidly now. Sadiq is vainly trying to wrest his phone from one of his daughters, Balls is now watching the game keenly next to Ed's friend Marc, who's got his hand resting on the back of his pregnant wife, while Douglas appears to be using his phone to record the dispute, Eve nestled into his side. Nancy and Annie have apparently never found any event so hilarious while-Sam is amused to see-Elwen appears to be staring fixedly at a football, which seems to be being kept in continual motion by Maddy.

Sam and Flo are side by side, both of them with their big eyes fixed on their fathers in near identical expressions of awe. The disagreement seems to be gaining volume now and judging by the grins on both men's faces, this is not an entirely displeasuring experience.

"Right" Sam mutters, setting the empty mug down on the counter as the tugging over the present grows a little more frenetic, "I think I might intervene."

Justine drains her mug and follows suit, shaking her head. "Maybe they need a time-out" she manages.

* * *

 

"It was perfectly fair" David finds himself arguing with his wife. "Miliband was clearly contradicting the time-honoured rules of "Pass The Parcel.""

Sam glares at him. "We are _guests-_ Ed was kind enough to _invite_ us-"

David glares back, his head buzzing a little with the lack of sleep."Traditions are what hold this country together."

 "I can't believe we're actually having this conversation."

A few yards away, Justine is hissing angrily at Ed. "Worse than the _children-"_

Speaking of the children, they're all huddled a few feet away gazing at David and Ed and making absolutely no effort to stifle their giggles.

"Now" Sam touches David's elbow. "Go and play _nicely."_ She fails to suppress a grin. "Or you might have to go in the naughty corner."

David glowers at her and turns away to find Ed aiming a rather similar disgruntled look at Justine. He waits until their wives are safely out of earshot before he leans in and mutters "It was still my parcel."

"I think you'll find it was _not_ your parcel-"

"That was your fault-"

"Excuse me-that was _your-"_

"Are you fighting again?" They both turn to see Florence and Sam, hand in hand now and beaming up at them.

"What do you mean, _again?"_ Miliband says , as his son pulls Florence's hand up to his cheek.

Flo beams up at them. "Again means _over_ and _over."_ She smiles and hugs David around his calves-the highest part of him she can reach-with one arm, the other hand still wrapped tightly around Sam's. "You _always_ argue-"

"Daddy says-like brick _wall-_ cord-cordal-brick _wall-"_  Sam chips in.

"It's _cordial"_ Miliband corrects his son, then looks anxiously at David who raises an eyebrow at him. "I said it once."

"No, Daddy, Daddy said-"

"Hey." Andy, who has appeared from nowhere, swoops down, lifting both Florence and Sam effortlessly. "What's all this about daddies arguing?"

"Our daddies argue" Flo informs him solemnly and Andy widens his eyes. "Your daddies are arguing? That's not good, is it?"

Sam shakes his head.

Andy smirks at them both over the children's heads. "Well, some of the others are playing a bit of football out there" he says, indicating with a jerk of the head a group of kids including Elwen, Maddy, Rosie and Annie all happily kicking a ball back and forth. "Do you two want to join in?"

Florence nods excitedly and after a moment, Sam does too-a little less excitedly. David glances at Miliband and sees him watching his son worriedly.

Florence, too, is watching Sam, with her head tilted. "What's wrong?" she burbles, taking his little hand and squeezing it between her own.

Sam chews his lip. "I like-I like football" he babbles, turning two big dark eyes upon his father. "But b-ball doesn't go-go where-"

David thinks he sees Miliband wince. His hand hovers awkwardly, as though wanting to reach out but not quite sure how to.

David frowns but puts his own hand on Sam's shoulder. "Don't worry, Sam. I wasn't very good at football, either. It took me years to get the hang of it."

Flo beams, big blue eyes shining. "You-you not very good at football now, Daddy. Elwen beats you."

Ed and Andy both bite their lips hard as David scowls. "He doesn't _always."_

* * *

 

* * *

 

Childrens' parties, Ed has decided, are exhausting. 

 Having watched about ten renditions of "Happy Birthday", chanted so that each sufficiently young child can have a go at blowing the candles out-Justine had worried excessively about the hygiene of such an approach-and following several excitable rounds of party games, Ed now finds himself glancing longingly at the clock and wondering at the boundless energy of four-year-olds.

"They don't tire easily, do they?" Ed turns at Cameron's voice to see the other man standing beside him with a grin. "Could do with some of that energy when I'm up late working."

Ed agrees but he can't resist the chance to say it, so he takes a sip of his drink and says "I could do with that football during Prime Minister's Questions."

Cameron's mouth twitches. "For protection? Ignoring your Shadow Chancellor's advice again, Miliband?"

Ed raises an eyebrow. "Only as you continually advise-"

"Do I hear slurs on my husband's good name?" Yvette has appeared out of nowhere, causing Ed to jump and Cameron to smirk triumphantly. She taps Ed on the shoulder. "Because honestly, that's my job."

She glances across the room at the other Ed and Andy who currently seem to be engaged in some kind of wrestling match, much to the delight of all the children. "God, I don't know which ones are supposed to be the adults" she mutters, taking a last sip of her drink, and then taps Ed on the shoulder. "And you'd think you'd have got used to that trick by now, I was always sneaking up on you when we were in the flat-"

Ed turns to glare but Cameron's already smirking. "I always forget the two of you shared a flat once."

Yvette laughs. "Lucky you." She smiles at Ed, a little more mischievously this time. "Then again, it gives me some wonderful stories. Like the time you-"

Ed cuts in before Yvette can launch into one of her many stories that will undoubtedly paint Ed in a far worse light than the unvarnished truth. (Especially the one about the banana and the thong.)

"Anyway-" He's met with two identical grins and reflects briefly that it might not have been the best idea to allow Yvette and Cameron to meet outside of a professional context.

Cameron smiles at Yvette. "I think those stories may have to be shared under the Freedom of Information Act-"

Yvette grins. "This might be one of the few times I find myself in agreement with the Prime Minister, Mr. Speaker-"

"Hilarious" Ed manages as Yvette dissolves into laughter. Cameron's faring no better and Ed rolls his eyes as Yvette's attention is distracted by a particularly loud shout from across the room.

"Oh, for pity's sake-" he hears her mutter and then she's heading over to the corner where her husband now appears to be holding Andy in a headlock.

Ed rolls his eyes. Cameron stares at him. "So Bullingdon Boys aren't the only ones with skeletons in their closets then?"

Ed blinks. "How do you know she put the skeleton in the closet?"

Cameron stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

Daniel wanders between their legs, chewing a fairy cake.  Behind them, Flo and Sam appear to be scribbling on each other's arms, Nancy touching Liz's rounded stomach gently, whilst Elwen is being chased by Maddy who appears to be trying to attack him with a feather boa.

Ed sighs and glances at Cameron. "The side of your face is still red" he remarks. "Looks like the crimson tide is back."

"That ball should be listed as a military-grade _weapon."_

Ed smirks at him. "Honestly, are you OK?"

Cameron shrugs and puts a hand to his cheek. "I've had much worse from Flo. When she was two, her favourite way of waking me up was to jump right into my chest."

Ed laughs and Cameron shakes his head as he raises a hand to the still flushed skin of his cheek. "Honestly, I'm fine" he says, with a small smile. Ed bites his lip, feeling a strange jolt at the sight of the smile that's leaving him more than a little confused-the same feeling that rose up at the sight of Cameron's soliloquy earlier being cut off by a ball to the face.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it-Cameron's distracted by a tug at the sleeve. Nancy's standing still, staring up at her father.

"Having a good time, sweetheart?" Cameron puts an arm around his daughter's shoulders, only for Nancy to give him a scandalised look. Cameron raises his hand. "Sorry, forgot the cardinal rules."

Nancy rolls her eyes. But she glances around to make sure nobody's looking and then grabs her dad's sleeve for a moment, causing a smile to ghost briefly across Cameron's mouth. Ed watches and that flicker of feeling is back for a moment, a smile spreading across his own mouth as he watches the tenderness in Cameron's eyes as he looks at his daughter.

"Feeling all right, Nancy?" David asks, his voice softer this time and Nancy nods but she doesn't let go of her father's sleeve.

"Tired" she says, after a moment and David hugs her closer, clearly without thinking.

Nancy rolls her eyes. _"Dad"_ she says but her tone lacks any vehemence and she huddles into him for a second more. Her eyes meet Ed's through the gap in her father's arms.

Ed smiles but the memory of his last conversation with Nancy niggles underneath and he's careful to keep his voice light as he says "How have you been, Nancy?"

Nancy blinks at him." Fine." She blinks up at him, pouts a little. "How are you?" she says and Ed knows then that she hasn't told Cameron about their conversation and nor does she plan to.

"I've been well" he says but he studies Nancy's face as surreptitiously as he can. Her eyes flicker away and she buries her head in her father's shirt.

Cameron looks confused but strokes Nancy's hair gently. Ed watches, bemused, wondering how Cameron finds the affection so easy. When she pulls away, Ed stares after her as she trots off to join Annie.

"Every time I think I've got it worked out..." David mutters and then shakes his head. "She _has_ been a little up and down lately, though."

Ed stares from Nancy's retreating back to Cameron and the look on his face as he watches his daughter. Something aching rises in his throat so that for a moment, he has to swallow and blink at the sudden prickling of something at his eyes. He blinks, astonished, quickly ducking his head, and before he can stop himself, he's saying "Cameron."

Cameron blinks, lifting his gaze to Ed's. "Yes?"

Ed opens his mouth then closes it again. They're in the middle of his son's birthday party and he doesn't even know what to _say_ to Cameron. What _is_ there to say?

He sighs at the impossibility of explaining it and especially explaining it now so he just looks at Cameron and says "Nothing."

Cameron gives him an uncertain smile and Ed forces himself to return it and tries not to feel the point tracing his lips, the sharp little jab of a lie.

* * *

 

Sam takes another sip of her drink and watches idly as little Sam laughs joyously as he dances back and forth with Flo. Behind them, she can see David and Ed, clearly engaged in their usual exchange of insults, each smirking when they think the other isn't looking. 

Justine follows her gaze again. "For two people who are supposed to disagree" she muses, taking another sip of tea. "They can certainly get on well when they want to."

Sam laughs. "I think they enjoy the disagreeing. David's never able to let go of an argument-Ed gives him a run for his money."

"At least you two get a break during the day." They both turn to see Douglas standing behind them, also with his eyes trained on David and Ed. He shakes his head. "On the other hand _, that-"_ He indicates David and Ed, with a tilt of the forehead _. "That_ is our work life."

Justine laughs, for the first time, Sam thinks, in a few hours. "You think we get a _break?"_ she splutters at exactly the same moment that Sam bursts out with "You think we have it _easy?"_

Douglas holds up his hands. "I never learn" he says as both Sam and Justine fix their gazes on him.

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Evidently. And if you think we don't have to put up with _this-"_

Justine rolls her eyes. "Ed woke me up asking which emoji to send to your husband the other night."

Sam covers her mouth. "Oh God, I'm sorry. David tried to use the term _emoji_ a few weeks back and I thought Nancy was going to collapse."

Douglas snorts. "Brace yourself" he warns her. "Eve and Douglas? Want nothing to do with you in front of their friends. But at home, when they've spent all their pocket money, suddenly, you're the Bank of Mum and Dad."

Sam laughs. "Oh, we're definitely the Bank of Mum and Dad for Nancy. And Elwen's starting that way, too." She notices that Douglas and Justine's eyes meet for only a second, and then dart away from each other.

Frowning, she watches her own husband for a moment, watches him touch Ed's elbow to get his attention. She watches quietly and after a moment, becomes aware that she isn't the only one watching.

"I'm starting to think you're right" Justine murmurs just to her. "They do like the disagreeing."

She blinks as she says it and Sam glances at her as a shadow crosses her face. Or Sam thinks it does, but then Justine smiles and says "Too bad for us" and Sam thinks she must have imagined the whole thing after all.

* * *

 

After a few rounds of Musical Chairs (Andy and the other Ed get into a heated discussion of who was first to a chair that culminates in another headlock and a round of cheers from the children), one round of Pin The Tail On The Donkey (other Ed tries sticking his fingers over Yvette's head while she's blindfolded and promptly receives an unerringly accurate smack on the shoulder) and one round of "Who Am I?" later (Douglas gets Taylor Swift and is mercilessly ribbed by Eve, Nancy and every other girl present after various guesses including Brad Pitt, Marilyn Manson, and Kate Bush), Sam screams for Musical Dance Chairs which Ed has to have explained to him is a game involving two people walking together round a chair hand-in-hand and then fighting to get on the chair first.

Sam and Flo are small enough to scramble onto the chair together which makes their go a draw. After the previous Musical Chairs debacle, Yvette's not letting Andy and other Ed near each other so she and her husband end up duking it out over the seat-which Yvette wins easily. It appears Maddy's inherited her mother's qualities as she happily scrambles onto the seat and promptly makes use of her elbow to shove Joel furiously, and the two end up in a stalemate when both dive for the chair furiously and manage to knock it over. Douglas and Andy provide a slightly less vehement battle with Andy raising his hands in triumph, football reflexes clearly standing him in good stead.

Then Sam turns to his father, eyes bright. "Daddy, Daddy, you go-"

 "You want me to have a go?" Ed glances at Cameron automatically, wondering if this is the norm.

Sam nods. "And-and me and Florence want-"

 _"You_ go!" Florence interrupts, hurling herself into her father's chest with the force of a hurricane. "Daddy, we want you and _Sam's daddy_ to go!"

Ed swallows as a ripple of laughter echoes through the room. Samantha is laughing, clapping at the suggestion. Nancy's rolling her eyes while Elwen and Maddy burst out laughing. Andy and Douglas are smirking while the other Ed puts paid to any pretence of tact and yells out "Give us something for You've Been Framed!" which earns him another elbow from Yvette, prompting an exclamation of "Ow, this is _abuse_ , woman-"

Ed stares down at his son's shining eyes. Next to him, Daniel is laughing too, and Ed bites his lip, torn. "Sam-"

"Please, Daddy, please-" He tries to remember the last time Sam asked him for something.

Trapped, Ed glances at Cameron for a signal. He too is dealing with the bright pleading eyes of his own daughter. _"Please,_ Daddy, dance, _dance-"_

Cameron, holding his daughter by the shoulders, glances at Ed with exactly the same expression. The cheers are growing louder and the children are staring up at them with wide-eyed, beseeching looks. Sam's lip is beginning to tremble ominously.

He forces himself to look at Cameron. It's no big deal, he tells himself. It's just a _game,_ for heaven's sake-

Cameron's staring back at him. He's smiling but there's a tension in the smile, the blue eyes a little wider than usual. As he steps towards Ed, he worries at his lip for less than a second, but Ed catches it and a sharp pang of something is suddenly _there_ in his chest and for a second he's staring at Cameron stupidly until there's a tug at his sleeve. He looks down to see both of his sons staring up, pleading eyes fixed on him.

Ed sighs, and, patting Sam's head, turns towards Cameron. The room erupts into cheers.

He and Cameron stop on either side of the chair and-

Cameron's eyes are blue. Ed hasn't noticed how blue they are before and it takes him by surprise. He grips the back of the chair awkwardly, trying to smile.

Cameron looks as though he's facing the same struggle. "Don't worry, Miliband" he says, "I'll go easy on you."

Ed laughs. "Bullingdon spirit showing in Musical Chairs, Cameron?"

There's another ripple of laughter, interspersed with Daniel's "Musical _Dance_ Chairs, Daddy", and Cameron's mouth twitches. They stand there, both their hands gripping the chair.

"Ready?" calls Douglas, who's manning the music.

"Wait!" Ed looks round at the other Ed's voice to see him lifting his phone. "I want to capture this on video."

Andy almost chokes. _"Video?_ What _are_ you, Grandad? _Video?"_

"Shut it, Burnham-"

Yvette's arms shoot out, each hand catching one of their wrists and forcing them down to their sides. Her husband defiantly raises his other hand, clutching the phone.

Ed turns back to Cameron, his heart beating a little too fast. "OK-" He tries to raise an eyebrow but isn't sure how it comes out. Cameron smiles at him and nods. "Yeah" he says and Ed blinks at the abbreviation in Cameron's clipped polished voice. It buzzes in his chest and he can feel his heartbeat. He thinks of mice hearts, that beat so fast they sound like they're humming.

It's just a game and the music starts, a few strains of Pink Floyd that Douglas turns to a pop song, something bouncing and lively that vibrates under his feet. It's just a game and Ed sticks his hand out, tries to raise his eyebrows, silently daring Cameron.

Cameron takes his hand and Ed swallows nervously. Cameron's hand is warmer than he expected and bigger than his own. His fingers fold uncertainly around Ed's, loosely at first, then folding a little tighter. Ed's acutely aware of the dampness at his hairline, the music beating too loud around them. He wonders vaguely what to do with his other hand and then Cameron tugs at his wrist awkwardly, starting their circle round the chair.

There are a few wolf whistles-mostly from Burnham and Balls-a round of cheering, a shout of "You call _that_ dancing?" and Ed is seriously considering ejecting Balls from this party. His son and Florence are both squealing, their voices clashing together, their laughter ringing with the music. Ed is looking at the back of the chair and Cameron's hand, fingers braided through his own and then he's looking up and Cameron is looking at him. Cameron's eyes are too blue this close.

Ed just keeps his feet moving, hoping against hope that he can keep himself upright, and Cameron's hand is warm and strong around his own. He bites his lip, his own fingers flexing, worried he's squeezing Cameron's hand too tightly and then Cameron's hand squeezes gently in his, so quickly Ed's almost sure he imagined it. Cameron's eyes are wide when he looks up again and he stares back, waiting for Cameron to look away. He almost bumps into the leg of the chair but Cameron guides him round. For a moment, they're closer, him almost catching up with Cameron, and he holds onto his hand tighter without thinking. He can smell soap and aftershave and something about it is so _Cameron_ that Ed's breath catches in his throat. Cameron's finger brushes his pulse and he gulps, his legs almost becoming tangled. For a moment, he and Cameron squeeze at exactly the same time, each gripping the other's hand. He feels Cameron's breath catch as well as hears it, at the same time as his own.

Ed's cheeks are too warm, Cameron's hand too gentle around his own and something about the whole moment-Cameron's worrying at his lip, his sleeves peeking out from under his jumper, Cameron's eyes, with those jet-lagged shadows underneath flickering nervously to his own, and how close they are-is knocking Ed's thoughts off-balance, his hand still in Cameron's-

The music stops and both he and Cameron reel for a moment as if they've been slapped awake. It's then that Ed's mind claws at the whole point of the game and he dives for the seat at exactly the same moment Cameron does.

The two of them crash into each other, both falling onto the seat. Unfortunately, neither of them is as small as their children and the chair is tipping back. Ed's foot catches the floor, bringing the chair down and then he and Cameron are both falling forward, crashing to the floor in a tangled heap.

The laughter bursts out instantly and for a second Ed just lies there, breath loud in his ears, his heart pounding. He can feel Cameron's shoulders rising and falling, gasping against his own chest, and he can feel Cameron's pulse rapid against his skin, where his head is wedged against Cameron's neck.

It's then he realises he's half-draped over Cameron, his hair brushing Cameron's chin. The music is suddenly loud again, Cameron's neck hot against Ed's cheek and Ed's head darts up only to realise his and Cameron's legs are still tangled together. Cameron leans back, still gasping and their eyes meet. Ed swallows, the clapping, the high-pitched laughter ringing in his skull, the song playing too loudly. _We were victims of the night,_ crashes into his ears and he stares at Cameron, at the flush of the other man's cheeks, the blue eyes wider than Ed remembers as they hastily untangle themselves. They fall against each other somehow, which prompts another wave of delighted laughter from the children and a yell from Balls of "Get a room, the pair of you!"

Ed manages to half-pull himself upright and reaches out automatically for Cameron, who's still on the floor. Their fingers wrap around one another again and he pulls Cameron upright, the two of them standing much closer than usual, their chests still rising and falling. Ed stares at Cameron and tries to smile, to do anything other than focus on what just happened, searching for a line to throw at Cameron, anything-

Cameron, grinning, extends a hand. "Didn't anyone tell you it's polite to let your guests win, Miliband?"

Ed hears Justine's laugh and he forces himself to look at Cameron, a smile already pushing at his mouth. "So you admit you need me to let you win?" is what he says to another burst of laughter.

Cameron laughs, the sound lower than usual, and his eyes meet Ed's. Ed takes his hand and they shake once, his heart still beating too loudly. Cameron's eyes are too close, that smile too near to Ed's own and Cameron mutters "I was letting you off, Miliband."

"Keep telling yourself that, Cameron." Their smiles catch in the air, hold each other's eyes and then their gazes dart away as they turn back to the others. Their fingers linger together for a moment, the music still beating underneath their feet, their hands falling apart but the grip of Cameron's fingers around Ed's hand still warm there, like a ghost holding on.

* * *

 

Andy has decided it would be childish to refuse to speak to Ed (even after the blatantly unfair decision over the chair) and so he decides to make the first move at peace. Extend the olive branch. Be the bigger man.

Also, he urgently needs someone to snigger with at Cameron and other Ed's performance at Musical Dance Chairs and Ed Balls is nothing if not someone who enjoys sniggering.

He edges up to Balls' side as Cameron and other Ed get accosted by their children and Balls snorts before Andy can open his mouth. "Whatever the hell that was, it's going to be a struggle not to bring it up at PMQs. Christ, I don't know which one I felt worse for."

Andy snorts. "Trust me, Ed's the one who ended up on Cameron's lap."

Balls almost chokes. "Don't you fucking dare. I've only just got the image out of my head."

Andy pats his shoulder, ignoring the scandalised look Balls gives him. "It's not as if it'll end up on the Internet."

Balls glares at him. "I'd rather it had turned into some stupid PMQs argument. That was worse than-" He shakes his head, apparently temporarily speechless.

Andy looks at him for a long moment and coughs. "Do you-er-think-"

Something about the way Cameron and Miliband were stumbling together for a moment there, the way their eyes had darted away from one another, hands gripping tight, has stuck with him.

Andy shakes his head. What the hell is he thinking? "Forget it-"

But Balls is staring at him and while anyone else would listen when Andy told them to drop it, Ed Balls never does.

"Yeah" he says, with absolutely no attempt at tact and Andy shakes his head affectionately because it's so typically Ed Balls. "I know what you mean. It's fucking-" He shakes his head. "Sorry, kids around. _Frigging_ bizarre."

He shakes his head and Andy takes a step closer so their elbows are brushing.

"Do you think-" He hesitates. "Last week-"

Ed's still smiling but his eyes are suddenly sharp.

"Well" he says, quietly. "It's over now, isn't it? Alan didn't want it."

Andy looks at him for a long moment, and Ed looks back, the question clear to each in the other's face.

"Well." Andy clears his throat. "Well."

Ed rolls his eyes. "Shut up, Burnham."

Andy's smile twitches again. Ed gives him an uncharacteristically affectionate look that could almost be described as _fond._

Andy can remember when the two of them first latched onto this stupid inside joke-the two of them had known each other through _His_ and _How are yous?_ and it had been one day when Balls had appeared, over from the Treasury where he'd been based then, and Andy had been looking over documents when he'd spotted some stupid mistake he'd made and had promptly slammed his head into his hands. "Oh, for God's _sake-"_

Balls had glanced at him. "What?"

Andy had shaken his head. "I've-Christ, I've cocked this up-" He'd pointed at the figures, waiting for Balls to explode. (He might not have known Balls _well_ , but he'd known _of_ Balls and that had been enough to warn him of the man's reputation.)

But Balls had just sighed and bent over the papers. "Here, let me see-"

Andy had leaned his forehead on his hand. "God, I'm so stupid-"

That's when Balls had slapped his shoulder gently with one hand. "Shut up, Burnham."

Andy had stared at Balls, slightly disconcerted by the other man's smile.

"Seriously, Burnham. Calm the fuck down. Everyone fucks up the figures sometimes."

Andy had blinked. "That's one of the first times I've heard the words "Shut up, Burnham" in a positive context."

Balls had laughed and shoved Andy gently in the shoulder. "Shut up, Burnham" he'd said again, until an answering smile had crept to Andy's own mouth.

"Anyway-" Balls says now, staring at Miliband and Cameron. "You're not stupid. It's fucking-sorry, _freaking_ weird. Like watching a cat bark." Balls snorts. "Which, incidentally, is what my wife's shouting sounds like."

"Don't let Yvette hear you say that."

"Please. Like I'm scared of my wife."

Andy waves over Ed's shoulder and Ed spins around. "Oh God, did she hear?"

Andy bursts out laughing and Ed glowers at him. "Shut up, Burnham."

* * *

 

"All right, Flo, you'll be seeing Sam very soon." David gently peels his younger daughter's arms away from around Sam's neck. Florence beams at her would-be fiance.

Miliband ruffles his son's hair as David turns to him. "Well. Thank you so much for having us. It's been-"

"We've had such a lovely time" Samantha chips in, and Elwen and Florence beam. Nancy blinks up at her host. "Thanks, Mr Ed Miliband" she says and a small grin breaks out on Ed's face.

"And-" says Sam, brushing David's arm. "We've now got a film to cherish forever."

Everyone else bursts out laughing. David raises an eyebrow at Miliband, who says "If we can ever persuade Ed Balls to part with it."

"Well, we know what it's like persuading Balls to part with anything."

"Certainly difficult to guide him from economic security."

"And difficult to guide him _to_ economic security-"

"Well, we learnt today you need your Chancellor's presence to guide you to victory-"

"I could have won."

"Is that what you'll be saying in May?"

"Ed-" Justine's already saying, but David can feel a smirk breaking out over his own mouth that somehow he knows is identical to the look on Miliband's face. And he holds onto this, grabs it because this is what he knows. This, the way things are meant to be between him and Miliband, takes his mind off-

It was nothing, but David's still thinking about it.

Miliband's grip was stronger than he expected. That had been the first thing. His hair was softer than David remembered. His shampoo was more familiar than it should have been. Having his hand in David's was more confusing than it should have been. (Because they weren't holding hands. Because holding hands is Not Something They Do.)

It was nothing and so David shrugs and says "Wouldn't want to steal your lines, Miliband" and Miliband rolls his eyes exactly the way David knew he would, and says "Cameron, that doesn't even make _th-sense",_ exactly the way David knew he'd say it.

Of course, knowing Miliband's lines is just knowing his opposition.

He grasps Miliband's hand and they shake firmly and he kisses Justine's cheek, hugs the boys. He stands up, and swallows as he meets Miliband's eyes. He reaches out and before he can stop himself, awkwardly-too awkwardly-pats Miliband's elbow. The shirt is a little too thin for November and he can feel the warmth of Miliband's skin through the material.

"Thank you for having us" and his voice is lower, his hand holding for a moment and then Miliband nods and says "Thank you for being here."

Then he smiles and says "Try to give us a better performanth-ce in May, Cameron-it won't be nearly as enjoyable beating you" and David's a little too thankful for the words.

* * *

 

Ed waits until Zia's put the boys to bed but before they're asleep to make the call.

Justine sighs when he's been sitting, staring at his phone for several minutes too long. "Putting it off only makes it worse" she tells him and Ed rolls his eyes.

Even with Justine's advice ringing in the back of his head, it still takes him a few minutes once she's sequestered herself in the dining room, closing the French doors between them, to dial the number.

He sits and waits while the phone rings and rings, the chimes in rhythm with the excuses already getting ready to spill like a conveyor belt. _He's busy, there's a time difference, they're probably out-_

_He's not answering, he's not answering, he's not answering-_

And then he hears the click and the voice is saying "Hello?" and it is, it's his brother's voice.

Ed swallows hard. "Hi. It's me." David knows it's him, will have watched the name on the screen for several moments before deciding whether or not to pick up. Ed knows it, the way he knows how Cameron's head shakes, that eyebrow arching, before he throws Ed's own words back at him. It's in his marrow, the way he knows them, and it's something he can never quite manage to rip out.

"I can hear." David could sound amused but he could sound any number of other things, too. It's always been something David's good at-keeping his voice a little out of reach, leaving Ed grasping for the meaning and wondering if he'll even like it when he finally catches up.

"Good. Um-" Ed wants to say something, anything, to keep him talking. He wants to say something, anything that will let him hang up.

"Thank you for the present. Sam's been wanting to play Monopoly."

"I'm glad he likes it." David could be surrounded by family right now or he could be completely alone, and the word _family_ snaps in Ed's thoughts because David's family should be Ed's family. David would say it is but it never feels like it and Ed knows he can't even be angry.

"How was the day?" David asks and Ed hates how _required_ the whole conversation sounds-the words they're forced to exchange with one another because they share the same genes. He hates that it has to feel like force.

"It was good" he says instead and then-" A little late, but-"

David laughs. (Ed's never heard a laugh sound emptier.) "Well, we phoned on the day-"

"That-that wasn't meant to sound like that."

"Like what?"

David's making him say it.

(David's always making him say things these days but never anything that needs to be said.)

"Like I was accusing you."

David laughs and Ed bites his lip. "Don't worry. I never think you're accusing me."

Ed hears the sting behind the _you're_ and winces, all the more because he knows he's the only one who would have heard it. That's what it does, to have a brother.

"How are Jacob and Isaac?" he asks, because they both know he's going to let David get away with it. (He sometimes thinks he'll always be letting David get away with it.)

(But David's let _him_ get away with it and that's what they'll never stop reminding each other of.)

"They're fantastic." David's voice is a little warmer now. "We're about to head for Central Park, actually-"

"Can I speak to them?" Ed asks it on a whim, because it's his son's birthday party, because he hasn't spoken to them in two months, because they're his _nephews._

There's a stretched moment, a moment where Ed can almost feel his brother turning the words over and over. "No" he says and Ed feels his grip on the phone tighten.

"No? That's it?"

"Yes. I mean-we're about to head out, Ed-"

"I haven't spoken to them for two _months-"_

"That's not my fault." David is infuriatingly calm and Ed thinks, the way he always does, about hurling the phone across the room, throwing his brother's voice away from him.

But he holds onto it, the way he always does.

"We'll call in the next few days, let them speak to their cousins-"

Ed knows they won't. He knows he won't call them out on it.

"The boys are asleep." He surprises himself with the lie. "They knew I was calling you, though."

David is silent and Ed savours the flavour of the words, the sharp aftertaste- _They don't need you, either._

"Tell them I hope they had a good day" David says and Ed closes his eyes, the bitter tang of the words coating his tongue. "And Justine-give her my best wishes."

"The same to Louise." Ed opens his eyes and wants to probe at his brother's voice, find some crack in his words, something to show-"That's it?"

There's a careful, measured pause. Everything about David is careful, measured, calculated. The few things that aren't-

They're left grasping at someone who's left them behind.

"If you say so" David says quietly and Ed shake his head. "I didn't th-say th-so." The lisp rears into the conversation suddenly, violently.

David sighs. Ed can feel the raised eyebrow, the roll of the eyes. "Was there anything else?"

"Don't _you_ have anything else?" Ed can feel his voice cracking, getting a little louder. He bites down hard on the anger, the anger that he's not allowed to hold, rising in his throat. "I haven't-we haven't spoken in two _monthth."_

There's a pause and then-"The boys are waiting."

Ed knows his brother can feel the words sinking in on the other end, the same way he could when his name was read out and David had hugged him and underneath the words was that sound-a sound on the frequency that only the two of them can hear, a whispered scream of something _wrong,_ something wrong hitting Ed in the chest over and over, so that he was breathing victory and defeat all at once.

He can feel it and so when David laughs softly and says "Are we meant to talk more often, then?" Ed can feel his brother pulling away.

"I didn't think you'd-" is what he starts to blurt out but that would require talking about this and that's one thing they never do.

"I'd what?" David's voice is maddeningly sure. Maddeningly calm. Maddeningly right.

Ed wants to dent it, to break it in two and he says, voice cracking, almost a whisper "Stop dragging them into it."

He feels the words hit home and hates it and loves it all at once. "What am I dragging them into?"

"You know what. Just-" Ed's lost the battle of staying calm. He sounds like he's winning but he and David both know, the way he always did, that he's already lost, before he even opens his mouth again.

(He could laugh at the irony.)

"I didn't think you'd drag them into this" he says and maybe it's this that's dragged them to where they are now. David's always been able to see Ed and it's always been because Ed showed himself too clearly.

David's voice is softer, like a kiss through the phone. "I know you didn't" he says and Ed swallows, chewing his lip at the gentleness of the words. He can feel the disbelief there between them and doesn't know if it's from David or him or both of them.

"I have to go" David says and then "Bye."

Ed doesn't say anything and David puts the phone down. Ed listens to the tone for a long time, hanging onto the remainder of their conversation.

When he goes up to check on the boys, thinking of perhaps telling them a story, they're both asleep. Ed stands at each of their doors for a few moments, waiting for their breathing to quicken, but if they're awake, they don't open their eyes.

He suddenly realises that it seems a while since he last told both his sons a story, and that throughout the day, their eyes have seemed to drift away a little too often.

He wishes that when it comes to the story he tells himself, he could find a way to believe that _story_ isn't just another word for _lie._

* * *

  _Playlist_

_Sun Shy-Dresses-" We don't need daylight to feel right, come close to me, And we'll stay up"-this suits Dave and Ed's texting on the plane._

_Perfect 10-The Beautiful South -"I love her body, especially the lies/Time takes it's toll, but not on the eyes/Promise me this, take me out tonight"-this kind of suits the fact that their friendship/relationship is currently hidden under their own self-imposed layers and also those of their jobs and careers._

_Shut up and Dance-Walk The Moon -this is the song that's playing while David and Ed duke it out over a chair._

_Boys Don't Cry-The Cure -"So I try to laugh about it/Cover it all up with lies/I try to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes/'Cos boys don't cry"-I always picture this as Andy and Ed B's song._

_Long Division-Death Cab for Cutie-" And the echoes that remained, Of old friends and lovers, Their features bleeding, Together in his brain/S _he said she never envisioned him the type of person/Capable of such deceit... _And it was clear with every page that they were further away/From a solution that would play"-the _lyrics seemed strangely suitable for that phone call between the Miliband brothers.____

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David had indeed had to vote wearing tails: https://www.indy100.com/article/why-david-cameron-was-wearing-a-white-tie-in-the-commons-last-night--e1Se4tEYwx  
> The comment about Ed wearing tails refers to this picture: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3069975/You-weren-t-posh-boy-Ed-Picture-emerges-Ed-Miliband-gown-white-tie-Ted-Oxford-University-student.html  
> David and Ed buy each other's children presents: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2010/nov/25/ed-miliband-baby-gift-simon-hoggart  
> Ed M and Yvette did share a flat together in the '90s:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1321254/Very-cosy-comrades-Now-reveal-Ed-Miliband-shared-house-new-Foreign-Secretary.html  
> Ed's house is worth more than David's: http://www.cityam.com/212537/ed-miliband-only-party-leader-whose-house-would-be-hit-his-own-mansion-tax  
> Louise, David's wife, if possible, dislikes Ed and Justine more than David M does: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2300236/Wife-forgive-brother-laws-betrayal--woman-blames-putting-halt-Ed-Milibands-challenge-Labour-leadership.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/8026714/Ed-Miliband-in-victory-he-asked-what-have-I-done-to-David.html  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/milibands-at-war-a-split-in-the-family-2296473.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/8544232/David-Miliband-fails-to-attend-Ed-Milibands-wedding-party.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2002553/Brothers-arms-David-Ed-Miliband-Labours-Cain-Abel.html  
> Their particular dislike towards Justine is because it was Justine's idea for Ed to run for the leadership: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2004950/Ed-David-Miliband-The-real-victim-feud-mother-Marion.html  
> Douglas was previously a close friend of Ed's, as was his wife Jackie, but he chose to run David M's leadership campaign and disagreed with Ed standing against his brother, which strained relations between them: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/silent-assassin-how-ed-miliband-plotted-against-his-brother-for-months-2298702.html  
> This was the hug between David M and Ed after the results of the leadership contest were announced: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Jobo0dgRNg


	7. Pastings From Pop Stars, Car-Roof Conversations And The Many Dangers of Train-Ride Reminiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which pop-stars can be more interrogative than one might expect, Nick reflects on the accessibility of George's smiles, David wonders about the wisdom of boarding-school memories and Ed learns that train-journey confidences can be a strain on one's shoulders."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first, my apologies that this took so long. (I've been sick, and it sucks) but this is a longer chapter to make up for it. Also, after seeing David and Ed's little agreement on the EU yesterday, I might adore them as an OTP even more. (Ed nodding along with David is always adorable.) Enjoy, and remember to leave a comment!

 

_All your acting, your thin disguise_

_All your perfectly delivered lines_

_They don't fool me_

_You've been lonely too long- Dust To Dust, The Civil Wars._

_Maybe all of us...had little secrets like that-little private nooks created out of thin air, where we could go without fears and longing.- Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro._

_It made her think that it was curious how much nicer a person looked when he smiled- The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett._

* * *

 

 

David shakes his head, staring at the screen. Sam rolls her eyes. "You know, if we count up the amount of these programmes I've sat through in the course of our marriage-"

"It's important to know what the Opposition's saying-"

Sam bursts out laughing. _"The Opposition?_ You were on his _lap_ the other night-"

David rolls his eyes. "I was not _on his lap_ -it's _starting_ , shh-"

He can still see Sam's smirk out of the corner of his eyes as he stares at Miliband. It genuinely isn't just because of Miliband that he's watching the show-it's on Lynton and George's advice.

And one of those people is currently snickering on his other side, while David ponders the best way to surreptitiously kick him.

"So, Sam-" George gives David an innocent look and David seriously contemplates hitting him. "Dave was actually on Miliband's _lap-"_

"Once again, I _was not on-"_

"I can't believe I wasn't there." George glares at David. "If I want to see that video, I'll have to speak to Balls. Balls. There is _no worse fate_ , David."

"Oh, shut up, you love speaking to Balls."

George frowns. "That sounds wrong. Then again, not as wrong as you sitting on Miliband's lap-"

"I'll visit _a worse fate_ on you if you don't shut up."

"What a snappy little retort." George's smile is positively infuriating. "Pick that up from Miliband?"

Sam reaches across to grab David's arm, perhaps through fear he might completely lose control and hit George over the head with the plate of crackers.

"Anyway, let's see Miliband try to flirt his way through an interview with Myleene Klass-"

David tilts his head. "You do know he's married?"

George blinks. "Did Myleene have a sex change when I wasn't looking-"

David glares. "Not _Myleene,_ you-" He shakes his head and tries to picture Miliband flirting with anyone. He frowns and tries harder to picture Miliband flirting with anyone.

For some reason, the image isn't so much amusing as unusual (though it's not as if David _often_ pictures Miliband flirting with anyone) and even though David has no idea how Miliband started flirting with his wife, something about the picture just doesn't sit right.

Myleene Klass is beaming at the camera now and David glances at George, who's suddenly extremely interested in the screen. David smirks and George snaps out of his Klass-induced trance to glare at him. "I'm very interested in Miliband's performance."

David snorts but by this time, Miliband's speaking.

"Excellent." George sits back triumphantly, reaches for the bowl. "Popcorn, Dave?"

David feels the blood rise in his neck, as he remembers the last time he shared popcorn with anyone.

Miliband's got the earnest face on, that's what David decides. It's a face David's seen all too often when Miliband's trying to make a point, as if all he has to do is show just how sincere he is and surely everyone will come round to his point of view-

There's a part of David -a very small part-that almost finds the whole thing endearing. The rest of him finds it intensely _irritating_ but then that's only because of Miliband's persistence in such a useless technique. (Except when it's David he's debating, of course-then he's perfectly happy for Miliband to use it.)

Miliband isn't looking at Myleene Klass like he's considering flirting with her. He looks more like he's attempting to seem polite.

David then realises he's barely paid any attention to what anyone's saying because he's too busy examining the expression on Miliband's face. He immediately sits up straight and clears his throat, earning himself a few confused looks from George and Sam.

He tunes back in to hear Myleene Klass saying something about "little grannies" and David knows it's going down for Miliband from there.

George bursts out laughing. "I cannot-I can't believe we just saw Miliband get defeated by a pop star. Well, I _can_ believe it-"

David shakes his head, shushes him and leans forward. He catches a little roll of the eyes from Miliband and has to bite back a smirk. Maybe there's hope.

The fact is, he agrees with Myleene-that's a sentence he never thought he'd say-but that somehow doesn't lessen the pang in his chest as he watches Miliband start to defend himself against three people who clearly couldn't agree with him less.

Something about the name "Ed" in Myleene's voice makes David frown. He can't remember the last time he called Miliband "Ed." In fact, now, he finds himself wondering why they so rarely use each other's first names.

Then David realises that he's getting what might be perceived as possessive over how often he uses Miliband's name and he shakes his head violently. George glances at him, and then at his uneaten cracker. "Dave, have you suddenly discovered you're allergic to cheese?"

David glares at him. On-screen, he listens to Christopher tell Miliband how he's on a pension while everyone pretends to laugh. David frowns.(And these are people he agrees with.) But there's something rather unfair about it, even David can see, about three people, whom everyone can see have probably been chosen solely because they disagree with Miliband, being put against one.

Miliband looks the man in the eyes. "I think you _should_ pay more, Christopher" he says and Sam winces while George collapses again in laughter. "We might be able to phone Lynton and tell him to retire this campaign. Just let Miliband speak, and he wins it for us-"

David swallows. He agrees with Christopher-he _loathes_ the idea of a mansion tax, it just discourages people from aspiring to be successful, for God's sake-

It's not _that_ -not the words said. It's the way Miliband stares wide-eyed at Christopher as he says them. Miliband said it even though he must have known he was about to be crucified for it, because-

Something in David's chest tightens but not painfully. He knows why-it's the same reason Miliband throws at him almost every week. It might be inaccurate, ill-thought-out, but it's still a reason. Ed's convinced himself it's the right thing to do.

David knows Miliband wants to be able to do the right thing-he's treated to entire _lectures_ on that very subject almost every day-but something about the simplicity of the statement-no attempt to cloud the words, edge them with some kind of double meaning-makes David swallow and it's like a shove in the chest-

Even when all three of them are against him, Miliband doesn't shut up. David feels an unwilling smile spread across his face. The fact is, David's well aware that he himself knows how to polish and twist his words into something more acceptable, something that's still the truth but that can win people over-

Maybe that's the more effective approach but something about Miliband stubbornly struggling to sound sincere is rather-

When Miliband begins gesticulating, explaining his view, even to three people who've clearly already made up their minds, David shakes his head.

George snorts. "I know. He's rubbish."

Miliband is jabbing his finger at one point and David finds himself noticing how long Miliband's fingers are. Then again, he supposes he could have noticed before when he's seen them shaken or waved as Miliband tries to make a point-or when they were wrapped around his own-

He feels the flush rise to his cheeks and quickly drops his eyes, praying to any God there is that George doesn't notice. That's the last thing his friend needs, another reason to start acting as though David and Miliband are practically sodding _engaged-_

"You've got to respect him arguing his point." David is vaguely horrified to realise the words are coming out of his own mouth. "I mean-he might be wrong, but he's making an effort-"

"Oh, I forgot, you and Miliband are _friends_ now-"

Sam's laughing and David rolls his eyes.

"The John Major line was good-" George offers and David nods. Miliband smiles on-screen and David can't help an answering smile leaping to his own, something about the sheer- _guilelessness_ of the expression utterly disarming him. He tries to hold back the smile when Miliband's appears again and he ducks his own head for a moment, wondering what the hell is wrong with him.

He takes a deep breath, forces the grin away, and looks up to see Miliband a little more stubborn now, mouth moving into something rather closely resembling a pout and David finds himself biting his lip at the sudden heat in his cheeks-he's so used to being the one having this thrown at him that he feels a small stab of something almost a little petty at the sight of someone else arguing with Miliband, a little disquieting.

David shakes his head at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought and watches Miliband's frown as he listens to the rebuttals. He feels a pang of something and smirks when Miliband fires off a remark about lawsuits.

George notices the smirk and David tenses, waiting for the taunt, but George, uncharacteristically, stays silent, rewinding several times to watch a few lines again. (It might be to do with the fact that Myleene's talking. Myleene talking and insulting Miliband-two of George's favourite things.)

When Myleene says the word "sexy" it's George who bursts out laughing. David's about to ask if George is really still that much of a schoolboy, when his friend shakes his head, clearly anticipating the question.

"Trust me" he says, still laughing. "I would never usually associate "sexy" with _Miliband."_

David has to admit that neither has he. He looks back at the screen and then tilts his head.

It's not that he's trying to think about it. It's more that the word is just-making him think. He wonders if Miliband could ever be described as-well, not _that_ , but-

He studies Miliband assiduously, trying to see him objectively. The way someone who didn't- _know_ him would see him.

He tries-he supposes Miliband could look rather striking when he has a genuine smile, with that little grin-maybe the way his eyes widen when he laughs-the way his eyebrows knot when he's about to make a point-which can be downright _irritating_ , too-

David shakes his head. It's no use. He can't look at Miliband without seeing all his- _Milibandyness._ He's too used to it-Miliband wouldn't be Miliband without the annoying parts.

He then realises he's spent the last few minutes trying to decide whether or not he could consider Ed Miliband attractive and he wonders how much it would actually hurt to kick oneself.

But when Miliband insists that he loves his job, David has to admit that, all unnerving thoughts aside, it's much more impressive than he would have expected. David would be the first to say that he's been trusted with the best job in the world but he can't deny that there are times when he gets home and wonders if one day he's going to look back at whatever decision he's made that day and realise how badly he's got it wrong.

But of course, Miliband wouldn't question loving his job-if it involved a chance to be a martyr for the poor, Miliband would probably _sleep_ at his job. But there's something about the way that Miliband says it that makes David's lips twitch and he finds himself watching Miliband, feeling a little confused. Something about the sheer- _belief_ of the answer is confusing him.

Something about _Miliband_ confuses him.

It isn't until the show ends, after multiple rewinds, and David realises that he's been staring numbly at Miliband's red tie for a few moments that he snaps out of it, glancing quickly at George and Sam to see if they've noticed.

George is stretching. "Well, that was a waste of time" he remarks. "He didn't give us anything apart from some new lines at PMQs. Though Lynton might be glad to hear the opposition to the mansion tax-"

David nods quickly. "Mm" he says, getting up before Sam can offer to. "Feel like a cup of tea, George?"

George nods and thanks him and David turns and heads for the kitchen.

He listens to the kettle boil and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. His fists clench, white-knuckled, on the worktop as he tries not to think of the fact that somehow he's fallen into thinking of Miliband as-well- _Miliband_ , and not his political rival.

It's going to be difficult enough facing Nick in a few months-Nick, who's been more of a friend than David would ever have expected back in 2010. But now, with Miliband, it's just as-if not more-complicated.

At least, with Nick, it's been assumed it will be complicated-given what Lynton's hinted. With Miliband, it should be easiest of all and it may be the most complex part-

David's not stupid. He's not naive enough to think he can just send Miliband back to being a rival. Miliband's never _just_ been his rival, even before all- _this_ began.

Speaking of which, he sighs, pulls out his phone. He's got a few messages but he scrolls straight to Miliband's name. He should send a message. That seems the agreeable sort of thing to do with one's-colleague? Acquaintance?

_Friend?_

David sighs. Whatever Miliband is, he should still talk to him.

_Enjoy the Hear'Say interrogation? Thought you held up better than expected._

"Hi-" George has appeared behind him, handing him the mugs. "Flo had a nightmare, Sam's going to check on her. Did you get Nick's message? He's practically throwing a party-"

David wonders-rather bleakly-why. In a few months, there's a chance-and it's not a chance David likes to think about-that Nick could, conceivably, end up working with Miliband. The thought shouldn't make David clench his fist suddenly around the teapot but it does.

George claps him on the shoulder and David feels a sudden rush of affection for him-George didn't have to give up his evening to offer moral support but he did. Maybe it's some of Miliband's wide-eyed stare rubbing off on him, but he finds himself turning and pulling George suddenly into a slightly awkward hug.

He feels George tense in surprise but then slowly his arms move around David's shoulders and he returns the hug, laughing a little as he does so. He pats David's back and says "We could do a photoshoot for Compassionate Conservatism like this."

David laughs, making a mental note to hug George more often-one of the strangest mental notes he's ever made-and then he hugs him a little tighter. David knows the stereotype of boarding-schoolboys-in fact, he's probably fallen into it on more than a few occasions-but he's suddenly remembering that whatever happens in the next few months, he'll still have George, and sometimes, he wonders what he ever did to deserve George as a friend.

When they pull back, George's cheeks are a little flushed, but he smiles a little shyly at David and David feels himself return the smile

George grins. "Does watching Miliband always make you that affectionate-"

David tries to glare at him. "Shut up, Osborne."

They smile at each other and David has to admit that maybe Miliband's lack of pretence has some perks, after all.

* * *

 

**_Thank you, Cameron. Not for the insult._ **

_Consider that thrown in for fun. Like your version of the Welfare State._

**_I do wait for the day when your insults will make sense, Cameron._ **

_Like Klass's did tonight?_

**_I might have known where your attention would be, Cameron._ **

_Is this a case of protesting too much, Miliband?_

**_That's ridiculous._ **

_And I thought you had a soft spot for Desperate Housewives._

**_Shut up, Cameron._ **

_I could mention what Balls told George about walking into your office and how quickly you slammed your laptop shut._

**_Shut up._ **

_He heard the credits, Miliband._

**_That was for research purposes._ **

_Make that argument as convincing as your ones at PMQs._

**_So, more convincing than yours'?_ **

_I am trying to provide you with a compliment. You don't get many._

**_Thanks, Cameron._ **

_That didn't sound as good as it did in my head._

**_Does anything?_ **

_Hilarious._

**_But thank you._ **

_You did rather well. Considering nobody agreed with you._

**_I know you need to be sure of the pre-arranged support whenever you're planning to open your mouth but I believe standing up for one's principles is a vital part of politics._ **

_Sorry, didn't read that. Got bored waiting for you to finish the message._

**_Politics, Cameron. There was one word left._ **

_Under the amount you'd sell off, the English language would end up with one word left._

**_How exactly do your compliments always turn into insults?_ **

_It's a talent._

**_That's one word for it. Even if partly accurate._ **

_Shocking, did the Leader of the Opposition just pay me a compliment?_

**_If it's your definition of a compliment, perhaps._ **

_Now, you're the one not making sense. Though I'm quite used to it._

**_The feeling's more than mututal._ **

_So we have mutual feelings on a subject?_

**_It's not quite unbelievable, Cameron._ **

_Perhaps you should have said that on the show. It might have distracted from the fact that everyone hates the mansion tax._

**_Not everyone. Re-read the first part of your message._ **

_I just did. And yes, I heard it._

**_Read it._ **

_I thought that was a command at first. Then I realised you are the type of person who would command other people on grammar in text messages._

**_At least I didn't say we had mutual feelings._ **

_I didn't say they were positive._

**_That would be impossible for you._ **

_Really? I thought you did rather well tonight._

**_Well, thank you._ **

_You're welcome. I don't expect the favour to be returned._

**_I admire your willingness to give a compliment._ **

_Really? That's it?_

**_You are not entirely unamusing with your insults._ **

_That was made with good grace, Miliband. But thank you._

**_No problem. Personal is not an issue for some people._ **

_Fine, here's another: I liked your tie._

**_Honestly, Cameron?_ **

_It was improvised. And true._

**_Thank you. I mean, you've seen it plenty of times before, but it's the thought that counts._ **

_Take a compliment, Miliband._

**_Thank you._ **

_You're welcome. And well done. I disagreed with you on almost everything but well done._

**_Thanks. Nicely patronizing, but thanks._ **

_Night, Miliband._

**_Night, Cameron._ **

* * *

 

 

The next day, watching Miliband gesticulate wildly across the despatch box, David isn't feeling quite as well disposed towards the Leader of the Opposition.

Amusement, however, he's feeling in droves.

 _"Nothing_ _better illustrates-"_ Miliband's nodding a little with each word like that emphasizes his point a little further. In actual fact, it makes him look a little like the Jack-In-The-Box David vaguely remembers playing with as a child, that he found some kind of joy in grabbing at and tugging again and again, bending the spring, until eventually the toy bounced too strongly and he pulled too hard and ended up tearing the poor thing's head off.

"The contrast of values between this side of the House-" Miliband's finger stabs the paper hard and David can't help but laugh. "And that side of the House-"

He's no doubt Miliband means it to look intimidating but in fact, it rather strongly reminds him of a child stamping his feet.

And then, looking down, Miliband says "Now, let's talk about the mansion tax" and George bursts out laughing a few seats down from David, with a grin at the paper of pre-prepared remarks they've got ready, some of which George insisted on scribbling down even before he left the night before.

"Recently-" Miliband's voice is drowned out by the tide of voices David can already hear swelling around him, including George and Nick's-George's voice is ragged with laughter and David can hear half the Tories in the same state.

Miliband just arches an eyebrow and then lifts his head and David almost wishes he could leap across the chamber and stop him, before he launches into what's doubtless going to make the situation even worse for him-

"Yeah-" Miliband beckons with one finger and further down the bench, George almost falls out of his seat, laughing so hard that David's almost concerned for his safety. Even Theresa's smirking next to him and David honestly winces for Miliband, if he's got _Theresa_ laughing at him.

"Yeah-yeah-" Miliband's either unaware that he's the cause of their mirth or just chooses to ignore it. Watching him, David feels a pang of something far too close to sympathy for an arena like this, and he immediately concentrates on the laughter of those around him, and the grin William shoots him from further down the bench.

"Recently -" Miliband's gesturing again, and it just serves to make the picture more comedic. "A penthouse in Hyde Park sold for a hundred and forty million pounds-" David has to bite his lip as he pictures Miliband scanning the Sold web page of an estate agency that morning.

"Is he really saying-" Miliband's widening his eyes, that finger going wild again-David's tempted to ask if Miliband's got an electric wire attached to that digit that's sending it into the air every few seconds. "That someone in that house-should say that-pay that-in that penthouse-" The words jumble together and Theresa's shoulders shake next to David as she stares at Miliband with a look that's almost pitying.

"Should pay the same amount of annual property tax as someone in a house worth a fraction of that value?" Miliband sinks back down, fixing David with the typical wide-eyed stare as he fiddles with his papers and David gets up, reaching for the answer easily in the long list of rehearsed, pre-prepared solutions that his thoughts are always echoing with at these sessions.

"We have made sure that the richest in our country have made a contribution by putting up stamp duty-" He makes sure to swivel his head to fix his gaze on Miliband as the cheers swell behind him. He holds back a smile, the answers coming easily now, one after the other, waiting to be grabbed from the air. "We've put up stamp duty, we've put up stamp duty on empty properties, we're charging foreigners property that come and invest in our country-but the _point_ about this-" He makes sure to stab his hand downwards, George's words suddenly loud in his head, Craig nodding an hour earlier- _Make sure we put the focus on this, on everything we've done-don't let him distract from it, the way he's going to try to, make sure we redirect the attention-_

"Is what we _need_ is a _growing economy-"_ _Emphasise the words, they'll be important soon enough_ -"That's providing the _jobs_ , the _livelihoods,_ for _our people-"_ A cheer rises suddenly behind him and that pulls the smile to his mouth, lets him stand up a little straighter and with a little more glee than necessary sink his teeth into one of the first lines that George suggested last night, that Craig had guffawed at earlier, slapping both of them a stinging high-five.

 _"That's_ what we're getting-" He makes sure to look away from Miliband ( _Look unruffled,_ Lynton had told him. _Always look as if he's not quite worth it, if you know what I mean.)_

"Whereas what _he's_ had in the last week-" He feels the smile rise to his own mouth, the laughter swelling in his throat easily, as he flicks his hand lazily in the direction of Miliband. "Is a _pasting_ from a _pop star."_

The laughter rings out around him, hands clapping and David can't help but laugh himself even as the Speaker calls Miliband and he waits, sinking back next to Theresa, as George leans forward, laughing loudly himself. David waits, already anticipating with a strange little thrill of delight what Miliband's comeback line is going to be _. He hasn't answered the question? Typical of the boy from the Bullingdon Club? No more than I'd expect from the party of privilege?_

"Mr. Speaker-" Miliband leans forward and David finds himself grinning, meeting Miliband's eyes, who stares back, with a look that almost seems as though it's striving to seem disappointed. "That is _exactly what I'd expect_ from this Prime Minister-"

And David almost falls forward laughing, because why, why does Miliband have to make it so bloody _easy_ , every single time-he must have worked out that the wounded moral champion act doesn't work by now, he _must_ see how low his polls are, he must _know_ -how can he not see, Miliband's not stupid, does he just _delude_ himself-David's laughing so hard it aches, Theresa's shoulders jolting his own in her mirth and he actually covers his eyes for a moment because it's almost embarrassing to watch Miliband standing there in all his-all his painful _sincerity_ or what he clearly _hopes_ is sincerity and it's so hilariously awkward that David can't even look at him.

The thing is, Miliband might be smart and he might occasionally have a good point, but on the rare occasions he does-and they _are_ quite rare-he goes and ruins it by-

Well.

It sounds cruel but the election's going to be cruel and in this environment it's easier for David to remember he's got to get used to it.

Miliband manages to ruin it-royally cock it up for himself-by-well-

Being _him._

It's cruel but it's true.

It's cruel but it's true and that's what David keeps in his mind as he gets up to answer the next question, as he lets the words "Well, we're certainly not seeing a class act opposite, I have to say-" drawl lazily out, catch the cheers and ride higher on the laughter from the benches behind him and he holds onto Lynton's words in his head- _be brutal with him, brutality is what works, he crumples, and that's what's going to let us win_ -"I mean, this is-in the last week-" and he enjoys the thrill of carrying off fluffing his words, enjoys the way he can carry himself through a mistake because he can do it. He can do and somehow-somehow, Miliband just can't.

The spike of confidence that gives him and Lynton's voice in his head propel him through the next words, his eyes never once straying near Miliband. "In the last week, Mr. Speaker, he's been called _useless,_ _hopeless,_ _out of his depth,_ _doesn't cut it,_ and _an absolute disaster-"_ He indicates the front bench with a quick sweep of the finger, without letting his eyes settle on them. "And that's just what the _front bench_ think."

The gales of laughter that erupt at that carry him through the next couple of questions, carry him through as Miliband trips over his words, almost shouting back at some of the Cabinet now, which leaves Theresa wincing for him, and when Miliband almost shouts his last words- _"He couldn't care less"-_ they make it easier for him to lean forward and say the words that he'd held back until now, the results and polls that he and Craig and Clare and Kate and Oliver had sharpened into retorts and lines and jabs to break through Miliband's armour.

"Well, I think, Mr.Speaker, it's fair to say his week hasn't got any better-" He lets them laugh, lets them drown out the start of his next sentence so that he has to begin again-but that's good, they're laughing with him and at Miliband, which is the way he needs to keep it. "This is the week that Myleene Klass wh-wiped the floor with him in a television programme-" He almost trips over the words but he's fine, the laughter lifting the words higher, as he turns around to stare at the benches behind him.

"And this was the week when there was an opinion poll in Scotland-" He can feel his voice sharpening, the laughter welling in the words as he hurls this across the floor, the jibe he'd saved for last. "That showed that more people believe in the Loch Ness _Monster_ than believe in _his leadership."_

The laughter is rioting around him and even as he looks around at the benches behind him, he swivels round to get one glimpse of Miliband, some whim pushing him. Miliband's watching him, head tilted to the side. As David watches, Miliband's pressing his lips together, as though sewing something back in, and David can't tell if it's laughter or something else altogether.

He can't tell and maybe that's what makes his laugh louder, sharpens his last jibe, makes him lean on the despatch box to throw it across the chamber. "The problem for the Labour Party is-he _does_ actually exist!"

The laughter explodes around him and he sinks down into the applause, George half out of his seat, eyes alive with mischief and David can almost feel Lynton's approval even now. His heart's pounding and his mouth's aching with the triumph of it and he doesn't look at Miliband once.

* * *

 

A part of him wonders vaguely, nervously, if Miliband won't be waiting for him when he gets out of the PMQs after briefing, Lynton's praise ringing in his ears ("More of that. More of that and we'll fucking destroy them come election time") and David doesn't like to look at the fact that if it had been the other way round, he doesn't know for sure whether he would have turned up or not.

But when he walks out of the office, there Miliband is, waiting. David almost stops and that alone is pause for thought because he has no need to stop. He wouldn't have a need to stop with anyone else. And so he doesn't stop and he pushes away the feeling that crawls underneath it all, the words he'd taken a little too much glee in throwing at the man he's now standing next to.

There's a short silence, during which Miliband studies him, a little smile tugging at the edges of his mouth and David resists the urge to squint at him, to try to work that smile out. He also resists the urge to break the silence, letting it stretch out until finally, Miliband says "Th-so much for genuine compliments, Cameron."

David lets a grin poke out at his own mouth. "Come on, Miliband. You did get pasted by Klass-"

"Apparently to the envy of your Chanth-cellor" and David grins as he gestures to the office, and Miliband follows him inside.

He grins as Miliband sinks into the chair across from David's desk and glares, knowing it will only irk him further. Miliband rolls his eyes as David pushes a plate of biscuits closer to him.

"George might have had more than one reason for being so interested in the show" he admits as Miliband reaches for a Jaffa Cake and bites into it with a slightly more cheerful expression. "And you know you'd have done exactly the same thing if our positions were reversed, Miliband."

Miliband scowls, which David takes as capitulation. He sighs, biting into an oatcake.

"Anyway" he says, once the onus is on him to make amends. "That doesn't mean I agreed with what they said."

Miliband makes a sound remarkably like a snort. "I expect that will make the headlines. _Prime Minister in U-turn on mansion tax-"_

"Not with the tax" David corrects him, before Miliband can run away with the idea of another broken promise. "Just-I didn't think it was entirely fair to place you with three people who completely disagreed with you. Rather unsporting, really."

"You'd be forgiven for thinking otherwise."

David arches an eyebrow. "I didn't deny it. I just didn't actually _say_ that."

"That applies to moth-st of your loopholes, though, Cameron."

"Honestly. I try to be _kind-"_

Miliband smirks. "I'm capable of defending myself, Cameron."

David rolls his eyes. _"Support_ really is a foreign word to you, isn't it, Miliband?"

"If it's foreign, I'm surprised you haven't had it deported by now."

"Eat another Jaffa Cake. You're more tolerable when you don't talk."

"I think that might be the country'th current opinion about their leader-" Miliband reaches for another Jaffa Cake, and the retort's almost lackadaisical. After a moment, more quietly, he says "Thanks."

David raises an eyebrow. "What? No line about _patronizing praise_ , or-"

Miliband widens his eyes. "After that PMQs, would you like one?"

David glares at him for another moment before Miliband's mouth twitches and the two of them burst out laughing at once, a sound that aches a little more than it should, tinged with the residue of the questions he didn't answer and the answers Miliband didn't want.

"Th-sporting" Miliband remarks, once they can both breathe again. "Very Eton, that term."

David spins another Jaffa Cake across the table towards him with a flick of his fingers. "Shut up, Miliband."

Miliband misses the Jaffa Cake and snatches it up from the desk without taking his eyes off David, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Etonian."

"Brownite."

* * *

 

"Don't pull the bladder trick" George advises him. "I can _never_ relax when you pull the bladder trick."

"I don't believe Enoch Powell patented the bladder trick with the purpose of relaxing-"

David can practically hear George's grimace through the phone. "God, I hope not. I mean, God knows what kind of kinky shit you're into-"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

George laughs. "I'm always waiting for a disaster when you use the Enoch trick."

"Well, wish me luck. As Nancy pointed out today, it's bound to be so boring that nobody listens to it, anyway."

"Nothing like a bit of daughterly support."

David chuckles but the sound's heavier than he expected. "I wish she'd talk to me a little more, you know. The other night, I tried to ask who her favourite was in One Direction and she looked at me like I was an idiot when I said I'd been in a video with them."

George groans. "Libbie looks at me like I'm the geeky kid in her class that she's trying to avoid. Imagine, Dave. Me. Geeky."

"Completely implausible, Gideon."

"Shut up, David Donald."

* * *

 

After the speech (which, despite George's misgivings, did not involve the bladder trick or indeed, any disasters), David is rather pleasantly surprised to find Boris waiting for him back in Downing Street, and his Mayor greets him with a clap on the shoulder.

"Fantastic, Dave. Of course, I was watching with a fair amount of trepidation, knowing your penchant for paying homage to old Enoch-"

David's still running on adrenaline from his speech which might explain the fierce hug he wraps Boris in that reminds him a little of their Oxford days. Boris blinks and for a moment seems temporarily speechless, which could make David fear for the apocalypse. (Though he supposes it's warranted-he and Boris don't hug all that often, by a seemingly silent, mutual agreement.) When George appears, David pulls him in for a hug too, causing Sam and Frances to exchange amused looks.

Nick's texted David several variations of "Well done" and "Of course, a lot of my ideas were in there, but still, well done" and David can't even bring himself to be too cruel back. He has to admit, this is one of those moments that he thinks a coalition for the next five years wouldn't be the worst thing in the world and is also rather glad that Lynton can't read minds.

Michael, William and a lot of the others join in with the congratulatory messages and David finds that Downing Street is heading a little for a party atmosphere-albeit a very quiet party atmosphere, given that the children are asleep upstairs. Maybe it's the adrenaline or the champagne that Samantha's opened or both, but David finds himself grinning twice as hard at everyone, taking in Boris and George and Sam, and remembering with a jolt, just how lucky he is to have them.

It's when Boris is entertaining the rest with some multi-syllable worded story about Cassia's interactions with a boy from school ("I said, listen here, chap, don't imagine I can't fully comprehend the nefarious cognitive functions of the typical adolescent male") that David's phone rings and he excuses himself to the stairs and grins at the name he sees on the screen.

"Surprising speech, Prime Minister." Miliband's voice, nasal, lisp clinging to the edges of the words, is surprisingly welcome and David curls his hand tighter around the phone like a teenager. "I mean, it actually had some th- _s_ _ense_ in it."

"See you're no better at giving compliments than receiving them, Miliband." The happiness is high in his throat and chest and head-it's been a while since he drank this much. "Boris and George are here." The words trip out of his mouth before he can think twice about them. "You should come, you know."

"You do know it is past eleven, Cameron?"

"I'd have asked Nick but Miguel's still not sleeping through-" David's mouth's running away with him, the way it often does when he's had a drink, and the amusement in Miliband's tone is something he wants to hear again. "And it's equality, which you find important. Akin to giving-giving and receiving c-compliments-"

There's a long pause and then comes Miliband's voice, edged with that amusement. (That Miliband amusement. That Miliband _tone.)_

"Cameron, are you _drunk?"_

David yelps. "No! I-most certainly-I am _not-"_

He can practically hear Miliband's smile through the phone. "Scurrilouth-s, Prime Minister."

"I am _not drunk_ , Miliband! I've had two-maybe _three_ -drinks-"

"Of course, Prime Minith-ster."

"It's _true."_ David glares at the phone. "I'm not drunk-I'm merely- _celebratory."_

Miliband's laughing harder now and David tries to glower at nobody. "Shut up" he manages, grin aching at his mouth. "I have a _right_ to be celebratory."

"You have a right to be modetht, too, if you ever want to take it up-"

David bursts out laughing, louder than he usually would. "Shh" he hushes himself and he hears something-a suspiciously high-pitched something-from Miliband's end of the phone.

"You're _giggling,_ Miliband."

"I am _not_ giggling, Cameron."

"You-" David tries to make a jabbing motion with one finger and succeeds in poking himself in the leg instead. "Were giggling. You like _honesty_ , Miliband-"

"Are you sure you can give me the definition of honesty right now, Prime Minister?"

"Of course I can! Honesty-honesty is about-being honest-"

"Fantath-stic summary, Cameron-"

"You found it funny, Miliband-"

He hears Miliband laugh more quietly this time.

"You can come" he's saying again, without thinking. "I mean-it'd be-rather-I'd like it if you were here."

He winces at the words a second too late. There's a pregnant pause before Miliband says, his voice a little lower than usual, "I don't often hear that at parties."

There's a long pause while David turns the words over in his mind and then he says "That's not true. I mean-that-that might be true, but-I mean, it shouldn't be. I mean, I'd want you at a party."

There's another silence, and then Miliband, his voice a little less steady than usual, says "You're not going to jump on that, Cameron? You know, _"You don't even hear that from your own party",_ that th-sort of-"

"No." David can usually come up with something far better-he'll probably regret that he didn't in the morning-but all he can conjure up for the moment is "I wouldn't-I wasn't going to say that."

There's a silence and then "Well. Thank you." Something about the quietness of the words makes David ache and he doesn't know why. He holds onto the bannisters because the hall's spinning a little.

"Well done on your th-speech" Miliband says and David smiles, even as he yawns. "Thanks. Thank you. You don't even know what it was _about."_

"I imagine it was th-somewhat anti-UKIP."

David growls. Actually makes a growling sound.

Miliband laughs, which prompts David to try to return the compliment, casting about for a speech Miliband has given recently.

"Your speech was good, too."

"Which th-speech would that be, Prime Minister?"

"The one-" David tries to snap his fingers and fails. "The one about climate change! Yes! It was rather brilliant-brilliantly written-and-Thornberry. Sacking _Thornberry. That_ was an inspired move-"

Miliband laughs-higher than usual and less guarded and something about the sound makes David grin. "I'm going to remind you of this in the morning, Cameron."

"Of what? Me-me congratulating-"

George's head appears, poking round the bannisters. "Not telling Miliband state secrets, are you, Dave?"

David scowls as Miliband laughs again on the other end. George grins and holds his hand out for the phone. David hands it over reluctantly and George greets Miliband cheerfully-David hears Miliband say something about "Chancellor" and George smirks.

They're conversing about something or other and David's head's spinning a little. Vaguely, he notices this is a rather undignified position for a Prime Minister but somehow, his mind is a little too dizzy to care.

"Dave?" Sam's suddenly at his side, her lips twitching. "I think it might be time to go to bed."

Boris appears behind her. "Fantastic, Dave. This is a wonderful reminder of those Oxford nights, the blissful intransigence of youth-"

 _"Why-"_ David lifts his head, trying to sound indignant, even as the words run into one another. "Does _everyone_ think I'm _drunk?"_

It's George who breaks off from his conversation, tucking the phone behind his ear, to say quite calmly "Well, that would be because you _are."_

David glares and to make matters worse, he can hear Miliband laughing on the other end of the line. But his eyes are heavy and his head hurts and he holds out his hand for the phone.

Miliband's voice is quieter now. David would say gentle but that might be the alcohol talking. "I'll advise you to get some sleep, Prime Minister."

"Your advice-" David's head slumps forward. "May be accurate for once, yes."

Miliband's laugh is soft. "Goodnight, Cameron."

David smiles, too tired to try to hide it. "Goodnight, Miliband."

For a moment after David hangs up the phone, he thinks he catches George watching him, head tilted to the side, with a look that's not exactly-not exactly _angry_ -or indignant-a look that's more-almost _concerned-_

But then George's face clears and he's joining the others, telling David to go and get some rest if he can do that without waking the three children up and it's a small enough moment for David to let it slip through his grasp.

When the next morning, he awakens with his head aching a little and sees his phone flashing, he can't help but smile when he reads the message from Miliband.

**_Orange juice is good for hangovers, Cameron._ **

* * *

 

Nick supposes it's not exactly in the duties of the Deputy Prime Minister to be waving the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition off from a train station. Then again, it's not as though there've been many Lib Dem Deputy Prime Ministers so maybe Nick should create his own duties.

George is standing with him-discreetly, as always-as they watch David roll his eyes at Miliband's lack of punctuality. "Typical Labourite" he insists to Nick and George, which makes almost no sense. "It's like time doesn't mean anything to them."

Nick can't help but notice that there's a small smile hovering at David's lips which he seems to be failing to suppress.

George too, appears to have noticed, but unlike Nick, doesn't appear to find the situation quite so amusing. Nick frowns, then touches George's elbow. "With him out of the way" he says brightly, "We'll be able to get some actual work done."

George laughs, though that frown's still creased between his eyebrows and Nick casts a longer look at him. He remembers when he first met George properly, how those dark eyes had swept over him, as though taking everything in, and then offered a smile-a little smaller than David's, which always seemed to be trying to pull in everyone in the room at once.

Nick hadn't been too worried about David-competition, while it may not always be positive, did allow you get to know people fairly well. It had been George he'd, surprisingly, found himself a little nervous of; George, whose approval he had caught himself musing over, his own eyes searching for those cooler, dark ones with each decision they made, only to find that dark gaze already narrowed, scrutinising the facts and figures, at a speed which had always left Nick secretly a little awed.

While David's smiles had been easy to get hold of, George's had been rather more elusive, which, perversely, made Nick all the keener to get hold of them. It also made him wonder if George's smiles came more easily to everyone else.

It wasn't until after a few dinners with David's family, that he managed to open his mouth one evening, after he and David had swallowed a couple of drinks each, and say "Does-is George-struggling with this?"

David had frowned. "Alcohol? I doubt it."

Nick had shaken his head. "I mean-you know. Working. With us. Danny and I-the Lib Dems-"

David had laughed and Nick had frowned. David had shaken his head, touching Nick's elbow gently. "Sorry. It's just-honestly, if you could see how much George talks about Danny-"

"I-um-" Nick had kept his eyes on his drink. (Without it, he probably wouldn't have had the courage to bring it up.) "I didn't. So much mean- _Danny._ Or David, actually."

David had stopped laughing rather abruptly then and stared at Nick for a long moment. "Nick-" he'd said, while Nick had avoided his eyes, feeling horribly like a child. "George likes you."

The words were said so simply that Nick had felt the weight that had been bothering him for the last few weeks dissolve from his shoulders. He'd taken another gulp of drink to hide his smile, as David had said "And believe me, he likes working with you, both of you. And if he's not always-demonstrative-about it-well , that's the way George is, I suppose. But he does like you, Nick. Honestly."

Something in the tone had made Nick believe him. Whatever David's faults might be, he didn't lie to Nick. And so, gradually, as time had gone on and Nick had had to try less and less for George's smiles and they had found themselves exchanging conversation that was less and less about work, Nick had found himself anticipating those smiles rather than hoping for them.

Now, he watches George watch David, that crease of concern still present between his brows, but before Nick can say anymore, David announces loudly to someone behind Nick "I suppose Labour doesn't keep to schedules. Then again, we knew that already."

Nick watches George's eyebrows arch as Miliband appears at his side , rolling his eyes as he replies "I suppose Torieth-s don't put much store in transport systems-I thought we were all th-supposed to be waiting for improvements?"

The two of them are eyeballing one another and Nick bites his lip. "Well, try and survive the journey" he says. Miliband rolls his eyes again and David raises an eyebrow at Nick. "We'll survive."

George waits until the two of them have made it onto the train-with no flashes of cameras, thankfully-before he says "Bloody hope so. Or Lynton might be regretting this whole gesture."

Nick sniggers. "They get on better now. They'll survive." He reconsiders. "With injuries."

George snorts. "That'd be the good option."

They're walking back towards the cars now, security trailing around them, and Nick says, careful to keep a smile up, conscious of any cameras that might be lying in wait, "So, this is another one of Lynton's ideas?"

"Not entirely" says George, flashing his own smile. "More a suggestion that it looks better and supportive if the two of them appear to be taking a train journey together. Not as though Miliband's going to be watching David's speech or anything."

"Why's he there, then?"

"I think he'll be working on his own or something. His speechwriter's going to be there, something like that."

They've reached the car now, and they're climbing inside when Nick stops, one hand on the door and, meeting George's eyes across the roof, asks "What would be the bad option?"

George's eyes flicker to his own, a little sharper than usual. Nick knows-somehow just knows, a bright flash of knowledge in that second-that this would be a great picture, the two of them, gazes caught, over the roof of the car they're about to climb into together, to travel in together, with an answer caught between them that George already knows and that Nick's still trying to catch onto.

Then George moves, sliding into the car and slamming his own door shut, leaving Nick to follow him and so to do the same.

He waits, inside the car, watching George, for some quip, some line tossed out a little like David's. But instead, there's a long moment of silence before George says quietly "David really does give 100%."

Nick frowns. "I know" he says, wondering where this is heading. He's reminded vaguely of having his elder brother's exam results read out to him by the then-headmaster of Westminster, and the way the headmaster had lingered on the grades, staring at Nick over the top of the paper as he read out Nick's own marks.

George sighs. "I mean-David takes things seriously" he says. "Which _would_ be fantastic, obviously. Just, this time-it's like he's making too much effort." He frowns. "Or maybe not enough."

Nick blinks. He's used to not always being familiar with George's sometimes-too-mathematical patterns of thought but this extending to everyday conversation is a rather new development.

"No-" George turns to him, as the car starts to move. "I mean-it should be _more_ of an effort-probably. More of an effort than it is."

Nick is now watching George worriedly, wondering which one of them is misunderstanding the conversation.

George sees his confused expression and sighs. "I mean-there _isn't_ an effort. Like a lot of things with David. It's-you know-" George shakes his head. "I'm talking about nothing. Don't worry."

Nick watches him, then says in a low voice, "I don't think David exactly has to _try_ to argue with Miliband."

George sighs. "Yes. And that's what-" He glances at Nick. "That's what worries me."

"Worries you-"

"Well, not worries." George waves a hand. "Concerns. _Preoccupies._ Not as serious as worries-"

"How is concerns not as serious as worries-"

"Oh, for God's sake." George runs a hand over his eyes. "It's David. David and Miliband. On a train together."

Nick blinks. "At Lynton and Craig's request. Probably Baldwin's as well, come to that-"

George sighs. "Yes. Yes, I know-" He shakes his head. "It's just-we're meant to be differentiating ourselves from Labour. Christ, they're meant to be differentiating themselves from _us."_ George sighs, head falling back against the seat, dark eyelashes almost black against the rather stark paleness of his skin. "It's just-finding the balance, I suppose. Between-it being difficult to _convey_ that image-"

"And David and Ed looking like they want to scalp each other" Nick finishes.

George shrugs. "I suppose Lynton'd be on it, if it got too out of hand. God knows he manages it with everything else-"

"Pictures, especially. That is a speciality of Lynton's, pictures. Useful for the Lib Dems to know-"

"Shut up, Clegg." George throws one finger up at him. Nick winks. "That's Lynton. Good with indiscretions."

George speaks without letting his smile drop once. "One more, Clegg, and there'll be a few pictures of you splashing across the Mail-with my briefcase performing an extensive investigation into your aresehole-"

Nick bites his lip and waits a beat. Then, "Think about that a lot, do you, Osborne-"

George kicks him. Nick's still laughing even as he holds up his own briefcase as a shield. "What would that be for Lynton-concern, preoccupation-"

"With you, you'll have one word come May- _sacked_ springs to mind-"

Nick holds up his hands, then frowns. "Seriously, worries is more severe than concerns? I'd have said the other way round-"

"You're a Lib Dem, of course you'd say the other way round, that's what you _do-"_

"Well, you'd know. With your concerns. And those pictures. What was her name, _Natalie-"_

"And if you don't shut up, Clegg, I'll be off making sure the word "preoccupation" will be one you'll never forget, as it'll be scribbled by a pen rammed up into a pretty sensitive area-"

"Speaking of sensitive areas."

"Oh, it'll be right at the top of your shit list. Take that _anatomically,_ Clegg."

* * *

 

"And the Prime Minith-ster once again exhibits the national success his party has made of the railways."

"Miliband, you do know that you don't gain some sort of omnipotence when you become Prime Minister?"

Ed sighs and presses his head against the window, wondering if it was a deliberate move on the part of the protection team to give them a private compartment. "Right now, I think renationalising the railways would be a very, very good idea."

Cameron rolls his eyes. "We're not delayed, Miliband. The Cameron train-I'm sure you're waiting for me to paint my name across it-just happened to be a few minutes late."

Ed nods. "Ah. The Prime Minith-sterial sense of duty rears its' head again-"

Cameron arches a brow. "It _was_ you who was ten minutes late, Miliband."

Ed sighs. "It wasn't _my_ fault that Daniel chose the last moment to throw up all over me."

Cameron leans forward then and Ed feels Cameron's gaze rest on him, until he slowly lifts his gaze. "Sorry" says Cameron, rather more sincerely than Ed would have expected. "Of course-" and then the smile peeks out. "I know what it's like when children step into government workings."

Ed rolls his eyes. "Your jokes are improving, Cameron."

"Thank you. How's Daniel?"

Ed sighs. "Probably hungry. His breakfast'th all over one of my shirts. Leave out the jibe, Cameron, policies all over the place, etc.-"

"Actually, I was going to say most people do that when they hear Labour's policies." Cameron smirks. "But that line's better. Thank you, Miliband."

"I've been missing the Tory empathy, Cameron-I didn't know you'd taken up a scholarship at the Mellor school of charm-" He can feel his voice climbing louder. "But thank you for the concern, given my five-year-old's probably th-sitting in Zia's lap annoying a doctor's waiting room-" He leans back against the seat. "Th-since _Juth-stine_ decided that she was too _busy_ to take him, and _might_ be able to make herth-self check her _phone-"_

He stops because Cameron's hand is on his wrist. He stares down, stupidly, as if he's forgotten whose hand it is.

"If you'd ever let me finish, Miliband-" Cameron says quietly. "I was going to say that, regardless of that quite charming Mellor comparison, I hope Daniel's doing well. " He raises an eyebrow. "I know what doctors' offices are like."

Ed swallows. The silence stretches out between them for a second before he says "Sorry." He glances down, then blinks back to Cameron's eyes, which are disconcertingly blue this close. "I didn't-it's just been rather-"

Cameron nods. "No harm done."

They both look down at Cameron's hand still wrapped around Ed's wrist and they both pull back at the same moment-Cameron adjusts his tie and clears his throat while Ed hastily turns to the window.

He glances at Cameron, clears his throat. "Um." He tugs at his sleeve. "At least, I'll have a th-story to tell Daniel now" he says, still keeping his eyes on the window, wondering vaguely if he'll see either of his sons at all this weekend. "He's always excited whenever we go on trains."

Cameron smiles. "He likes trains? Elwen went through-" He stops, chews his lip. "Sorry. Go on."

Ed frowns, but Cameron shakes his head. "Go on."

Ed shrugs, folds his hands together, Cameron's eyes still resting on his. "Daniel's a bit of a fan of trains" he says, trying to remember an anecdote Zia told him.

Cameron smiles. Not the typical Cameron-posed smile, either-something smaller, but one that makes it surprisingly easy to talk.

"He's just-ever since we took him on a th-steam train in Devon, he's been-well, Booboo and Heehee go on a lot of train rides." It had been Zia who'd told them Daniel liked trains, he thinks, and he tries to remember if Daniel still likes them-he'll have to ask Zia.

He winces immediately, but Cameron laughs. "Flo told me. She now thinks Hogwarts would be vastly improved with the presence of anthropomorphic sheep."

Ed grins. "I told you your kids have good taste, Cameron."

Cameron laughs, leaning back in his seat. "It sounds as though yours' do. I loved trains when I was a child." Cameron chews his lip and then glances back, to find Ed still watching him. He hesitates a moment, then says "Whenever we used to be on holiday or going-you know, back to boarding school I used to like the train journey best. Gave me a chance to just-you know-look out of the window." He laughs, suddenly, his own eyes now gazing through the glass. It must be the light but they look dreamier, gazing through the glass, and Ed finds himself leaning forward a little.

"It's just-" Cameron laughs, the sound a little more forced this time. "When-when we were coming back from holiday or I was going back to school, I used to-" He shakes his head-" I mean-it sounds ridiculous but-I liked to sit with my back to the engine. I could-I could-God, it sounds silly but it was like I could pretend I was going back home or back on holiday-and then of course-I suppose that'd make it worse because then I'd remember where I was _actually_ going and-" He laughs. "Go on, Miliband. Get in your lines." He tilts his head. _"Cameron, the Prime Minister who complains that his journey to Eton wasn't salubrious enough,_ that sort of thing-"

Ed waits until Cameron has talked himself into silence, before he leans forward again, so that their foreheads are almost touching. "Actually, I was going to say that it must have been-you know, rather difficult."

Cameron stares at him and Ed swallows. "You know-to go away-I mean, you were-how old were you when you went to boarding-"

"Seven" Cameron says quietly. "I was seven."

Ed opens his mouth and then closes it again.

"God" he says quietly. "I mean-it's just, well-" He glances down. "I don't-I don't think that I could have handled that, to be honest."

Cameron laughs, a little too tightly. "Oh-well, you-you get used to it, you know, there isn't really any other option-I mean-" He shakes his head. "I mean, I'm not complaining-I think I'd get crucified if I tried-" He laughs again, the sound sadder this time. "I had a fantastic education, just-that aspect was-occasionally a little difficult."

Ed grasps vainly for words but can't find any. Instead, he settles, rather lamely, on "I don't think you're complaining."

Cameron smiles and Ed squeezes his own hands tightly together. "Coming from you, that's almost praise, Miliband." His voice is soft and Ed tilts his head, taking in Cameron's eyes, the pout of his mouth, trying to rewind it through the years to see a little seven-year-old Cameron sitting with his back to the engine on his way to school, trying to pretend that he'd see his parents again soon.

He swallows, trying frantically to remember the last time he threw the word _Eton_ in Cameron's face. "That must have been-" he starts, then winces. "Gosh, I'm sorry, I'm-I'm making a meth-mess of this-"

Cameron laughs but it's not the laugh Ed expects. It's something quieter, gentler. "Thank you" he says and Ed arches a brow. "What for?"

Cameron smirks. "Making a mess."

Ed rolls his eyes. "There you are, Cameron. Tory empathy like one of those mayflies, I suppose-they live less than a day, yours' lives less than an _hour-"_

"You mean, _your_ empathy, don't you, Miliband-I mean, I was the one _telling_ the story, you know, so technically, _you're_ the one who-you do know the _definition_ of empathy, don't you, that could be rather embarrassing-"

"Oh, shut up, Cameron-"

"Yours' might have a shorter lifespan than mine-anything that lives _less_ than a mayfly-a gnat, a moth-"

"Oh, for God's-a _gnat?_ You'd think Eton might have taught you basic _biology-"_

"Is that what you studied so assiduously during your years at Haverstock, Miliband-devoting the years of your youth to the complete evolutionary function of a gnat-"

"See, _this_ , this is _exactly_ why you-God knows what Eton was teaching you-obviously not basic politics-maybe how to swipe some illegal _substances-"_

"Illegal substances-is that what you called them, Miliband? Illegal substances-"

"Oh, shut up."

"I can see it now, the Labour manifesto. _"Building a fairer Britain. Our leader, Ed Miliband, gnat expert-""_

"Are you serious-how are we talking about _gnats,_ Cameron-"

"You brought it up, you said-"

"No, you- _you_ brought it, this isn't Prime Minister's _Questions,_ Cameron, there's no one else here to hear you not answer-"

The argument goes on for longer than any argument about gnats should and Ed knows that Cameron isn't the only one grinning. But then again, that's what he knows-this is what they both know.

The argument-which only ends when one of Cameron's team pops their head round the door with tea for both of them-is another one that's dwindling to a few lines "Mayflies-May, that's suitable, Cameron, not the only thing that will come to an end, then-" "Oh, really, they can throw joint funerals for our careers, then, mine and yours-that'll save some public funding, won't it?"-when Cameron suddenly meets his eyes and says, in a tone completely different than the one he was using a moment ago, "Thank you."

Ed blinks. "What for?"

"Well, like I said, the mess." Cameron's mouth twitches. "And for not making an Eton remark. Just-thank you."

The sheer sincerity of it knocks Ed's words sideways and he swallows, a sentence thick in his throat. But he can't get it out, so he just says, quietly, "It's fine."

Cameron smiles at him and it's not the typical Cameron smile-it's the small one. Ed swallows and watches, even after Cameron looks away, frowning at the sudden-the sudden strange-

He almost wants to-

What?

He stares at Cameron for a few moments before he realises that he's looking for the words- _elitist, privileged, money_ -that he's always thrown at Cameron. And instead, he's watching Cameron gaze out of the window, the image of his seven-year-old self coming all too easily to mind, and he feels a wave of something that makes him tighten his arms so they don't move of their own accord.

It's then that he realises it's something disturbingly close to _fondness_ and he's still trying to understand that when Cameron draws in a breath and says "But thanks for the mess. And no Eton lines."

There's a breath and then Cameron's lips twitch, a grin breaking over his mouth, despite his best efforts. "Shut up, Milib-"

"Eton Meth-ss, Cameron?"

"Heard it as soon as I said it. "

"Apparently not as soon as-"

"Shut up, Miliband."

* * *

 

Ed supposes that most people would imagine political articles being written around a wooden table in the heart of Parliament, rather than being scribbled at a small bar huddled up on a stool.

"You know if you end up Prime Minister" Marc mutters, shooting Ed a grin as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. "We'd better get better writing facilities than this."

Whenever he works on speeches with Marc, Ed's always reminded of days huddled in Oxford's library bent over tables, their hands knocking together as they scribbled essays and dissertations, whispers crashing into each other. Now, with Marc frowning as he underlines a few words, Ed tugs at his loosened tie and blinks, rubbing his eyes.

"Well, if it hadn't been for Tom, we'd have been doing this in Norman Shaw South-"

"Ah, and the charm offensive with Cameron." Marc grins, scoring another line under a sentence. "How is that going, by the way?"

Ed opens his mouth and finds himself searching for the words but Marc's already going on "Still, he seemed friendly enough at Sam's party. And Samantha."

"Yes." Ed finds himself struggling for the right response but eventually settles on, "Yes, th-Samantha's lovely."

Marc nods, and then says "But occasionally, this entails sacrifices. And currently, the sacrifice is a nice writing desk."

"Indeed."

Marc laughs, pulls his jumper down. Ed watches him enviously, longing for one of his own jumpers at home-November has brought a snap in the air, a crisp coldness that makes Ed shiver when he drags himself out of bed in the morning.

"So, basically-today, you get to visit this place-" Marc gestures around the one small bar in the crumbling hotel, which in the rest of the rooms houses events for underprivileged children. "Cameron gets to try and rally his party because they got beaten for not being racist enough. And you two got to get off a train together."

Ed laughs and nods. "That's fairly accurate."

If he's honest with himself, he's rather enjoyed touring the place. Something about visiting people has always excited him a little-the idea of visiting people, anyway. Maybe it comes from his father, telling him over and over again- _you've got to go out and meet people, Edward, that's the only way you can let them know._

He does always like the idea of it-and sometimes, he loves it in practice, coming into contact with people outside the Westminster bubble who don't eat and breathe politics-but then sometimes it reminds him of his days at Haverstock, when he'd find himself staring round at the other pupils, wondering what it would be like to see through their eyes and somehow never quite grasping it.

"Anyway-" Marc laughs. "This article should be better than whatever Cameron says to that campaign team today. I mean, if half of the team turn up after last night-"

Ed shrugs, purposefully avoiding Marc's eyes. He knows Marc will probably talk to Cameron later-they'll both be here later, for the typical photo opportunities-and he also knows that Marc has known him, Ed, for over twenty years, and so he isn't entirely sure Marc won't pick up on the-the- _confusion._

Ed plays back their conversation on the train over and over, travelling back to it like a tongue to a loose tooth-that strange, confused mixture of feelings when Cameron had unexpectedly- _confided_ in him-a mixture that's Ed fairly sure isn't negative.

In fact, he's not entirely sure _what_ they-and that's the _problem-_

"Ed." Marc taps his shoulder gently. "Wake up. One mention of Cameron and you go dreamy."

Ed's head snaps up. "What?" he manages, a little louder than usual, an edge of alarm sharp in his stomach.

Marc laughs. "You never finished your sentence. Just because you were thinking about ousting Cameron in May-"

Ed feels his shoulders sink in relief. "I was-" he starts, then stops. Let Marc think that was all that was occupying his thoughts.

"I was just thinking" he says, tapping his pen on the desk absent-mindedly. "I mean-I don't agree with him, but Cameron is rather good at things like thith. And speeches."

He has to admit this about Cameron; no matter the man's faults, he's a remarkably good orator. It's something Ed's always found secretly, maddeningly enviable.

Marc stares at him incredulously, than laughs. "Better than you?"

Ed feels the blood rise to his cheeks. "No" he laughs, struggling to make the sound light. He knows Marc is just joking-he knows that there's always a small part of him that wonders-perhaps another relic from Haverstock-whoever he's talking to, whether they're laughing with him or at him.

Marc's watching him closely. "Joking, Ed" he says gently and he touches Ed's wrist, the way he did back in university when Ed was panicking about an exam or a meeting or a grade that just would never quite climb as high as David's, no matter what he did.

Ed nods and tries to smile. "I know."

Marc pats his arm and then pulls the sheet of paper towards him, frowning down at something. "Now, do you think we should link these two points-or do you think we should separate them entirely, ward off the champagne-socialist thing since Thornberry's managed to go and bring that into it-"

Ed gladly turns his attention to the sentence, even as he recognizes one of Marc's old ways of getting him to relax. Ed sometimes wonders if Marc's trick is so effective because it serves to distract him or simply because words and facts and figures can be easier to deal with than his own thoughts.

"Anyway" Marc says gently, after several minutes of reading have passed. "I was going to say, it's rather generous of you to compliment him like that."

Ed shrugs, tugging at the end of his sleeve absent-mindedly. "Well, it makes senth-se. "He keeps his eyes on his work, striving to keep his voice level. "I mean, if I've got to-it's not juth-just about knowing Cameron's weaknesses, I've got to know his th-strengths, too-"

Marc winces then, and Ed frowns. "Whath-what's wrong?" he asks, his heart suddenly pounding, his throat tightening. He tries to breathe slowly, to remind himself that Marc's his friend, that Marc knows he's right, that his message is the right one, but the memory's pushing sharply at the edges of his thoughts-of sitting in a hard-backed schoolchair, shirt sticking to his back, muffled laughter exploding around him, and trying to smile, before the realisation finally catching up, picking up in his brain that they were laughing at him, not with him.

Marc forces a smile and Ed grabs at his sleeve before he can turn away. "It's not nothing." He hates nothings-they nearly always turn out to be somethings. "Marc, tell me."

Marc puts the pen down, sliding off his glasses with a sigh. Then he turns round on the stool, so he's facing Ed head on. "It's just-um-I suppose-the way you were talking about him then. Cameron-well, you sounded-" Marc frowns. "I was going to say friendly but there were a few too many-comments earlier. Maybe-sort of friendly. A bit like a mugger and an old lady. When one might go for the other's life-savings at any moment-"

Ed blinks. "What."

Marc shakes his head. "Money on the mind at the moment, with the baby. Anyway. I just-I suppose I meant-more generous, personally, rather-rather than politically."

He eyes Ed warily. "I mean, it's ridiculous, obviously." Marc laughs suddenly. "Ignore me. I mean, he's your rival, for pity's-pity's sake-"

"No, no, you-um-" Ed wishes he had a Rubix Cube to occupy his hands. "Well, I-I thought it was the other way round. I mean-that you thought we were too close personally-I mean-um-" He feels his face flame. "Not that we're cloth-close, exactly-more-I mean, we spend time together-"

Marc's laughing now, touching his elbow. "OK. I mean, it's good that you get on-just-a little awkward, I suppose-since-" The ghost of the election hangs between them.

Ed nods. "Yes-yes, well-" He pulls the questions closer again. "We get on well-"

(Getting on well could mean confiding childhood stories. Hiding with remote controls. Fighting over a chair.)

(Getting on well could mean a lot of things.)

Marc smiles. "Good." He grins at Ed and turns back to the draft-Marc was always better at letting things roll off his back. (Or seeming to let things roll off his back. Ironic that Ed's the one who became a politician.)

Ed watches Marc chew his lip as he crosses a word out, head bobbing as he writes and maybe it's the sheer familiarity of it that makes him ask "Marc?"

Marc glances up with a grin. "Yeah?"

Ed runs his tongue over his teeth, his mouth suddenly intensely dry. The words fumble over each other in his throat, the words he never asks because of course he can, of course it's possible, of course it's-

_How did-_

_Is it-_

_Can I-_

The ball of confusion and strangeness and what feels a little too much like _happiness_ when he's with Cameron simply won't unravel and be squeezed into simple sentences.

He swallows and says, with a far bigger smile, "Which was I, the woman or the mugger?"

Marc blinks and then his eyes light up. "Which one's less offensive?"

They're both laughing and Ed's pretending that he doesn't see Marc watching him curiously, through their laughter. They both pretend not to hear any of the questions Ed might have asked.

* * *

 

It's later, when they're sitting in the small lounge area that Cameron's appearance before MPs yesterday starts playing, and Ed takes a small sip of beer and watches as Cameron gestures a little widely, making some announcement. Ed can't hear it but it seems to be going well-Cameron's cheeks are flushed and as he arches an eyebrow, Ed feels his mouth twitch with a grin breaking out slowly across his mouth. Tom and Stewart, who've travelled by car, are watching elsewhere, so for the moment, it's just Ed and Marc, and so perhaps he lets himself smile a little more than he usually would.

Cameron pauses for a moment, a small, delighted smile playing around his mouth just for a second. Ed counts two dimples in his cheeks and then wonders what on Earth's wrong with him.

"Did well, didn't he?" Ed jumps at Marc's voice and tears his eyes away from the screen, hands sliding under his knees.

"Um-yeah" he manages, his eyes roaming back to Cameron on screen before he can stop himself. Cameron's grinning now, adjusting his tie, that smile still creasing his eyes. Ed rolls his own more out of habit than anything, but the stab annoyance doesn't feel nearly as sharp as usual. In fact, he feels the smile spreading at his mouth again and it's only when Marc clears his throat, that Ed glances away again, his cheeks warm.

Marc winks. "Maybe you could one of your appearances and compare it. I don't know, set yourselves on fire and see who lasts the longest before one of you concedes the other's  was best-"

"You could be a politician with that kind of insight" Ed manages, but his eyes are still fixed on Cameron. He feels an irrational pang of disappointment as the screen changes-which is ridiculous, Cameron will be here before long-

Marc's eyes flicker between Ed's face and the TV screen but all he does is smile and ask if Ed would like another drink to lubricate his throat to prepare for all the arguing that's probably imminent, when David makes his appearance from Rochester or Newport.

* * *

 

David has to admit, listening to one of Ed's speeches from a while back, he finds he enjoys it even more than he expected-watching the clips they've stored on the laptop, he finds himself facing amused looks from his aides when he finds himself laughing, shaking his head fondly.

(Fondly. Over Miliband, _fondly?)_

But it's enough moments of laughter and when they finally get Miliband's statement through, there are enough good points, that when David sees Ed as he walks into the room, he's able to say genuinely "Well done on that statement on Thornberry, Miliband. Pleasantly surprised."

Miliband arches an eyebrow. "A week late, I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult, Cameron." But David touches Miliband's elbow then before he can stop himself and he catches Miliband's small, surprised smile.

* * *

 

It's after an hour or so that they find themselves outside together, when David steps out for a few moments, now that Craig and Bob  are chatting away, and a moment later, Miliband steps out beside him.

David leans back against the wall and glances back at the members of his security team just inside the door. He's only just out of sight of them, the way a Prime Minister rarely ever is, and there's something sharp about the freedom of that. He's missed it, he realises, and he hears a soft laugh next to him.

His eyes snap open as he glances at Miliband, to find the other man staring at him. "What?" he asks, far more quietly than he means to, and Miliband stares at him for a moment, eyes looking darker this close to one another, before he shakes his head. "Nothing, just-Prime Minister off a leash."

David rolls his eyes and then shifts a step closer to Miliband. "How was your day?"

Miliband shrugs. "Rather interesting. Worked a lot on statement questions with Marc. Your appearanth-ce yesterday was surprisingly impressive."

David doesn't have to fake the smile. "Thank you, Miliband. To quote you, I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment."

Miliband laughs again and steps closer so that their sleeves are brushing. David glances at him and finds himself wondering how many men all over the country are doing the same thing right now-standing outside together on a rare break from work, air laced with freedom and sharp-edged barbs of friendliness.

He watches Miliband for a moment, as the other man stares ahead. His lips twitch as he says "I didn't quite get a chance to look at the pool table, though."

David grins. "Where's a pool table?"

Miliband points over his shoulder at what is obviously an extension of the building. David watches the undisguised longing in Miliband's eyes, as he takes in the entrance to the clearly-missed pool table. There's something so utterly open about that look-that slightly gawky smile, the overly wide eyes that make Miliband look rather like an earnestly happy schoolboy.

Maybe it's the look on Miliband's face or that feeling of being away from cameras and guards and scrutiny for even five minutes or something wild and maybe a little mad about the freedom that's rushing in David's chest but it's then that he pulls out his phone. He sends a message and then he reaches for Miliband's sleeve-but redirects his hand at the last moment, letting it brush Miliband's elbow instead. "Come on."

"What?" Miliband stops, turning to stare at him. "Don't we need to get one of the protection te-"

"I've just texted them. I've told them I've taken you off for a brief pre-arranged discussion. And it's going to look rather flimsy if we're just standing out here." He tugs Miliband's elbow this time, leading him to the extension. Miliband's eyes widen. "But-Cameron-"

"What?" David's too busy relishing the weird freedom of it all, the sensation of running free, the same one he used to get as a child when he stole strawberries from the bushes, crammed the sour-sweetness into his mouth, red juice staining his fingers.

Miliband bites his lip and glances back. "But-we aren't _supposed-"_

David rolls his eyes. "We're next door. It's perfectly safe. Probably safer than bunking off a lesson-" He stops as Miliband scowls and glances away, chewing his lip. "Really, Miliband?"

Miliband glowers. "I happened to be rather diligent with my th-schoolwork, _Cameron."_

David stares at Miliband in his slightly skewed tie, the scowl knotting his brows together, and bursts out laughing.

Miliband scowls harder and it's as David steps forward, eyes drifting to the security identification tag that Miliband's wearing loosely around his neck, that the idea prickles into impish life. "Honestly, Miliband, you never skipped a lesson?"

Miliband sighs and David grins at the warning signs of an imminent lecture. "I know Tories don't consider education their greatest priority, Cameron, but-"

David reaches out and before Miliband can do more than stumble over his words, lifts the security tag over his head.

"Wh-" Miliband splutters, as David grins and backs away in front of him, holding the tag out, daring Miliband to come and get it. _"Cameron-"_

"I do believe you need this tag, Miliband-" David deliberately takes a few more steps backwards, towards the door, even as Miliband splutters and fumes and reaches out, fruitlessly, for the tag. _"Cameron_ -give that _back-"_

"Of course, you could always just come here and I'll hand it over-"

"Cameron-this ith-s _not funny-"_ Miliband's scowling in a way that's so ridiculously schoolboyish that David can't help but laugh which Miliband seems to take as a challenge. "You're-this is _childish,_ Cameron-"

David just arches an eyebrow and then with a grin, turns and pushes the door open of the extension building, quickening his pace a little.

He waits, feeling that smile ache at his mouth, the mischief high and sweet in his chest, and then he hears it, the indignant, nasal, ridiculously annoyed _"Cameron!"_ and then Miliband's footsteps following him.

David rounds the corner into what is clearly a deserted games room and which he sees immediately contains the longed-for pool table. Smiling, he steps back, so he's just a little out of sight of the doorway and when Miliband bursts in a moment later, voice already stretched into a furious "Cameron, this is _not fun-"_ David steps up behind him and taps his shoulder.

Miliband lets out something a little like a shriek as he spins round and David almost collapses with laughter, as the scowl returns to Miliband's face with full force. "That _wasn't funny,_ Cameron-"

David shakes his head, still almost helpless with laughter. "I'm sorry" he manages to choke out and when Miliband just shakes his head, folding his arms tightly across his chest, David takes in a deep breath and then touches his arm. "Honestly, Miliband. It was only a joke."

Miliband still scowls but he doesn't push David's hand away and David, encouraged, holds out the security tag as an olive branch. "It was only a joke. Honestly." His hand hasn't moved from Miliband's arm and Miliband lifts one shoulder, looking younger than ever. Before David can stop himself, his hand squeezes gently and Miliband looks up sharply, dark gaze finding David's eyes.

They look at one another for a few moments which seem to stretch out longer and David's voice is far softer when he says "Honestly."

Miliband watches him for a long moment and then slowly holds out his hand for the tag. David hands it over and Miliband's fingers brush his own a little nervously.

"Thanks." There's something different in Miliband's voice and they both glance up to find the other watching them with the exact same expression on their face.

They both look away and David gestures to the pool table. "Anyway" he says, his voice a little overbright. "Pool table awaits."

He glances back to find Miliband hastily looking away from him again and David feels something like a smile tugging at his mouth as Miliband rolls his eyes a second too late and heads for the pool table, his eyes brightening a little as he picks up a cue. David steps back to watch, that smile still there, but sweeter somehow-almost like a memory, as he watches Miliband line up a shot. It's not quite painful-more like the ache of a long-forgotten feeling.

Miliband's eyes are narrowed in concentration as he jabs the cue once hard and two balls end up in the pockets.

David laughs at the wide-eyed look on Miliband's face and watches as the other man lines up two more balls, his eyes a little brighter than usual. Miliband's gaze is fixed on the balls, and David watches, taking in the look of intense concentration.

Miliband shoots two more balls in and then slides off his suit, dropping it on the chair behind him. David watches as Miliband leans forward, arms encased in white sleeves, long fingers wrapped around the cue, dark eyes fixed on the ball. David watches, suddenly a little more aware of his heartbeat as he takes in the unusual stillness of Miliband's body, the focus in his eyes. Something about Miliband is less gawky, less self-conscious now-instead, for all the fierce concentration, there's something that's somehow more comfortable, almost relaxed in his own skin. David feels his breath catch for a moment at the look on Miliband's face, the way his eyes almost glitter before he jabs the cue forward and the two balls are promptly shot across the table.

"Goodness-" And it's the Miliband he recognizes again, who stares at the pool table with that wide-eyed dumbstruck look, as if he's been hit on the back of the head. "That's actually rather surprising-" His hair's a little rumpled, his sleeves a little too long and watching Miliband with his big, dark eyes and surprised, delighted grin, something sharply unfamiliar seems to rise in David's chest, again like a taste of a long ago memory, almost a longing.

Miliband meets his eyes and David can't help but smile at the look on his face. "We might have found an area where your self-assessment is actually less than your prowess." He winces inwardly at the over-formalized tone and before Miliband can say anything hastily pushes on with "I haven't played pool in a while, myself. Sometimes couldn't make the shot properly-"

"Too busy with croquet, Cameron?"

David rolls his eyes. "Precisely, Miliband. As a child, I was far too busy aiming my croquet mallet at the heads of the poor chaps who dared to position a fork incorrectly."

Miliband's mouth twitches. "Etonian."

"Brownite."

Miliband is watching him with a smile and his head tilted to one side and perhaps it's the fact that there's something so comfortable about the silence-a familiarity David has come to enjoy without realising-that makes him say "Why don't you share your knowledge, Miliband?"

Miliband smirks. "Cameron, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings but it would really take a little longer than half an hour to explain the rules to you."

"Good to know the Labour policy of sharing gains with the less fortunate remains intact-"

Miliband almost chokes. "The less fort-Cameron, reassure me that you do not consider yourself one of the _sufferers_ in this country-"

"Miliband, have you ever heard of the word _joke?_ And I wasn't asking for the rules, I meant how to do the-" David gestures vaguely, as he shrugs off his suit. "The shot thing."

Miliband shakes his head, one side of his mouth curled, eyebrows arched. "Shot thing." He picks up the cue and hands it to David. "Fantastic terminology, Prime Minister."

"Oh, shut up, Miliband."

"And the Bullingdon Boy is back."

David rolls his eyes but before he can shove the cue back, Miliband sighs and grabs his wrist. "Here, hold it-" Carefully, he moves David's hand further down the cue, his fingers surprisingly warm. David feels the heat rise under his collar as Miliband carefully, and a little awkwardly, touches his elbow, manoeuvering his arm into place. Miliband's chin skates across David's shoulder and his hair brushes David's neck. It tickles and David's suddenly very strongly aware of his heartbeat.

"Sorry-" Miliband pulls back and David manages an "It's fine" as Miliband stops behind him. David risks a glance at him and swallows when he sees that Miliband's cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright, and David hastily looks away.

"OK." Miliband's voice is brushing his shoulder, so close that David can feel the words vibrating through his shirt. "Lift your arm-actually, let me-"

David waits as Miliband's arm stretches out along his own, fingers brushing David's knuckles. His other hand's braced on David's shoulder, keeping them both upright. David swallows, Ed's words warm on the back of his neck. "Pull your arm back-here-" David feels Ed step directly behind him, so that his shirt brushes against David's. "Now, you can pull your arm back-just keep your eye on the ball-"

David nods, too aware of Miliband's body heat at his back and their fingers a little too close together. He takes a deep breath, pulling his scattered thoughts back into focus and trains his eye on the ball. He pulls the cue back.

One ball rolls softly across the table. It comes to a halt and sits there insultingly, staring at David.

David glares at it.

He waits for the taunt, the barb fired into his ear but instead, he feels laughter vibrating against his back. Before he can pull away, however, Miliband's voice is in his ear, words tickling his neck. "Don't worry. Just-here-" Miliband slides David's hand down a few inches so that he's gripping the cue a little more tightly. "Now-just take another-have another go-"

David nods and a nervous laugh breaks from his own throat at the same time as he feels it vibrate from Miliband's. For a moment, the two of them are laughing together, Miliband's chin on his shoulder, their hands wrapped around the same cue.

"Here-just pull back-" Miliband gently guides his hand back and David feels his chest tighten strangely, his mouth suddenly dry. He pulls the cue back slowly, then jabs it.

This time, he manages to hit a second ball but it rolls only a few inches before it comes to a stop.

David grits his teeth and this time Miliband gives his arm what seems to be an attempt at a comforting pat, before he repositions the cue and breathes "OK, here, a bit sharper this time-"

A couple more jabs of the cue gets the ball closer and closer to a pocket; David can feel his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, an old habit from when he was eight and puzzling endlessly over his fractions. Miliband's voice is gentler than he would have expected guiding him back each time to the cue, guiding it forward. As it goes on, David finds his shoulders relaxing a little, even as Miliband leans against him. Something about this-the concentration and the focus and the feeling of time stretching out before them-reminds him of long ago days on the playing fields of Eton, struggling to hold a cricket bat at just the right angle or strangely enough, days in the basement of his parents' house, doing nothing more strenuous than leaning over a scrabble board with the rain falling on the windows outside. There's something there in those memories before Eton, even before Heatherdown perhaps, that's an almost aching sweetness, that he's never quite been able to reach since. But now, he can feel it again, a ghost in his chest, with Miliband's voice soft at his neck, almost tickling at his skin.

David's lost count of how many goes he's had when he jabs the cue forward for what seems to be the umpteenth time.

The cue hits the ball. The ball hits a second. And the second ball rolls into the hole.

David stares at it stupidly for a moment, dumbfounded that he could actually have succeeded after so long, and Miliband's delighted laughter echoes around them. "You did it!" he exclaims and the sound is so sincere that David, staring at the pool table, feels a smile already blossoming at his mouth, even as he turns to face Miliband, who's beaming as if David's just discovered a cure for cancer.

"You actually did it, Cameron-" he says, still beaming, that wide grin that David can't bring himself to describe as gawky right now. The words aren't even double-edged-they're bright, genuine, and David, triumph fizzing in his chest, says without thinking twice, "With your help."

Ed laughs, taking the cue from David, and the sound is so raw and delightedly off-guard, and maybe it's that and the gleeful thrill of it being the two of them away from the constant security, protection, guards and the brief whispers of those long-forgotten days curled up on the living room floor where triumph could be dredged just from spelling out a word, no matter what the score, that makes him reach out to Ed, throwing his arms out without thinking.

Ed's arms are out too, and for a moment, they freeze awkwardly, their hands hovering an inch away from each other's shoulders. David breaks the stalemate, placing a hand on Miliband's upper arm and patting his shoulder, holding on for a few moments. Ed awkwardly returns the gesture and they hold on for a few moments, David taking in Ed's dark eyes as the two of them smile almost shyly at each other.

David might enjoy being off the leash for a while but he's fairly sure that both he and Miliband are secretly thankful to hear his protection team's voices at the door. It gives them an excuse to give each other a final pat on the arm, a final, more conspiratorial grin than usual, and then turn to face the music, their arms brushing together for a last moment. It almost allows David to forget that, for a moment, he had very nearly ended up hugging Ed Miliband.

* * *

 

The air is biting, cold, the first, long fingers of winter creeping in to stroke their skin and David's glad when they're back on the train, warmth enveloping him like a blanket. He can't help but wrap his arms around himself with a small shudder as his body adjusts.

"It's freezing" Miliband says as they step into their compartment and David nods. "Colder than most people's homes under Labour's watch."

"That was a th-slicker transition than your attempt at a pool move, Cameron."

Miliband's taken a seat by the window and without thinking, David sinks down beside him. Miliband blinks, but says nothing, instead simply adjusting himself to give David more room. David stares out of the window at the darkening sky and leans his head back, closing his eyes. His body's aching with tiredness and as the train begins to move, he finds himself grateful that they're in a private compartment.

"My brother used to do that." Miliband's voice is soft and David's eyes flicker to see Miliband too, staring out of the window.

"What, sleep? Most humans do."

Miliband rolls his eyes. "It's actually quite fasth-fascinating having a conversation with you, Cameron. Trying to be civil with you-gives you a sense of what persistence must have felt like for those who were dispatched to deal with Rasputin-"

"Yes, Miliband, hold up assassins as examples of persistence-fantastic, why don't you just hold up Lee Harvey Oswald as an example of brilliant sharpshooting-"

Miliband makes a sound suspiciously like a snort and David grins, turning to take him in. They're interrupted briefly by an aide, who leaves them a plate of biscuits which Miliband takes and holds out to him. "Biscuit, Cameron?"

David takes one blearily. "Thanks" he says, though the aide's already left and Miliband lowers the plate carefully between them. He notices Miliband eyeing the Jaffa Cakes rather avidly and gives him a tired smile. "You can have the Jaffa Cakes if you want, Miliband."

Ed glances at him. "Are you sure?" he asks, though his eyes have lit up and David smiles at the sight. He nods and Miliband wastes no time, reaching happily for the nearest one. David watches the smile spread as he bites into the Jaffa Cake, watches a second longer than he means to and can't stop smiling himself, even when Miliband glances at him.

"What?" he says, a little doubtfully, and David, a little caught out, just shakes his head. "Nothing. Just-nothing."

Miliband raises an eyebrow but seems to let the matter drop. Which is good because David's too tired to wonder if he could explain it any further.

He remembers Miliband's eyes on his face then as he reminisced about trains and suddenly feels a vague prickling of guilt.

He reaches out, letting his hand brush Miliband's arm. "Sorry" he says and the word is quiet. "Tell me what you were going to say."

Miliband blinks at him and opens his mouth. David braces himself for a remark-he'd deserve it, after all-but instead, Miliband just says, quietly, "David-my brother-juth-st-he always fell asleep. On trains, in the car-you know-the way-I mean, I did too, but-" He shakes his head, chewing at his lip. "It sounds silly-"

"No, it doesn't." David says the words before he can think about it, but he knows he means it. "Go on."

Miliband's eyes are focused on the window, even though it's too dark to see their surroundings flashing by. "It's just-there were times when our dad would take us on drives and David would fall asleep and-I don't know-it'd just be me and him. I'd get you know-to just talk with my dad. More one-on one, I-I suppose. So-I always liked it. When David was asleep, I mean." He chews at his lip. "I told you it sounded silly, Cameron."

"No, it doesn't." David's voice is quieter than he means for it to be. "You wanted your dad to yourself for a while. That doesn't make you silly-it's-" He hovers over the word for a moment. "Normal" he says quietly and Ed smiles. "Not a word I often hear, Cameron."

David smirks. "Too special to be normal. I think Nancy's got that on a T-shirt."

Ed grins. "I've th-said before your daughter's rather intelligent, Cameron."

David returns the smile. Some of the warmth has seeped back into his body now and the darkness outside seems to make it brighter inside the compartment and maybe that, plus the friendly drowsiness, makes it easier to say "My brother occupied a lot of my father's attention, I have to say."

Ed glances at David. "Allan-Alex?"

David smiles. "Alex. He was the eldest and I suppose-my parents didn't have favourites but I suppose it's different when it's your first child. I mean, he went off to school when he was seven-" He waits for the barb from Miliband but the other man just nods, dark eyes resting on David's face. "So after that, we didn't see each other much in term time, but he-" He laughs, rubs at his eyes. "I suppose you could say he cast a bit of a shadow. Especially at Eton. Top of the class, all that, you know-"

He thinks he sees Miliband wince for a moment but the other man just nods, his eyes never leaving David's face.

David tries to laugh, his head heavy. "I suppose that it's a second-son thing" he says, eyes drifting to the window. "My sisters didn't seem to get the pressure."

Miliband's laugh is close enough to tickle David's skin. "I never understood why people thought being the youngest was the better end of the deal. It just gives you more to live up to."

David shakes his head. "I suppose everyone must feel like that about their siblings. Nick was a second son, too."

Ed's mouth twitches. "Muth-st be a common denominator among politicians."

David grins and lets his eyes flicker closed. "God, I'm tired" he manages, his mouth stretched in a yawn. "It's been rather a long day."

Ed glances at him. "I was going to refer to the plights of people on zero-hour contracts, Cameron, but on th-second thoughts-" He tilts his head to the side. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

David sighs. "Really, Miliband? No comments on how un-Prime Ministerial that would be?"

"I think most people have become accuth-stomed to that from you, Cameron."

David sighs. "Thank you, Miliband. I can rather picture you being a _nurse_ , you know-one of the ones around the death bed who likes to complain about what a large amount of money the machines cost-"

"Thank you, Cameron, we prefer to defend the NHS, but-"

David yawns again, essentially cutting off the conversation. Miliband sighs. "Cameron, just go to sleep." He watches him for a moment with an expression that David can't quite read. "I'll watch out for anyone if you like" he says quietly and David bites his lip, something about the gentleness of the tone and how tired he is sending a pang through his chest.

He must give Miliband some kind of doubtful look because Ed sighs. "It would hardly look good for me if I-tweeted some photo of you _th-s_ _leeping,_ Cameron." His lip twitches.

David sighs. "I know , I suppose-"

Miliband rolls his eyes. "I'm hardly _Ballth_ , Cameron-"

David raises an eyebrow. "And I thought you and our beloved Shadow Chancellor were the best of pals" he mutters, too tired to come up with anything else. "One too many hand gestures, was it?"

Ed rolls his eyes and David closes his own. "Sorry" he says and he feels rather than sees Ed's head nodding. He chooses his next words as carefully as he can, given how tired he is. "Really, you wouldn't trust him?"

Miliband's voice curls with amusement. "I'm not giving you that, Cameron. I can th-see the headlines now-no doubt Lynton would be delighted-"

David opens his eyes slightly. "I didn't mean politically" he says, his voice a little lower now. "I meant-as a friend."

He waits for another barbed response but it doesn't come. Instead, there's a long, indrawn breath. "It's not that I don't like him-"

David resists the urge to snort.

"But-Ed isn't exactly-" David feels Miliband sigh. "Receptive. On occasion."

David's eyes open. "Well, that's his issue" he manages. "You're his leader. He-" He might be tired but his brain isn't malfunctioning that badly. "He owes you respect."

Miliband stares at him incredulously and then laughs, the sound a little thin and disbelieving. "I wath-sn't aware you thought me worthy of respect, Cameron."

David stares. "When have I ever said otherwise?"

Miliband raises an eyebrow. "Would you like the abridged answer to that one?"

David sighs. "I think you deserve respect, Miliband." Maybe it's tiredness that leaves his statement so direct but colour creeps into Miliband's cheeks and David feels the heat rising in his own.

"Thank you" Miliband says quietly and David fidgets with his collar, which is suddenly a little too tight. "Yes, well-"

Miliband's watching him and the look in his eyes is softer now. "Honeth-stly, I'll keep a lookout" he says and this time it's David who says quietly "Thank you."

A fleeting expression crosses Miliband's face-something open and tender and David closes his eyes because something about that expression almost frightens him. But he lets his eyes close and his head loll against the seat, and he listens to the steady rise of a sound, a sound that lulls the scattering of his thoughts, a sound which some part of his brain grasps, as he drifts into sleep, is the rise and fall of Miliband's breathing.

* * *

 

Ed focuses on breathing. In and out, over and over. He can feel Cameron's leg brushing his own, Cameron's hand warm against his wrist. He doesn't know how or when Cameron's arm ended up against his own, when Cameron's breaths became slow and regular. Ed wants to glance at him, to see if he's asleep yet, but he keeps his gaze on the window at the surroundings that he can't see and tries to ignore the warmth flooding his cheeks.

When Ed had been watching Cameron bend forward with his cue, he'd been watching the way Cameron's eyes narrowed, the look of puzzlement on his face, as if he simply couldn't fathom the sheer obstinacy of something not immediately working for him.

The familiar words had been there- _typical, smug, entitled-_ but there'd been an edge of something else there too, a feeling that almost had Ed smiling, a strange warmth rising in his chest-almost like a fondness.

Although he'd never admit it to anyone.

Ed had kept his eyes on Cameron and something about the disappointed look on Cameron's face when his cue completely missed the ball had sent such a sharp pang through Ed's chest that, biting his lip, that he'd stepped forward without thinking.

He'd have expected, a few months before, to thoroughly enjoy being able to show David Cameron how to do something that he was completely incompetent at. And instead, he'd found himself adjusting Cameron's cue, muttering an encouragement when Cameron's shots went wide, his hand on top of Cameron's, guiding his arm forward.

It had been then that Ed had become aware of Cameron's shirt. Of course, he'd always been aware of Cameron's shirt. (Not that he made a _habit_ of paying attention to Cameron's shirts.) But he was suddenly rather aware that Cameron's shirt was rustling against his own.

He was rather aware of every crease in the material. He was certainly rather aware that his thumb was pressed against the button at Cameron's sleeve for a few seconds, that for a moment his finger touched the skin on the inside of Cameron's wrist. His chin was brushing Cameron's shirt. He wasn't quite as tall as Cameron ( a fact which does not bother Ed in the _slightest)_ and he'd found himself stretching to be able to guide the other man's arm properly.

When Cameron had finally made the shot, there'd been something in the blue eyes-a look of such genuine, shocked delight-something so utterly unguarded that Ed had been laughing at the simple sheer look of joy and sharply surprised at the fierce leap in his own chest that he'd quickly recognized as _pride._

Pride in _Cameron._

His arms had been moving before he knew it and he'd seen Cameron stop at the exact same moment he himself did. Their eyes had met with a strange jolt in the middle of Ed's chest and even as they'd awkwardly clapped each other on the shoulder, he'd felt himself seized by a weird sense of disappointment.

He's not too scared to acknowledge that he wanted to hug Cameron (though acknowledge it to _himself_ rather than Marc, who had muttered with a grin "So, you and Cameron had enough fun?" before heading home.) But there was nothing _wrong_ with that. _Nothing._

Now, he swallows hard, keeps his gaze on the window. He's glad Cameron's asleep; knows Cameron probably more than needs it; and he occasionally lets his eyes drift over to snatch a glance at Cameron, grabbing a few details at a time; the creases at the corner of Cameron's eyes when his mouth twitches in his sleep; the way Cameron's eyelids flutter a little as he dreams; the strangely pouted shape of his lips. Ed feels as though he's breaking some kind of rule by these tiny, snatched glances but he can't stop grabbing them and each time his eyes linger a little longer.

When David shifts a little in his sleep, murmuring something, Ed feels a small smile tug at his own mouth and when David moves suddenly, their hands brush for a second, disconcertingly warm and soft. Ed yanks his hand back, blood rising to his cheeks. He stares out of the window, his mind echoing with David's words- _"He owes you respect."_ The words had stuck in his brain like an itch he can't quite scratch, and they're not any easier to ignore.

Ed doesn't have any doubt that Balls likes him-on some level. They've known each other for so long, after all-from back before his flat-sharing days with Yvette. But at the same time-

Ed shakes his head, presses his forehead against the cool glass. He can remember the way Balls had occasionally rolled his eyes in their first few meetings together, even paid more attention to his Blackberry than whatever Ed was saying-then again, he hadn't been shy in doing that in front of Tony or Gordon, either. But then-and he can still hear Harriet's words _There's an election coming up..._ Ed hates the thought of dismissing that warning as another political tactic, but at the same time, his mind goes back to it over and over like a tongue returning to a sore tooth. Cameron is a great tactician-it's one of the (sadly, many) political techniques of Cameron's that he admires. But then surely Cameron would be more subtle about it-Cameron enjoys bringing it up at Prime Minister's Questions too much for it to be a method he's genuinely relying on. But it's still there, the niggling concern and Ed hates it, rather more than he should.

He rubs at his own eyes, wondering just how long there is left of the journey and he's propping his head on his hand when Cameron moves next to him and he's still turning to look when Cameron mutters something that Ed can't quite make out and then, eyes still closed, Cameron's head falls against Ed's shoulder.

Ed's breath hitches in his throat, his heart suddenly a rapid drumbeat, as Cameron shifts restlessly next to him and then his head nestles even more firmly onto Ed's shoulder, his body relaxing a little, his arm now pressed firmly against Ed's own.

Ed catches his lip between his teeth, struggles to keep his breathing level. Cameron's head is on his shoulder and all Ed can think, rather helplessly, is that this is the sort of situation a Leader of the Opposition should have a manual for.

He tries to grab hold of his thoughts, even as they scatter wildly under the inescapable fact that _Cameron is sleeping on his shoulder._ He closes his eyes and Cameron moves slightly, his breath tickling Ed's neck. Cameron's head is heavy on his shoulder but not exactly uncomfortable. A strange urge to laugh rises wildly in his throat. David Cameron is asleep on his shoulder.

 _Cameron_ is _asleep_ on _his shoulder._ Now, he's truly thankful that they're in a private compartment.

He has no idea what Cameron would want him to do and in a way, that's almost beside the point. Cameron's been looking like death warmed up since they got on the train. It would be rather cruel to wake him up by pushing him unceremoniously onto the seat. The warm weight of Cameron's head on Ed's shoulder isn't as annoying as Ed would have expected. (Would have. Had he ever considered this situation.) His eyes drift to the side and he finds himself taking in the way Cameron shuffles a little in his sleep, as his head moves even closer, so he's almost burrowing his way into Ed's shoulder.

Ed swallows, tries to adjust his weight as carefully as possible, so that he doesn't jerk Cameron awake. He can feel his face burning and he watches Cameron helplessly, wondering how on earth Cameron's going to react.

Slowly, he manages to breathe more steadily, even as his eyes stray again and again back to Cameron's face. He looks strangely peaceful-maybe it's something to do with the fact that the usual polished composure isn't there-Cameron's face is more open somehow, relaxed in sleep, and Ed finds his eyes drifting there for longer and longer moments, taking him in in a way he's never really able to do when Cameron's awake. His eyes skate over Cameron's receding hairline-Ed bites back a grin-to the way his eyelids flutter occasionally as he sleeps. They follow the bridge of Cameron's nose down to the slightly parted pout of his mouth. There's a dimple in Cameron's cheek that creases whenever Cameron's mouth twitches in his sleep. Ed smirks, watching Cameron, wondering what he's dreaming about.

 _Probably how best to convince the public the cuts to the NHS will help sort out the deficit_ , mutters the voice in his head that always curls itself around a comeback when they're standing across the despatch box. But the words are edged with something softer, something that makes Ed smile and it's nothing to do with the words themselves. He usually has to fight to get these glimpses of Cameron-these raw, unguarded moments of Cameron-and now, he's getting more than he's ever had all hurled at him at once and he can watch for as long as he wants. That alone is a jolt in his chest-he doesn't have any idea why he's watching Cameron, can imagine how bizarre it will look if Cameron opens his eyes now to find Ed watching him. Maybe it's simply the anomaly of seeing Cameron like this-so open and vulnerable and strangely endearing.

He tilts his head. Cameron nestles a little closer and Ed feels a strange heat flare in the skin above his collar where Cameron's hair brushes. He can feel himself chewing at his lip, his heart beating a little faster than usual. He feels as though he's holding something very fragile, as if it might drop down and shatter into a thousand pieces, sharp with the strangeness of it all if he moves too fast, too carelessly. Cameron is lying on his shoulder, heavy and warm and unfamiliar but Ed doesn't want to push him away. His breathing slows gradually, becomes a little more regular, but he's aware, hyper-aware of every hitch in Cameron's breathing, every tickle of hair against his neck. It's a weird vigilance, an awareness all over his body. He threads his fingers together, for something to do with his hands, which suddenly seem to have become unwieldy, too large for his body. He settles them on his thighs, taps his fingers nervously.

Gradually, by increments, he starts to relax, breathing a little more deeply, even glancing at Cameron with a smile, but Cameron sleeps, happily oblivious, against his shoulder. Ed feels his smile grow and then drags his gaze away as though Cameron could catch him any second. But he's not quite used to it yet, that feeling of Cameron's head lying against him, cheek pressed against Ed's shoulder, hair soft when it tickles his neck.

That doesn't mean he dislikes it.

It's when they're about ten minutes from the station that Ed decides that Cameron's probably caught up on his sleep and that, as awkward as this is doubtless going to be, it may be far more awkward if Cameron ends up being shaken away from Ed's shoulder by a grinning member of his protection team. So he clears his throat a little ostentatiously and when Cameron doesn't move, he mutters "Cameron."

Cameron stirs a little but doesn't respond. Ed rolls his eyes, a strange mixture of exasperation and amusement surging in his chest, and he nudges Cameron a little more confidently this time (Cameron's lying on _his_ shoulder after all) and, louder, says _"Cameron."_

Cameron mutters something but his eyes don't open and Ed rolls his own, grips Cameron's shoulder and shakes it. "Cameron-David- _Cameron!"_

Cameron's eyes fly open and he stares up at Ed. "What?"

In lieu of an answer, Ed just raises an eyebrow ad it takes a moment for Cameron's eyes to wander up and then widen.

He almost leaps upright but misjudges the distance entirely, his head colliding with Ed's chin. Both of them cry out, David rubbing his head, while Ed anxiously feels his chin, aggrieved.

"Cameron, do you mind not breaking my _th-s_ _kull?"_

"I'm more concerned about _my_ skull!" Cameron snaps back, almost automatically, rubbing his head. Ed stares at him. "It's _you_ who moved."

Cameron glares at him but Ed watches the blood creep up Cameron's cheeks, the blue-eyed gaze wavering a little. "Yes-yes, well, I'm-" Cameron gestures to Ed vaguely. "I-um-I didn't mean-to, you know-"

Ed feels his lips twitch at the sight of Cameron fumbling for words and Cameron glowers at him. "I am trying to _apologize_ to you, Miliband."

Ed bites his lip. "I can see that."

Cameron glares. "Well-well then, why didn't you wake me?" he bursts out, apparently latching onto the first barb that comes to mind and Ed raises an eyebrow. "And you wonder why this country accuses you of not accepting responsibility."

Cameron glares at him, the words already spluttering out. "Well-well, you told me to go to sleep! You-why did you tell me if you didn't want me to?"

Ed stares at him and then says quietly "Who thaid I didn't want you to?"

The words hang in the air between them and Ed, hearing them, feels his sentences scramble together in his mouth as he tries to backtrack. "I mean-I can't-I mean-not-I mean, not that it made a difference to me-I mean-I-I meant that it didn't bother me" he manages. "I didn't-um-mind."

"Oh. Oh-well-" Cameron's cheeks are flushed and Ed is suddenly finding it hard to meet his gaze.

"I never said I minded" he says, more to the floor than to Cameron. "I-you needed to sleep, Cameron."

The name comes out far more softly than usual and Ed sees a fleeting expression cross Cameron's face that he can't quite grab onto. It's gone too quickly and Cameron says, a little awkwardly, "Th-thank you."

Ed nods and then busies himself gathering his things together. Cameron does the same and Ed feels a rush of relief that he left waking Cameron as long as he possibly could.

It isn't until the train's slowing and Ed takes a step towards the compartment door that Cameron's hand finds his shoulder. "Ed-" Cameron's standing a little closer than usual and Ed can smell his aftershave and the scent of his hair and he swallows hard at the fact he can feel Cameron's body heat.

The only consolation to all this is that Cameron's looking as awkward as he feels. "I-well-th-thank you." Cameron's hand is still on his shoulder and he seems to realise it at the exact same moment that Ed does. He drops his hand immediately, gives Ed an awkward pat on the arm. Ed swallows. "You're welcome" he says, glad his voice remains steady.

David nods again and Ed's rather glad that the door opens then and they find themselves facing some of Cameron's advisors, and he tells himself it's just because he needs to check how the Thornberry statement's gone down.

* * *

 

David's always been able to renew himself with a quick nap. But, rarely has it taken place in front of Ed Miliband.

It's certainly never taken place on Ed Miliband's _shoulder._

He remembers vaguely shifting a little in his sleep, feeling someone move, and burrowing in a little closer without thinking about it, vaguely aware of the faint scent of aftershave that wasn't his own, but too tired to open his eyes.

Even when he'd heard Miliband's voice (he'd know Miliband's voice anywhere), he'd kept his eyes shut, too comfortable to move, aware that Miliband was close, somehow, but...David isn't sure why he hadn't wanted to move.

But now, he's stepping off a train with Miliband at his side, David finds himself glancing quickly at Miliband, taking in the flush of the other man's cheeks as he laughs at his own aides, the way his eyes dart to David's and the second he sees David watching, glancing away again.

He wonders if it had been the other way round, whether he would have let Miliband sleep on his shoulder. He likes to think he would have. He pictures Miliband's dark head nestling against his collar, eyelashes brushing his cheeks, listening to him breathe.

David blinks and shakes his head a little but with the clicking shutters of the cameras, he doesn't have time to think, as he and Miliband both head to their cars.

Miliband looks up at him and David swallows. "I hope your shoulder's all right" he says, with an attempt at a laugh. Miliband's mouth twitches. "You're not that strong, Cameron" he says, softly and something about his voice makes David shiver a little, even though he's not sure why.

He tries for a grin. "I'm trying to thank you, Miliband."

Miliband just smiles and something about the look brings the grin back to David's own mouth. "You've already done that, Cameron." Miliband arches an eyebrow and his sleeve brushes David's as he raises his hand. David takes it, feels his lips twitch. "I did, didn't I?"

Miliband tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed quizzically. "I've got to say, Cameron, I really _am_ contherned for the country if your memory's _that_ poor."

David rolls his eyes as Miliband laughs. David squeezes his hand before he realises what he's doing and Miliband's eyes widen for a moment, before he tentatively squeezes back.

They drop hands a few moments later, both of them avoiding one another's eyes and it's David who says "Well...have a good evening, Miliband."

Miliband gives him the same smile again. "You too, Cameron."

Their hands both hover for a moment as if they want to reach out again but neither does, and David raises a hand in an awkward wave which he's fairly sure he sees Miliband snigger at. (Which is hardly fair- _Miliband's_ supposed to be the awkward one, after all.) But it isn't until he's in the car that his phone vibrates and he glances at it as they pull onto the motorway.

**_Get some sleep, Cameron._ **

David rolls his eyes.

_You, too._

**_Thank you. :)_ **

David swallows hard and stares at the screen for a moment.

_You're welcome. Sleep well.:)_

**_You too. Goodnight, Cameron. :)_ **

_Goodnight, Miliband. :)_

David stares at the phone and shakes his head. He lets the smile tug at his mouth and tries not to wonder about the aching in his chest, that somehow isn't painful at all.

* * *

 

_Playlist_

_Never Had Nobody Like You-M.Ward -"I saw the dark side of the moon/And the stars in the sky, they never caught my eye/Cause I ain't never had nobody like you...I watched my own habits die and it's painful/sometimes it's painful in the light of the truth/but you can be faster than light/I'd like to thank you tonight/Honey, I ain't never had nobody like you/I ain't never had nobody like you"-this song was actually suggested to me by someone, who pointed out how very Camerband-ish it is, given how their relationship is developing in this fic. And she's completely right, because it feels like the sort of song that could be recurring in this fic, given how much they-particularly David, at this point-are noticing the differences between themselves._

_School Friends-Now, Now- "You have a girlfriend, but she's not your girlfriend/She's just your friend for the night/You'll have a new one in the morning...You have a girlfriend but she's not your girlfriend/You just like her where she's at/And you'll thank her for the things she bought you/Then you'll go on your way...And the next day when you chase the other girl/She'll remember all the things you said to her"-this reminds me of Nick and George, Ed calling David to congratulate him, and all the other things that will change with the election._

_Everything Has Changed-Taylor Swift, featuring Ed Sheeran-" I just want to know you better, know you better, know you better now"-David and Ed on the train, sharing stories._

_Steal His Heart-Emily and the Woods- "I've always been scared/Scared of the sea/I'll give you some string"-I don't know. This put me in mind of David winding Ed up gently, nicking his security tag to get him to follow him._

_Kids In The Basement-Samantha Savage Smith- "You saw me showing off/I guess you saw the best of/Or maybe saw the worst of/Me fitting in this tight glove....Us kids in the basement/Fighting what we're facing"-Ed and David messing about with a pool table, getting to escape for a little while._

_Dust To Dust-The Civil Wars_ _-"_ _All your acting, your thin disguise/ _All your perfectly delivered lines/T _hey don't fool me/ _You've been lonely too long"-t _his suits Ed's musings about David when David falls asleep on his shoulder on the way home, and his glimpses of David, without all the guardedness that he's used to._____

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when your political rival/opponent/clearly-sort-of-friend ends up sleeping on your shoulder and you don't hate it. Remember to leave a comment if you liked it!  
> You can see the interview Ed does with Myleene Klass here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uu4Gfaqe_Zk and here's the Prime Minister's Questions where they duke it out over the interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17P5k0js5_0 The interview was considered to highlight a lot of the opposition to Ed's proposed mansion tax:http://www.itv.com/news/2014-11-18/myleene-klass-ed-miliband-mansion-tax/  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/nov/18/myleene-klass-ed-miliband-mansion-tax  
> The Thornberry references refer to Ed forcing one of his shadow cabinet, Emily Thornberry, to resign on 20th November, over an offensive tweet:  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/labour/11244687/Labour-front-bencher-Emily-Thornberry-sacked-over-prejudiced-flag-tweet.html  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-30142579  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11247609/Emily-Thornberry-row-MPs-like-Ed-Miliband-are-out-of-touch-says-Hazel-Blears.html  
> The article he and Marc are working on was an article published on 21st November under Ed's name, explaining the decision: https://www.mirror.co.uk/opinion/news-opinion/furious-tweet-emily-thornberry---4671101  
> Marc was Ed's speechwriter and a friend since Oxford: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2012/oct/02/ed-miliband-speech-marc-stears  
> The Rochester and Strood by-election took place on 20 November, after a Tory MP defected to UKIP. UKIP won but the seat was reclaimed by the Tories in the 2015 election:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-30140747  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/election-2015-32651083/ukip-s-mark-reckless-loses-seat-to-conservatives  
> The select committee reference was an appearance David made on 20 November: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northern-ireland-30131556  
> The David mentioned that George gets on with is David Laws, a Lib Dem Cabinet minister.  
> David did go away to boarding school (Heatherdown) when he was seven:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1278552/Cameron-Minors-schooldays-How-extraordinary-life-exclusive-prep-school-helped-shape-PM.html  
> He did have a rivalry with his elder brother Alex:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2020044/Dave-popular-brother-rivalry-drove-No-10.html  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/david-cameron-i-lived-in-my-brothers-shadow-2319711.html  
> Ed loves pool: https://www.newstatesman.com/media-mole/2015/04/it-turns-out-ed-miliband-amazing-pool-watch-his-trick-shot  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/8377550/Ed-Miliband-We-got-it-wrong-on-the-24-hour-culture.html  
> The story about Daniel and the train is true-as is the fact Ed and Justine only learnt he liked them from Zia, his nanny: https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/meet-ed-miliband-family-guy-155867  
> https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/688163096  
> Justine did sometimes it to others to take her children to the doctor when they were sick:https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/ed-milibands-wife-justine-dog-5481870  
> David did make a habit of using the "Enoch Powell trick": http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/7153654.stm  
> The anecdote of Ed Balls patronising Ed M in meetings, with his Blackberry, is true-they had a difficult relationship:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2196541/The-Ed-Ed-feud-wreck-Milibands-No10-dream.html  
> Ed did often try to imitate his brother: http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/newsnight/michaelcrick/2010/09/ralph_miliband_urged_ed_not_fo.html  
> David did appear in a One Direction music video for Comic Relief: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-21488990


	8. An Odyssey of Over-Population, Prospective Prevarications And The Great Debate of Music Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which there is an overcrowded Christmas party, George tries not to think about the future, Lynton has no choice but to think about the future and David and Ed have an Important Debate about music. Also, Theresa steals wine. And there are purple jumpers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry this has taken so abominably long, guys. I've been pretty ill over the last couple of weeks, and also of course, there has been REAL-LIFE POLITICAL DRAMA to follow, which has been up and down like a pendulum. But here is this chapter. It's a little shorter than usual but that's because I've been anticipating the next chapter being LONG.  
> But thank you SO MUCH for all the comments and for those who send me asks on Tumblr about this fic, which I ACTUALLY LOVE. I know I don't reply to the comments, but that's because I don't want to hijack the whole comment section. :) But I read them all. And if you have been commenting on every chapter, I LOVE YOU FOR THAT. And I'm so glad you're enjoying this fic, because I love writing it. br />  
> If you want to ask me anything about the fic, or want to read one of the articles linked and can't, just send me an ask on Tumblr!  
> And as always, leave a comment if you like it!

_I live in my family, who think they were born to rule over rich and hideous cities, built of stones and mist.-Albert Camus_

_"Christine's wise, mischievous eyes that seemed to know it all and mock it all-except they were also the kind of eyes that you could sink into. There was a deeper, shadowy softness to them that Nicola had never noticed before."- The Dawning, Megan Taylor_

_"It makes it very interesting, heightens things. I think as soon as something can't be said, it becomes dangerous."-James McAvoy, on Atonement (2007)_

* * *

 

 

_Miliband, the crowd isn't that large. Nor are you that small. I should be able to see you fairly easily._

**_You might want to accomplish that task fairly soon. Before I'm massacred by irate Tories._ **

_They're not that bad, Miliband._

**_No, they're not._ **

_It's the Lib Dems you have to worry about._

**_Nick has actually been extremely welcoming._ **

_How much of the punch has he had?_

**_A fair amount._ **

_Thank God work's over for the day._

**_Where have those Rose Garden days gone, Cameron?_ **

_I know you're unfamiliar with time passing, Miliband._

**_This from the man who consistently refers to a government which hasn't been in power for nearly five years. And this isn't bringing you any closer to finding me._ **

_Stay where you are. I'll be there in a moment._

**_How exactly will you achieve that, Cameron?_ **

_I have my ways._

David smirks as he pockets his phone. He can picture Miliband rolling his eyes, the exact expression that'll be creeping onto his face, and it makes him grin as he taps an entirely different Ed on the shoulder.

"Haven't seen our Leader of the Opposition anywhere, have you?"

Ed Llewellyn laughs and claps David on the shoulder. "Usually, I'd say you must have been drinking, Dave."

David rolls his eyes. "I think Craig would prefer that."

Craig had almost choked when David had mentioned, as an aside, that Miliband might drop into the Downing Street Christmas Party that afternoon.

 _"Miliband?"_ he'd almost shrieked, much to Lynton's amusement. _"Here?"_

David had rolled his eyes. "You know it's not unheard of for members of the Opposition to attend the Downing Street Christmas Party?"

Craig had returned the eye-roll. "I know it's not _unheard of._ But it's still _noticeable."_

"I don't really see why" Lynton had remarked, and as usual, all eyes had turned to him. "It's only us here."

Craig arched an eyebrow. "You really think Robinson won't be there?"

"He's the _Political Editor_ , Craig. Not a tabloid reporter."

"Yeah, well, Miliband had interviews with him last month, remember, so just be careful-"

But Lynton had been casting glances at David out of the corner of his eye and when David returned the look, widening his eyes meaningfully, Lynton had cleared his throat. "Well....you might be spending less time with him in the New Year. With election campaigns beginning in earnest around then-" Lynton had come as close to a wince as Lynton ever got. "It might be...awkward to still be spending so much time together."

David had kept his voice level, struggling to ignore the sudden whisper of worry niggling in his chest. "We know where to draw the line between personal and political" he'd said casually. "Don't ask me to stop talking to Nick, though. I'm planning to step back and hand him complete power."

Craig's eyes had bulged. There'd been an audible thud as Lynton's pen fell from his hand to the carpet. They'd both stared at David, jaws gaping, for several interminably long seconds before David had felt his mouth break into the laughter that had been swelling in his throat.

Lynton had given him a glare that would have shrivelled Rasputin while Craig had let out a slightly hysterical laugh and had then pointed at him accusingly. "Don't you dare ever do that again."

"I can't promise" David had managed through his own gales of laughter and Craig had shaken his head. "Bloody Etonian sadism" he'd managed, as the door was pushed open and the rest of the Quad had stepped in. Nick had grinned, hand brushing David's elbow.

"Too true" he'd said, drawing a glower from David, even as he basked in George and Danny's laughter, trying to push away Lynton's words, thundering in his ears, tried to pretend that this was the Quad he'd be working with for a time that stretched out and out into the distance, rather than months that would all too soon dwindle away into weeks and days and hours, even if David grasped at the seconds.

Now, looking at this Ed, he sighs, even as Michael appears at his side, glass almost empty, eyes surprisingly bright. "That might be Nick more than me."

"Who invited him or who's been drinking?"

"The latter." David grins at Michael, who returns the look. "Seen Miliband at all?"

Michael cocks his head. "He was just with Nick-they were having a talk."

David notices the way Michael's smile dims a little at the mention of Nick and winces inwardly. He knows Michael doesn't dislike Nick-not personally, anyway. But he's all too aware of the many and varied disagreements that have raged between the two of them during the last couple of years of their partnership-disagreements that have never quite reached him-and-Miliband levels, but are too often present, an undeniable whisper under the conversation, like the constant drip of a tap in the corner that everyone tries to ignore.

But he thanks Michael and after establishing that Boris is being his usual Boris self, heads off to locate Nick and Miliband.

He has to admit, it's always surprised him that Michael and Nick don't agree moe-Michael's family being die-hard Labour supporters, he's always assumed that even though Michael was far from a Liberal, he might have a little more sympathy with Nick's point of view. But then maybe it's not Michael's sympathy that's the problem.

He shakes the thought away as his eyes fall on Nick and Miliband, standing, heads close together in a corner. For a moment, he stands there, just watching them-Nick with that easy smile, the laugh that creases at the corners of his eyes. Nick, and this is the last Christmas in Downing Street that they may have. David stares at him, his head tilted back, laughing, and he wants to grab this moment, squeeze it into a photograph that he can take out and look at again, even when years have passed and all the colours of tonight have long since faded.

He watches Miliband next to him and tries to picture Nick working with Miliband. Miliband working with Nick.

Something about the thought is sharp, a stab of anger-bypassing annoyance, _anger_ -that makes David's heart quicken.

It's not anger towards either of _them,_ exactly. It's just _there_ , so sudden that David has to close his eyes and collect his thoughts, like a punch in the ribs.

He knows they've got an election coming up. He knows-but it feels- _wrong._

They-it's stupid and childish, but they feel like _...._

They're _his_ to argue with. _His_  to debate with.

And that's-

David doesn't have time to think about it before Nick and Miliband begin waving at him-and not just him.

"Fantastic party, Dave." David feels the grin creep to his mouth, as he turns to see Boris at his side, accompanied by a glass of wine. "Been meaning to tell you that this wine is an oenological triumph-could conceivably have been coaxed fresh from the _grape."_ Boris drains the glass in one gulp as Nick and Miliband reach them. "Remarkable-hello, Nick. And how is the no-broken-promises autocue going, that sort of-"

Nick bursts out laughing while Miliband arches an eyebrow. "See where you get your wit, Cameron."

David nudges him. "Enjoying your foray into the danger zone?" he mutters and Boris beams, turning happily to Miliband. "You're becoming a metaphor" he informs him with a nod. "For exploring unknown realms. You're really rather strikingly similar to a Labourite version of Captain Oates-striding courageously into the belly of the proverbial right-wing beast, like-"

"I might point out-" comes a voice from over David's shoulder. David bites back a grin.

Jo Johnson is standing behind them, beaming at his elder brother who looks thoroughly miffed at being interrupted before the completion of his elaborate metaphor. "I might point out" he says, with a clap to Boris' shoulder, who ducks away with an expression remarkably like a pout. "Oates was striding out into a storm, not into a party. No offence, of course" he adds, with a nod to Miliband. As David has learnt over the years, even when engaged in ripping etymological lumps out of each other, the Johnson brothers are nothing if not courteous to others.

Miliband shrugs but Boris is already swelling indignantly. "Once again, Joseph, you display your typically pedantic grasp of metaphor and literality-"

Nick grins, eyes flickering between the two brothers. David rolls his own, having seen the whole spectacle on far too many occasions. Miliband, on the other hand, is smirking almost like a schoolboy, dark eyes glittering as he glances from one to the other.

Jo rolls his eyes. "Forgive me if you're not open to constructive criticism-"

George has drifted up from somewhere and is now observing the interaction with no small amount of amusement.

"I have no obligation to forgive you-" Boris announces, turning his back on his brother. "I will not forgive that portentously sarcastic request for forgiveness and nor will I forgive that egregious slur and argument indicative of intellectual deficiency."

Jo arches an eyebrow, looking remarkably unruffled. "Well, now I'm heartbroken."

"You ought to be. Why, right from the precise moment of your birth-"

"Oh, I don't doubt my vocabulary abilities were permanently and immeasurably inferior to yours'" Jo adds lazily, appearing to examine his drink with idle interest. "I'm sure I was the quintessential disappointment to our parents."

Boris nods triumphantly. "Quite."

Jo pauses, and then with the tiniest of smirks, adds very deliberately "Al."

A dead silence falls. David bites his lip as Boris stops dead and then slowly swells. George leans in and mutters so just David, Nick and Miliband can hear "Cue gasp-"

Boris gasps. David gives George a subtle thumbs-up.

Boris stares at his brother as if he's just called him a Labourite. "How dare you pass such vile slander-"

 _"You can call me Al."_ All of them turn to stare at Nick, who's singing softly under his breath, eyes staring off into the distance. After a moment, he blinks, seeming to come back to himself a little, and glances round quizzically at them all. "Wrong moment?"

George nods, Miliband snorts and David gives Nick a pat on the arm.

Meanwhile, Boris is glowering at his younger brother. "How dare you expect me not to take umbrage at this ludicrously infantile slight-"

"Oh, I'd never expect you not to take umbrage" Jo reassures him, eyes still on his drink. "I am, after several decades of being your brother, aware of not only your tendency but your all-consuming _adoration_ of taking umbrage, indeed, at everything it is conceivably possible to take umbrage _with-"_

"Fancy providing them with a distraction?" David mutters to George. "With your MC Hammer impression?"

George glowers at him and David grins back. "You didn't _have_ to tell us that."

"I didn't know I couldn't trust you to keep a promise" George snaps and David turns to Miliband automatically, his grin widening at the sight of the look on Miliband's face.

"Broken promises" they say, their voices tripping over one another and they're both laughing, even as George and Nick roll their eyes and the Johnson brothers continue to bicker.

For a moment, David thinks he catches Nick's gaze lingering on them both, but a second later, he's sure he's imagined it. Their laughter's only just beginning to die down when Boris almost explodes.

"That is it, that is-the proverbial _it-_ if you call me Al once more, I assure you, you will suffer indisputably inhumane consequences, reducing your polemic tendencies to virtually nil-"

Jo has given up any pretence of taking the fight seriously, instead propping himself up against the wall, almost weeping with laughter.

Boris looks apoplectic. If he wasn't finding the whole spectacle so utterly amusing, David might be a little concerned for his health.

"Do not call-"

_"You can call me Al."_

"Still not the moment, Nick."

* * *

 

Ed had been engaged in taking cautious sips from a drink, musing darkly on whether the Tory products were purchased with taxpayers' money and trying to convince himself it was entirely exasperation which was making him roll his eyes at the way Cameron had been patting Fallon's shoulder when there'd been a hand on his own and then Nick's voice in his ear, "You'll burn a hole in someone's suit if you keep staring too long, you know."

Ed had almost jumped out of his skin and only just managed to save his drink. But Nick had just laughed, steadying Ed's shoulder a little and said, "Who was it anyway, Tory or Lib Dem?"

Ed had felt his shoulders sink a little which was ridiculous because it wasn't as if there'd been anything wrong with him watching Cameron. In fact, while his gaze might have been rather frequently focused on Cameron, he'd found his eyes wandering to the people around him too, watching them laugh. He'd known that Cameron would make some comment about "enduring the evils of capitalism", but Ed had been watching them-the way they touched each other's arms, the way Fallon and Gove had been pretending to argue over which had more of a claim on their shared moniker, while Danny and Osborne had clinked their glasses together and Danny's glasses had slid down his nose as he'd laughed. Ed had watched them and he hadn't felt like he was watching austerity or capitalism or even Tories.

It had just felt like he was watching people. People who were laughing and asking the Christmas music to help them forget and hoping a little too much.

But Ed had just looked at Nick and said "All of you" more quietly than he meant to. And Nick's eyes had met his and they'd watched each other for a moment and then Nick had shrugged as though that was a perfectly acceptable answer.

Ed had taken another sip of his drink. He hadn't even had too much but something about the thinking and the party and Nick talking to him had been making the world spin a little. It had been harder to focus, as though his thoughts had become eyes, darting from one bright light to another. They'd settled on Cameron, Cameron with that crease at his own eyes that made him look more boyish than he should and the room had fallen into clarity again.

"David invited you." It hadn't been a question and Ed hadn't pretended to treat it as one. "Who else would?" he'd said instead, and had felt the brief victorious stab of Cameron's trick of answering questions with a question.

Nick had laughed. "You can't really think that badly of us all."

Ed had arched an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you'd defected to the Tories. Everyone _th-suspected_ , mind you, but to have _confirmation-"_

Nick had been laughing, shaking his head, the way he had when he'd first seen Ed that afternoon, when he'd clapped him on the arm and intoned dramatically "We've done it-we've captured a Labourite! I'm the one telling Balls!" Now, he'd given Ed a smirk. "I wasn't aware _you_ had."

Ed had laughed, a little louder than he had intended to. "I doubt Cameron would want me anywhere near his team." He'd drained his glass and stared over at Cameron, chatting away with Oliver and just watched him for a few seconds, before he'd finished-"He'd be too afraid I was th-spying on the capitalists for some ostentatiouth-sly communith-st plot."

Nick had burst out laughing, even as Ed had winced at the lisp breaking through and had then been distracted by the sight of Gove making his way over to Cameron.

"He'd love that one" Nick had eventually managed, wiping at his eyes.

"At least, it's _one_ of our ideas he loves."

Nick had stopped laughing rather abruptly and had just watched Ed for a moment, his gaze a little too close to _searching_ for comfort.

"I think he likes more than one of your ideas" Nick had said and even though he'd been smiling, something in the words had made Ed shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. He'd swallowed, suddenly aware of his phone in his pocket, the way he'd been staring at the screen, grinning at the messages Cameron had been sending him from across the room. Something in Cameron's expression when he'd assured Ed he'd be back in just a few moments, in the way his words had come close to tripping over one another, had made it one of the few times Ed had ever seen Cameron something close to flustered and it hadn't given him quite the stab of triumph he'd expected.

Instead, there'd been something warmer that had made it far too easy to smile at Cameron. Far too easy to _want_ to smile at Cameron.

Cameron's hand had hovered, as if he wanted to pat Ed on the arm but had thought better of it.

Now, taking in Nick's face and words, Ed had cleared his throat. "Perhaps" he'd said, struggling to make the word as light as possible. But Nick, watching him with his head tilted to the side, had said quietly "I suppose it must be weird. To be spending so much time with him suddenly." Nick hadn't laughed when he'd said quietly, "I mean, one minute he's practically your best friend, the next the two of you hate each other-"

Ed's head had jerked up then. "Cameron's not my best friend" he'd said sharply, something cold and panicked rising in his throat at the words. "And I don't hate him, either."

Nick hadn't glared at him, nor had he contradicted Ed's words. Instead, he'd watched him for another, longer moment, and then said "All right. It's just-you spend a lot of time together for people who aren't friends."

Ed had swallowed, fingers tightening unintentionally on the glass. "He-he-I mean-he might not be my best friend" he'd said. "We argue-I mean, you've heard uth-" He'd laughed then, a little too high. "We-we can't go five minutes without sh-shouting at each other-"

Nick had snorted with laughter and when Ed had glanced at him curiously, just shaken his head. "Nothing. Just-the way the two of you argue-it-it's better than friends, to be honest-"

"What do you mean?" Ed hadn't known why his chest had suddenly been a little too tight. He'd found himself clutching his glass, as if it might fly out of his hands.

Nick had still been laughing. "Nothing. Just-maybe you and David bypass being friends. Friends-" He'd clearly waved a hand, struggling to explain. "Friends generally-try to avoid throwing their flaws in each other's faces, you know? I mean, they might do it in a moment where they need it. But most of the time-you know-you try to avoid it."

He'd shaken his head. "But you two-all you do is keep at it. Even when you're laughing. You two can say the stuff to each other that friends can't. Maybe that's-I don't know. Different, I suppose." Nick had taken another sip of his drink. "Sorry" he'd said, holding up a hand at Ed who hadn't looked away from him since he stopped talking. "Ignore me. I'm just rambling."

"No." Ed had shaken his head, Nick's words still echoing in his brain. "No-you-I mean, maybe-"

He'd tried to fit the idea of him and Cameron being friends together in his head. He supposes, for someone else, that it might be easy to say that they are. That-Bonfire Nights, birthday parties, text messages-

(Cameron sleeping against his shoulder)

(and Ed's cheeks flame, which is very inconvenient)

That that's an easy definition of friends.

But-Ed's painfully aware-that in politics, it can be all too different.

Even if a part of him-a bigger part than he'd have guessed a few months ago-doesn't necessarily want it to be.

Nick had shrugged. "Apparently, we Lib Dems are good for something."

Ed had felt the colour creep into his face. "I never said that, Nick."

Nick had arched a brow. "You didn't have to. Your whole party's implied it." He'd shaken his head and Ed had opened his mouth to protest but Nick had just said "It's strange, isn't it? The way things work out."

Ed had blinked but Nick had gone on hurriedly. "I mean-back in 2010, David and I knew we were going to disagree. We knew, but the first few times we did, we were-ah-" He laughs. "A little too polite about it. It took a few tries for us to start yelling at each other." He'd laughed and drained his glass. "But we could always sort it out afterwards."

He'd trailed off but Ed had kept watching him, waiting for the tail of the words to curl themselves around the rest of the sentence. After a few seconds, Nick had proved him right.

"It's just-well, you two are sort of the other way round, aren't you?" When Ed had given him a quizzical look, Nick had frowned, lowered his voice a little. "I mean, with being Opposition. You two started out throwing every single thing you hated about each other across the room and then-well-you've gone from there." He'd given Ed a strange look then-a look that was a little confused and something else, something like happiness and sadness all at once. "I suppose, starting with the bad leaves you with only the good to find, you could argue."

Ed had snorted before he could stop himself. "I'm not sure Cameron would agree with you there."

Nick had looked right at him then. He hadn't confirmed or denied what Ed had just blurted out (and was already kicking himself for). Instead, he'd just said "I suppose-I sometimes wonder-how all this is going to end. I mean-" He'd laughed but it hadn't been as easy as it should have been. "After May, all this is going to be different."

Ed had swallowed hard then. Nick's words had probed at some buried fact inside him, something he's been trying not to breathe into life with one touch of his own thoughts.

Nick had still been watching him and Ed had taken a deep breath and opened his mouth. He hadn't known whether he wanted to or not, but the words had been crawling out anyway. "Do you think-everything-"

He hadn't got any further before Nick's eyes had widened in recognition. "Speak of the devil."

Ed had been turning, even knowing who it was going to be, and feeling the smile creep to his mouth even as his hand and Nick's had risen in automatic waves at the sight of David Cameron heading towards them. Something in his eyes had been brighter, softer, an observation that flickered into life quickly, and then slipped through Ed's fingers.

Ed has always liked to hold onto points so he can feel the question hanging between them. He'd been able to feel it then, and even as they'd stepped forward to greet Cameron and Boris, he'd known, just known, that Nick was able to too. That question and whatever the answer was.

* * *

 

Andy can guess who it is by the way Marie-France raises her eyebrows at him as she hands him the phone. But when she says "Ed, for you" while Annie rolls her eyes as he holds up his hand and says "One moment, sweetheart-" gently pushing aside the book she'd been reading aloud from, he still has to ask "Which one?"

His wife opens her mouth but right then is when Andy hears the voice echoing down the phone. "Why the _fuck_ is your phone off, Burnham? Christ-no, Yvette, don't tell me to calm down. I've just had to use a landline. It's like I'm back in the 90s Treasury, trying to get hold of Blair for Gordon, for fuck's sake-"

Andy sighs and wonders if he should be offended by the Blair mention. Annie stops glaring at him and dissolves into sniggering. Andy half-snatches the phone and presses it tight to his ear to prevent anymore of the tirade escaping. "Thanks, Balls. My daughter just heard all of that."

He can practically hear Balls rolling his eyes at the other end of the phone. "Look, usually, I'd be begging you for forgiveness but right now, something fucking important's happened, Burnham."

Andy springs up from the couch, heads for the hallway. "What is it?" he asks, mind already running through all the possibilities-the banks have collapsed, Miliband's resigned, Cameron's choked on his own privilege-

"Miliband-" Balls draws in a breath so deeply Andy would be forgiven for thinking it's his last. "Is in the fucking government party in Downing Street."

Andy stares at the phone for a moment as if it might tell him something else entirely. "That's _it?"_

Balls almost explodes on the other end. "What do you mean, _that's fucking it?_ _Miliband_ is in _Cameron's_ fucking _party_ , that's what's _it."_

 _"So?"_ Andy leans against the wall, unable to believe that one of the few afternoons he ever gets at home with his children have been interrupted by Balls and Miliband's social life. "Cameron probably invited him, for God's sake. They sometimes spend time together. What do you think's going to happen, he'll come out wearing a blue rosette and talking about privatizing the NHS?" Back in the living room, Rosie and Annie have started singing "Let It Go" very loudly. Andy can't decide if this is just a coincidence or if they're trying to tell him something.

"Look-" Balls' voice is uncharacteristically lower now, more serious. "I've known Miliband for nearly twenty fucking years, since we were in the Treasury together. For all that the guy can fuck over his own brother, there are times he crumbles. I mean, fucking _crumbles."_

"Balls, I'd be more worried about _you_ turning Tory than _Miliband."_

There's a heartbeat of silence and then Balls sucks in a deep breath. "Well, I feel _filthy_ now, Burnham."

"That concerns me." Andy rolls his eyes at Yvette's voice in the background.

"Oh, for-" He lets his head fall back against the wall and wonders for the hundredth time why he ever gave Balls his home number. "Ed, I'm sure Miliband just went to the stupid party because he got invited."

"Never mind _why_ he went. What the hell's Cameron doing, _inviting_ him?"

Andy shrugs. "Like I said. They spend time together. Jesus, it's not a _wedding-"_

 _"They spend time together?_ Christ, Burnham, you sound like one of those fucking pimple-faced interns-the ones whose mothers probably still wash behind their ears-"

"Well, what the fuck are _you_ suggesting? That Cameron's going to drug him and convert him to the Tories?"

"For Christ's sake, Burnham-"

"Look, you saw Cameron at Sam's party, for God's sake-he was there, like a fucking fish out of water, and no one tried pinning a red rosette on him, did they-"

Balls draws in a breath and then falls silent, prompting Andy to keep speaking.

"And Miliband's not going to want to lose the election. He's not going to want to take his focus off that."

Balls is silent and Andy feels the familiar stab of mingled pride and exasperation that he's the only one who can get that silence out of Ed. (Apart from Osborne, though Andy's not sure whether Ed would admit to that.)

"Maybe-" which from Ed is like getting a three-page written apology and ten red roses from anyone else. "It's just-" He sighs. "Weird-Cameron and Miliband are supposed to _hate_ each other."

"Not really" Andy argues. "They've never _hated_ each other."

"Have you forgotten Syria, Burnham?"

"All right, I-they've been _close_ to hating each other but they've never _actually-"_

"It's still-" Balls is quiet for a moment, which in itself is enough for Andy to be worried. "Something about it's fucking weird, Burnham."

Andy sighs. "Maybe" he agrees, mostly for peace of mind. Balls may have a point but there's an election. Miliband hardly wants to _lose._

"No idea how he doesn't hate Cameron" Balls says, after a few moments of thoughtful silence. "I can just about handle a few conversations but if I was alone with him all the time, I'd be up on a fucking murder charge."

Andy laughs. "Of course you would, Balls." He lets the smile tease at his own mouth, even though Balls can't see. "See, this lack of self-control is why Miliband's leader and not you."

"Shut up, Burnham."

* * *

 

"I'll make a bet" George mutters to Danny, giving him an elbow in the ribs. "Dave's going to end up talking to Robinson."

"I'm not making that bet." Danny tilts his head back against the wall, swigs the dregs of his glass of wine. "Dave likes the PR too much."

"I disagree." George blinks as his own glass of wine makes a rather remarkable disappearance from his hand, and he turns to see Theresa now holding it, smiling widely at him. "Do you honestly think Lynton would let Dave talk to the BBC's political editor without briefing him ten ways to Sunday-" She drains George's glass. George is reluctantly impressed.

"True-" George gives her an injured look and Theresa raises an eyebrow. "But Lynton isn't here."

"Oh, Lynton's everywhere." Theresa dismisses this with a shake of the head. "He's like one of the government out of _1984_. Even when you think Lynton isn't there, he is."

"Rather like the snooper's charter?" Danny mutters and George widens his eyes innocently when Theresa turns her glare on him. He has experience of Theresa's glare. It is not something one should expose the innocent to. (And there is something about Danny that's rather innocent, much as he'd hate George saying that.)

"Tough decisions. " They all turn at Iain's voice and George gives him a smile, a little smaller than he gives the others. "Hello, Iain."

Iain gives him exactly the same sort of smile. "Ready for the Autumn Statement on Wednesday?"

"It is Christmas, Iain." George tilts his head back against the wall, already regretting the loss of his wine to Theresa. "But the statement is perfectly prepared." He gives him a slightly bigger grin. "Which you well know, from our discussions last week."

Discussions is rather a tactful way of putting it. But that's fairly normal, for budgeting decisions, or at least that's what David would like George to tell himself.

Iain arches an eyebrow. "Glad to hear it."

"Seen Vince at all?" Danny asks Iain, and Iain shakes his head. "I've seen someone else, though."

"Miliband?" George asks before Iain can descend into a series of allusions and pointed references that will stretch on for roughly twenty years. "Yeah, David invited him."

"Who, Miliband?" George nearly jumps out of his skin as he spins round to find Philip behind him, and claps his hand over his chest. "Jesus Christ-"

Philip shakes his head. "No, but I'll take that as a compliment."

"How did you know we were talking about Miliband?" Danny asks, and Philip snorts. "The words _David invited him."_

George thinks he sees a frown ghost across Iain's face at that but it's gone before he can catch hold of it.

"No wine, George?" Philip gives him a frown and then suddenly finds his own glass lifted from his hand. Theresa smiles as he turns to stare at her. "Thank you, Philip. I believe you were about to offer me that?"

Philip opens his mouth and closes again and George shakes his head. "I do not think I could ever understand a man who says your gender are the weaker sex."

Theresa simply arches an eyebrow. "Glad to hear it."

"Not as if I could anyway." George resigns himself to temporarily remaining wineless. "My own daughter dresses up as a suffragette."

Danny splutters with laughter and Theresa nods, satisfied. "We'll make a Tory out of her yet."

Philip raises an eyebrow, still glancing at his hands as if expecting the glass of wine to reappear there any moment. "Place is about to explode. So much for curbing overpopulation-"

The words hang a little awkwardly in the air and George is already casting about for something to say to save the situation because it's been crowded for the past five years, with two parties packing themselves into Downing Street together, and a part of George shouldn't be thinking it wouldn't be such a bad thing if it stayed crowded.

Right then is when Danny chips in with a mischievous grin. "Don't worry. When the Lib Dems take a huge majority next year, I'm sure we'll offer the Tories a junior partnership in a coalition."

There's a moment of silence and then George and Theresa simultaneously burst out laughing. Philip gives Danny a pat on the arm and even Iain manages a grin, as Danny's eyes meet George's for a moment and they share a smile even amongst the laughter.

A part of it fastens onto George's lungs, whispering between his ribs and he laughs harder to drown it out.

(This will be the last one. Which is a fact and one he can't get away from.)

"But honestly-" Philip turns around to inspect the room. "I didn't see Vince. I did see Jeremy and Jacob engaging in a discussion-"

"Oh, I want to see that." George claps his hands together at the thought. "In fact, forget I said that. I like to see Jacob in a discussion with anyone."

Iain smiles, as almost anyone does at the mention of Jacob. George knows he's hit on the right topic.

"True blue Tory" Iain says, almost affectionately. "Still, better than a lot."

George's smile grows a little tighter at that. "Compassionate Conservatives can be better than a lot too" he says lightly, feeling his fingers curl around his sleeve and wishing he still had a glass of wine to occupy his mouth.

"Well-" Philip chips in, and George feels his hand touch his elbow, thought that could just be an accident. "Maybe David's telling Miliband that."

They all laugh a little too loudly, and George takes the moment to wonder precisely what Miliband thinks being here. Not that Miliband's got any right to sneer, he reminds himself-one of the most irritating things about Miliband is the fact that the man's as privileged as they are in his own way, and yet likes to denote himself as a friend to the working class. George is the first to admit he's been fortunate in his life, but Miliband seems to see the word _rich_ as an insult, a brand to burn into someone's forehead while conveniently forgetting the fact that he himself lives in a £2million house that he didn't exactly acquire through squeaky clean methods.

George isn't stupid and he isn't naive. He knows what people have thought of him in the past and what they're likely to think of him in the future. But that-that has to be secondary.

They have to make decisions. And they have to make ones that won't be popular. And if they happen to do that while coming from moneyed backgrounds-

That doesn't make them bad people.

Surely, if someone can't be blamed from coming from a working-class home, it's an act of blatant hypocrisy to say they can be blamed for coming from an upper-class one. Stephen comes from a council estate, for God's sake. He doesn't walk around, patting himself on the back and moralising to the world at large about their privilege.

Still, George supposes they'll have a chance to make all these arguments before May.

But no matter what Miliband likes to pretend, George knows the man had a silver spoon shoved down his throat as surely as they did, and he's fairly certain-according to some of the results Lynton's bringing in-that come May, the country will see it too.

Until then, he supposes Miliband can, at times, be tolerable company.

"Speaking of which-" he says, to all of them at large, turning around to take in the room, "where _are_ David and Miliband?"

* * *

 

"Imagine Ed Miliband choosing to sneak out of a party-"

"Shut up, Cameron-"

"Be polite to your hosts, Miliband-"

"It was _your_ suggestion to come outside, Cameron."

The Downing Street gardens are stretched bare, the last leaves clinging to the branches. There's a bite of winter in the air and Miliband pulls his suit more tightly around himself. David can't laugh-he's considering the same himself and glancing again at Miliband, who appears to be shivering a little, he wonders if he made the best decision in dragging Miliband out here.

"I'm showing concern for your health, Miliband" he tells him now. "It's my duty as Prime Minister to make sure you aren't being savaged by those cold-hearted, ill-focused Tories."

"I appreciate you being honest with yourself, Cameron, but I'm not sure if the th-same goes for your party."

"Well, Miliband?"

"Well what, Cameron?"

"Are you being targeted by the malicious antics of over-privileged Etonians?"

"They're not all Etonians, Cameron-you know, you really should be aware of the basic biographies of your Cabinet. And no. They've all been remarkably polite."

"Better than they are with me."

"That's hardly surprising, Cameron."

"Oh, shut up, Miliband." David stretches, shivers as the wind nibbles at his bones, pulling goosebumps to the surface of his skin. "God, it's cold."

"Keen th-sense of observation, Cameron. Why don't we go in?"

David shakes his head, teeth chattering over the words. "N-nah, Robinson just cornered me in there. L-like he was trying to d-drag out a manifesto." He shoots Ed a look from under his eyelashes. "You gave him a few interviews last month, didn't you?"

Ed sighs. "I'm n-not g-going to t-tell you, Cameron-you d-do know that's the oldeth-st trick in the b-book-"

David shoots him a grin this time. "Worth a try."

Ed makes a sound like a huff and looks away. "C-Cameron, if we th-s-stay out here much longer, we're going to f-freeze. I m-may be morally obligated t-to use your body heat against f-frostbite-,p-provide the c-country with a decent leader-

He doesn't get any further than this because Cameron dissolves into laughter, even as something about the words crawls in between his ribs, stabbing when he least expects it.

Miliband glances at him, then away again. "That came out wrong" he says, without looking at David, and David's laughing so hard that he can barely even summon up a retort. (And it would have been blistering, too.)

"I imagine so-" He doesn't finish the sentence, still laughing as he tugs his suit tighter around himself. Somehow, the sight of the pink flush rising to Miliband's cheeks makes him both grin harder and also sends a pang into his ribs.

He can't disguise the shivering now and something about the snap of winter in the air reminds David of days coming back from Heatherdown for the holidays, climbing into the warmth of the car, seeing his father's smile from the front seat, the occasional ruffle to his hair that made him feel, more than anything else, that he was home.

It might be that memory or it might be the simple desire to get out of the cold, but something-probably the same thing that his housemaster once dubbed "the unfortunate imp in his nature"-makes David turn to Miliband and say "Follow me, and I'll get you out of the cold."

He catches a glimpse of Miliband's expression, a brief grin flickering into view and David fights a weird urge to grab onto it and pull it back up.

"Good idea, Cameron-of courthe, as usual, very little plan for follow-through, but then that's par for the course-"

David glances up to see Miliband's eyes, dark and glittering with suppressed mirth. He watches the smirk hovering at Miliband's mouth that the other man's clearly struggling to hold back and hopes against hope that Miliband can't see that he himself is struggling with the same problem.

"Well then, it's fortunate I've got a visual aid for you, Miliband."

* * *

 

"Cameron, my ministerial car is _not_ a visual aid."

"Details, Miliband. I know you dislike them but-"

"Not to mention your protection team currently have _no_ idea where you are."

"Of course they do." David holds up his mobile triumphantly and grins as Miliband rolls his eyes. "They know exactly where I am. They don't have to stick to us like glue in Downing Street."

"If you'd given me some warning, I could have called Bob and let him know what was going on-"

"Taken care of." David waves the phone triumphantly and grins as Miliband sinks back into the seat. "Come on-we're parked privately and it's warm. You should try tasting optimism, for a change." He darts a grin at Miliband, who's awkwardly settling himself into the driver's seat. "Then again, given your party's performance in the polls-"

Miliband rolls his eyes. "I hope you lose your subtlety at some point, Cameron."

David laughs, louder than he means to, the freedom rushing to his head, the feeling of being away from the watching-the constant watching, so much so that he sometimes wakes up convinced that someone's shaken his shoulder, guarding him for his own protection if not his liking.

He laughs again, wondering if he's going slightly mad, and then wondering if he cares. Miliband is staring at him with an expression he can't quite fathom and that just makes David laugh harder.

Miliband shakes his head and a strange smile breaks over his mouth. "I-" He looks away but David can see his cheek lifting in a grin.

The heater's doing its' job and David slides off his suit, reaches for his ipod. Next to him, Miliband follows suit, watching as David holds out the ipod questioningly.

Miliband nods and watches as David plugs it into the car stereo. After a moment, Morrissey's voice fills the car, the words _"gruesome that someone so handsome should care",_ echoing in David's ears.

Miliband rolls his eyes. "The Th-Smiths, Cameron?"

David's in such a good mood suddenly that he doesn't even balk at Miliband's tone. Instead, he just grins and launches into the next line. _"And in this charming car, this charming man-"_

Miliband shakes his head, smirk tugging at his mouth. "Cameron-" He trails off and David brushes his sleeve. "You pick one, then." He's in too good a mood to let Miliband's distaste for the Smiths ruin it.

"Was thith your teenage anthem-"

"It wasn't out when we were teenagers, Miliband-please don't disrespect Morrissey with your lack of knowledge-"

"You would know best at disrespecting Morrissey-"

"That is a low blow-"

Miliband grins, gestures for the ipod and begins scrolling through the songs. David jabs at one.

Miliband rolls his eyes as "Bigmouth Strikes Again" begins playing. "Cameron, literal really ith your middle name, isn't it-"

"It's rather difficult not to point these things out, Miliband-"

Miliband gifts him with another eye-roll, as he inspects the contents of David's ipod. "The Smiths....The Killers...The Cure...God, Cameron-"

"What, Miliband-"

"It's rather too easy to picture you as a teenager-"

"What, on the basis of this ipod? I don't believe they _existed_ when I was a teenager-"

"Are you trying to _copyright_ literal, Cameron-"

"Did the last twenty years not _happen_ to you, Miliband?"

David shakes his head as Miliband scrolls through and "Use Somebody" blasts out. Miliband nods his head in time to the music which is so endearingly hilarious that David has to look away so he doesn't burst out laughing and not stop for a hundred years.

"That's about as expected as Jesus walking into the car-"

"Cameron, have you gone completely insane?"

"No, seeing _you_ know a popular song-"

"Hilarious-you know, Jesus was reportedly an opponent of capitalism-"

"And you are supposedly a supporter of responsible capitalism-" David's drowned out by the chorus which it must surely be a criminal offence not to join in with. David resolves immediately to look into having it made one as soon as possible.

He's not the only one joining in and it's only when they get to the next few lines that he realises that he and Miliband have, by some awful happenstance of fate, ended up harmonizing together.

(But it is a fantastic song.)

(That's the only reason they keep singing.)

By the time the song ends, David's throat is sore but he's grinning so hard his mouth aches. Miliband is staring at him, his cheeks flushed, the last notes ringing out between them.

They stare at each other in silence for a few moments and then Miliband proffers the ipod to David who takes it, only part of him grasping for something to say. The rest of him is relishing the silence, the silence that for once isn't full of barbed jibes, still waiting to prick someone's skin.

Perhaps it's the unusually good atmosphere that makes David put on a song he knows Miliband will like.

Miliband rolls his eyes. (He's always rolling his eyes. One day, they'll get stuck and he'll probably blame David for that, too.) But the grin's there, brightening at the sound.

 _"You_ were the one who told the world about it, Miliband-"

"Which you apparently listened to. And share." Some of the impact of the words is diminished by the way in which Miliband is cranking the volume, humming along to the tune.

"They used to play this at school discos" he says, without prompting. David glances at him, trying his best to picture Miliband at a school disco, and fails miserably.

Miliband's eyes meet his and his lip curls. "No comment, Cameron?"

David decides to take the bait. "Fine. Were you, indeed, out revelling on the dance floor in a leather jacket or some such garment, with a different girl on your arm each week?"

Miliband snaps his fingers. (Or tries to. He doesn't quite manage it, which makes David smile.) "I thought you'd been replaced for a moment there, Cameron. Your doppelganger was a lot more polite-"

"Can I infer that that assumption is incorrect then?"

Miliband shakes his head, holding up a hand as the chorus plays. He doesn't join in this time, just nods along and David watches him watch the screen.

It's not until the chorus is over that Miliband says "Purple jumper."

"Sorry?"

"And that. Th-sorry and a purple jumper. That was the average content of my school discos. I'm surprised you didn't remember, given your avid listening to that show-" He raises his eyebrows. "Nothing, Cameron?"

David bites back a smirk and raises his hands in a gesture of innocence.

Miliband tilts his head to the side. "The jumper might have been plum, you know."

"Oh?"

"Hmmm. With white trouserth."

David strives to keep his face free of any expression as he says "So-" He pretends to flick through his ipod. "For a short time-" He glances at Miliband. "You actually more closely resembled an Eton mess than I did?"

Miliband bursts out laughing before he's even finished the sentence and David cocks his head innocently. "A UKIP mess, perhaps?"

Miliband's laughing too hard to glare, which David likes more than he should.

"Just an observation-"

Miliband's still shaking his head. "Maybe that'th why nobody danced with me. If I bore a close resemblance to _you_ -or Farage, for that matter-"

"Nobody danced with you?"

"No. I was in a purple jumper and white _trouserth-s_ , Cameron. Danth-cing to A-Ha." David purses his lips at the mental image.

"Still-" he says, even as Miliband leans back in his seat. "That's no reason not to dance with you. I'd have-" Miliband's eyes flicker to his own and David hastily backtracks. "I mean, I'd have-dealt with them."

Miliband's brow arches. "Of course you would have, Cameron. After all, none of them owned restaurants, helicopters-"

"Don't bite the hand that feeds you, Miliband-"

"Especially not when it's from an austerity-inclined government-"

David stares at him. "Really? I'm starting to think _this_ is why nobody danced with you-you probably greeted them with "Oh, would you like to discuss the recent trends in economic growth-"

"We weren't _in_ auth-sterity then, Cameron-did they teach Hith-story at Eton?"

One of them puts "Tainted Love" on and they bicker back and forth, soaking up the warmth in the car, sealed away from the cold that reaches in from outside to brush their skin. They throw words back and forth because this is what they know and they let the music blast a little too loud to disguise whatever David had been about to say.

(Because he can't stop grinning at the thought of teenage Miliband in his purple jumper and white trousers.)

(Because something about the image is entirely too easy to picture and entirely too hard to let go of.)

(Because it's a little too easy to think that he might've thought about dancing with Miliband back then.)

(That he might have.)

(Might have danced with Miliband.)

(Maybe.)

* * *

 

Lynton prides himself on being able to get what he needs out of people but it's hard enough when they're on your side.

It takes him almost an hour to get Tom Baldwin on the main line at one ear and Bob Roberts on a mobile jammed at the other. And that's how he finds himself slumped in his office chair with two hands jamming phones to his ears and Craig frantically mouthing words at him over what has finally turned out to be a good Skype connection.

"No wonder the Tories are such a fucking mess-" Baldwin barks while Lynton rolls his eyes at Craig and pictures Bob doing much the same on his end of the phone. "You want Cameron to be palling around with him one minute, the next you want them to be ripping each other's throats out-"

"And this is precisely the fucking problem with your lot." Lynton sighs, rolls his eyes at Craig. "You don't focus on the details; it's like watching a party with fucking amnesia. We never said they have to be best mates and I'm not asking them to tear up a fucking friendship bracelet. I'm asking them to look less like bloody best mates when necessary-"

"What exactly do we want?" Bob is calm. (Bob's always fucking calm.) "I mean, why are we having this conversation? What do we want to get out of it?"

Lynton sighs. "The train thing-fine. We can deal with that, if it gets out. Bit of unity, maybe. That's fine. Even the Bonfire Night thing. Little friendly but maybe that's an edge both of them need-give the idea that politicians are a little more human. Just-we need to make sure this doesn't go too far the other way."

"Your boss is the one who invited Ed to a fucking _Christmas party_ , Crosby."

"Yeah, and I told you I had no idea that was happening-" Craig is shaking his head wildly and Lynton gets the message. "The thing is-" he says-he's learnt how to make it sound as though it's simply a transition in the conversation these days. "That doesn't matter. We just need to make sure neither of them gets distracted. If they get off their game, it cocks things up for them, for the parties, for everyone." _Especially us,_ he adds silently.

"That's a point" Bob says. "Sorry to betray you there, Tom."

Tom makes a sound suspiciously like a snort. "So what? We're asking them to do a sodding friendship vow?"

Craig moves his hand down and Lynton takes a deep breath because they might sometimes have to confer but he can never forget they're on opposite sides. "No. We tell them-" He sighs. "We wait. We see. And if it affects them, then we'll step in."

"It's already affecting them-"

"I meant politically." Lynton hears his voice grow stronger, the familiar jab of conviction that comes with being right. (It's a tough job but someone's got to do it.) "If it starts affecting them there, if it's seen negatively-we tell them to cool it a little." He pauses. "What did you tell Miliband? At the start of all this?"

"To be a little more personable with your lot. And to take that _one_ car journey together. That was _all._ What about-"

"We told David to be a bit more personable and-basically the same."

"Wait." Tom's voice is suddenly sharp. "You didn't say anything about-going to each other's houses? You didn't instigate-you weren't behind all that sort of stuff?"

"No. Did you-"

"Why the fuck would I be asking you if we had?"

Lynton glances at Craig but the other man's leaning forward, eyes fixed intently on the screen. "We're leaping in before we even know what we're dealing with. It hasn't stopped the two of them taking shots at each other at PMQs, has it?"

Lynton doesn't give them a chance to answer. "Why rock a boat that isn't sinking?"

"Doesn't even make sense, Crosby-"

"It does, Tom." Bob's voice is by far the calmest. "Not the metaphor, that was complete crap, but the sentiment. Right now, it's not going to help."

Lynton doesn't often hear the word _sentiment_ in conjunction with himself but judging by the way Craig's flashing two thumbs up through the screen, he's done something right.

Tom's muttering something but he can almost hear Bob's nod through the phone and a few minutes later, with the phones down, he's watching Craig through the screen and saying "I fucking hope we know what we're doing, Oliver."

Craig nods and Lynton realises he hates the feeling of not knowing whether or not he's right.

(Fortunately, he doesn't get that feeling often.)

(And if all goes to plan, he won't be getting it again for a while.)

(He hopes.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

  _Playlist_

_(a lot of this playlist is just the songs they were playing in the chapter, as it was quite a music-based chapter, so to speak)_

_You Can Call Me Al-Paul Simon_

_This Charming Man-The Smiths_ _-famously, one of David's favourite songs._

_Take On Me-A-Ha!_ _-famously, one of Ed's._

_Use Somebody-Kings of Leon -Ed played this after his first party conference speech._

_Tainted Love-Soft Cell- while they play this in the car, some of the lyrics are also weirdly suitable for not just David and Ed, but the others, too, particularly the splits they're anticipating coming-" _Once I ran to you (I ran)/ _Now I'll run from you/ _This tainted love you've given/ _I gave you all a boy could give you/T _ake my tears and that's not nearly all"______

_You've Got To Hide Your Love Away-The Beatles- "Everywhere people stare/Each and every day/I can see them laugh at me/And I hear them say/Hey, you've got to hide your love away/Hey, you've got to hide your love away"-pretty self-explanatory, for more than just Dave and Ed, really._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few quick notes: The Johnson family are known for their competitiveness:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2314934/BoJo-JoJo-How-Boris-younger-brother-Jo-Johnson-Minimus-sibling-rivalry-eclipse-Milibands.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2222780/Boris-Johnsons-dad-admits-leaving-newborn-son-the-car.html  
> Boris's real name is Alexander.  
> Also-George does do an MC Hammer impression at Christmas parties. Michael does come from a Labour-supporting family: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/7730573/Teenage-Michael-Gove-supported-Labour.html He and Nick had severe policy disagreements in the last couple years of the 2010-2015 parliament.  
> The story about Liberty dressing up as a suffragette is true: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2826427/Chancellor-reveals-daughter-plans-Jane-Austen-banknote-son-inspired-support-NFL-team-based-London.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/can-george-osborne-prove-that-he-cares-n3v5xvbkfjd  
> David does love The Smiths and chose This Charming Man as one of his song selections on Desert Island Discs (along with a Killers song, "When You Were Young")- Ed chose "Take On Me" by A-Ha (though Ed's were revealed to have been chosen based on focus groups) & his school disco outfit is genuine:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/tvandradio/tv-and-radio-reviews/11163056/Desert-Island-Discs-What-the-leaders-played.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11335404/Smiths-fan-David-Cameron-given-t-shirt-of-band-he-is-banned-from-liking-and-says-youve-made-my-day.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2512919/Castaway-Ed-hilariously-right-Desert-Island-Discs-QUENTIN-LETTS.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/everything-about-jezza-is-stuck-in-the-past-hxr6rdsc2  
> David did listen to Ed's Desert Island Discs, which he brought up in PMQs: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-25122196/pmqs-pm-and-miliband-on-payday-loans-and-winter-deaths  
> "Responsible capitalism" was one of Ed's mantras during his leadership: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/9544522/Ed-Miliband-interview-I-want-to-save-the-capitalism-my-father-hated.html  
> Leave a comment if you liked it!


	9. A Descent of Doubt, Autumnal Avarice And A Financial Fracas Of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which there is an Autumn Statement, Australia can provide surprising gifts, Ed hears something he wasn't meant to, the Portcullis Bar is the perfect place for a cross-party rendezvous, and no one wants to think about the future."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, originally, this was going to be even longer but then I realised that this is already ridiculously long and so I had to split the chapter in two. But, I hope you enjoy! And again, thanks for all the comments, views, kudos, etc. Leave a comment if you like it!  
> If you want to ask me anything about the fic, just message me on [Tumblr!](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) If you want to read any articles linked and can't, just send me an ask on Tumblr! :)

_"She was never so happy as when we were all scolding her at once and she defying us with her bold, saucy look and her ready words"- Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte_

 

_"We can leave the house lead the party let the people know_

_Go drown the colours of our minds and watch the cars go_

_It's not about just being out with all our people_

_Cause we can get in trouble just by going free throw"- Million Dollar Bills, Lorde_

* * *

 

David has never denied the fact that PMQs is his least favourite part of the job. He's used to the nerves now-he has to be after nearly ten years of it-but it's still one of the key contributing factors to what he gravely informs Sam from time to time is almost definitely an ulcer-which grows incrementally worse each time it is exposed to one of his wife's acts which are sadly devoid of marital sympathy, such as tipping David's kitchen chair up to turf him out of it with the words "Go and pick the children up for a bath, then, give the toxins some time to seep through your bloodstream."

Ulcers aside, while there's a part of him that always rather enjoys arguing with Miliband, there's another part of him that, every week as he sits there waiting for their mandated public disputes, wishes he could be anywhere else but there.

And now, he's sitting here listening to Miliband meander his way to the end of his first question and sensing George's eye roll without even looking at him.

There's always something weirdly raw about the last moment before Miliband speaks. David always feels a slightly disconcerting emptiness that only comes with a surge of adrenaline, an almost sickly high feeling, as if he's suddenly been dropped teetering onto the edge of a cliff and he could fall at any second. And he knows that Miliband, drawing in a breath to speak, is feeling exactly the same way.

Something about that thought jabs him sharply in the chest-that rawness, that ripped-open, on-the-edge feeling in both of them, sticking in both their throats at once-it makes him almost shiver, for some reason.

But Miliband's coming to the end of his question-"....Can he think of any times _he_ might have done that?"

And they'e off, with David reciting every last promise they've bloody kept (a hell of a lot more than Brown ever kept when he was in office, much as Miliband hero-worships the man) and waits for the inevitable twisting of the words that will come from Miliband.

(They never look at each other, he realises as he sits down. Before PMQs, he and Miliband never look at each other. It's a strange thing to realise, especially when Miliband's already launching into his next point, but it's the first time he's noticed.)

"Come to think of it-" David inwardly groans at the tone of wonder in Miliband's voice. He _knows_ that voice, is familiar with that voice-it's the one Miliband uses when he's sure he's seized on a big point-a big point, which, all too often for Miliband and rather wonderfully frequently for David, turns out to be a lot smaller than he'd imagined.

"I think he _might_ have broken a big promise quite recently" and David struggles desperately to bite back a grin at the sight of Miliband, clearly rather enjoying the feeling of holding the floor, and David runs over the answer briefly in his head-it's always helpful to him when Miliband is just blatantly _wrong._

It occurs to David that it's probably not entirely healthy to enjoy witnessing the humiliation of someone whose house he's visited. But then again, this is him and Miliband.

"...did he mean it?" Miliband is asking, deceptively wide-eyed and David shoots upright with the familiar stab of childish pleasure at the sight of someone being forced to sit down so he can speak.

Perhaps it's that or the residual annoyance and tension left over from waiting-sometimes, it seems as though he's spent his whole life waiting-for PMQs.

Maybe it's that but he ends up snapping the words onto the end of his reply. "-the mess left by _those two."_

He doesn't let himself regret it. Then again, these days, he doesn't let himself regret a lot of things. But, now Miliband's finger's in the air again, with that stupid wide-eyed look which always riles David and gets him sharpening his next point, determined not to let Miliband throw him off-course.

"So he _did_ mean it" Miliband's declaring and David has to bite his lip to stop himself from bursting into laughter. "Throw him out because he _broke his promise"_ and it's the same tone that Florence uses when she's been the victim of some great social injustice. (The last occurrence of this was the previous day, when Flo's voice had taken on the exact same plaintive tone as Miliband's, declaring _"Nancy said I don't look enough like Elsa!"_ in tones that had made David fervently wish for the sounds of braying MPs.)

"Now, what he _ought_ to be saying, but _daren't-"_ Miliband's waving his hand about so wildly that David almost expects him to break into a Spanish dance. "Is that he made a _solemn promise_ and he broke it-"

David finds himself watching Miliband as he gesticulates. Something about the sheer volume of his voice, the way he's clearly flinging points all over the place, means part of him wants to burst out laughing as he watches, taking in the utter-utter _self-righteousness_ of Miliband's voice and another part feels a curious-a sense of-well-

It's more of a thought than a feeling. _Typical Miliband,_ and David almost wants to shake his head at him, feeling a strange warmth and a smile that's difficult to keep out of sight.

Miliband's now reading out some quote that he's supposed to have made at a nursing conference, years ago-David isn't too worried, he knows his record on the NHS, and as he gets up to throw a remark back, the statistics are ones he recites, almost off-bat. It's the second part of his answer he's looking forward to, that he's happy to fling back at Miliband.

"I've got a list of _his_ broken promises-" And it doesn't matter whether he and Miliband are friends or not. There's an election in five months and he's not going to let Miliband wriggle out of all of his less moral moments-particularly when some of them still rankle.

So when his words are greeted with a barrage of jeers from the Labour benches, he just arches an eyebrow, knowing that will irritate them even more. "However long it takes..."

"I've got all day.." he drawls a few moments later, when the roaring fails to cease, and this time, aiming the words directly at Miliband, he says "And I can tell you, I'm looking forward to what comes next-" He turns away, directing his glasses at Miliband instead. "And I think he will be too."

He keeps his gaze averted from Miliband because right now, these mistakes of his rivals aren't things he can afford to forget. They're mistakes and they're mistakes he has to attack. Even if that means attacking the person who made them.

They might be some kind of friends, but the one thing he can never forget is the fact that Miliband is his opposition.

* * *

 

Ed listens to Cameron with the familiar spike of irritation rising, as Cameron being _Cameron,_ reels off a list of promises Ed is supposed to have broken at some stage or another. He has to turn to Balls on one of them, confused, but Balls just shakes his head-which is rather annoying as it would be better for Ed to be clear on what he's defending himself against.

The urge to snap back is there, already sharpened in his chest, the urge to defend himself, to-to-

But it's _him_ who's supposed to be asking the questions. Him, not Cameron.

No matter how Cameron has an irritating habit of making him almost forget that.

Across the chamber, Cameron's clearly building up to his big point-he always leaves it to the third point-

"Where's that one?" Cameron often manages to look together when he makes his point and it's hugely irritating. Ed used to sulkily tell himself that it was easy for Cameron to look unaffected because Cameron didn't have feelings, but it never worked. He's never quite been able to convince himself he truly hates Cameron, now he thinks of it.

"He said he'd stand up to the unions on public sector pay-" Cameron doesn't even look at him. "When has he _ever_ done that?"

Ed takes in a deep breath and counts to ten. It doesn't work. He hates being reminded of the unions. Hates it because it brings back ghosts of 2010 and David's arms around his shoulders and that moment his brother had whispered "Well done" in his ear and they'd both pretended that he meant it.

He hates it and so maybe that's why when Cameron's eyes lock with his own, the words "And they run it more than ever" edged with laughter, ringing through the chamber, Ed's on his feet almost before Cameron's sat down and that urge to strike back is surging in his voice, even as he keeps it deliberately level.

"What he _ought to be saying but daren't-"_ He doesn't have to look to know that Balls is eyeballing Cameron. Sometimes, he wishes his Shadow Chancellor would do a little less eyeballing.

He keeps his eyes on Cameron this time. "Is that he made a solemn promise about no top-down reshuffles and he _broke it."_

The trouble with not defending himself, he thinks, knowing and hating that Cameron will have come to the same conclusion, is that it won't be just Cameron not answering that will sticks in everybody's heads. It might not be fair but that's the way it works and the worst part is that if he tries to answer, Cameron'll have a good time goading him about usually being keen to ask the questions.

"Mr. Speaker, when he said it-" he finishes, as he reaches the end of his point. "Did he mean it?"

What he doesn't expect is for Cameron to almost leap out of his seat.

"Yes, I _meant it-"_

The words are almost shouted and it gives him a shock. Not just figuratively-it feels as though something has been passed through his ribs, leaving his heart jumping in his chest. He's seen Cameron angry many times over the years, but for some reason, this time-

He knows Cameron's making a point, but he's a little too aware of his own heartbeat. Watching Cameron like this, gesticulating wildly, almost shouting, is weirdly exhilarating, sending a thrill through him, and underneath it, an almost mischievous current of glee at the thought that _he_ is the one to work Cameron up like this.

When Bercow calls for order, Ed has to lower his head, biting his lip as he struggles to hold back the laughter that's high in his throat (it's _not_ giggling, no matter what _anyone_ says). He's not even sure why he's laughing. There's an edge of humour in it but a little of it feels wild, high-pitched. That feeling of glee is still there and it's almost as though his mouth doesn't know what to do with it other than laugh.

"They bankrupted our economy-" He suddenly becomes aware of what Cameron is saying. "We know-" Cameron looks round. "We know that _Mrs._ Brown's Boys was a comedy-" Cameron's eyes meet his for the briefest of moments. _"Mr._ Brown's Boys-" His finger points at the Labour frontbenches. "Was a tragedy!"

Once again, it's a struggle not to laugh, but at least it's not just _him_ this time. He can still hear Balls almost shouting with laughter as he blurts out a line he's thought of vaguely but has never really put together-"He's obviously been visiting the David Mellor school of charm recently-"

It's when he sees Cameron's smirk that he starts laughing, desperately trying to signal to Bercow that he hasn't finished. He hasn't got the faintest idea how he can go from bloody _shouting_ with anger at Cameron, to half-helpless with mirth just at the sight of Cameron _laughing_ and he wonders madly if it can be quite healthy.

* * *

 

David finds himself watching Miliband laugh, struggling to reign in the worst of his own mirth. The David Mellor jibe was amusing, David will give him that-if a little practiced, but it's more the wide-eyed look that Miliband wears as he throws out his lines, as though he actually _believes_ that they come across as withering put-downs.

The strangest part is that the reason they don't work isn't always because the lines aren't good and as David makes his way through his own reply, his mind is still caught on Miliband's laughter.

It's not always that the lines aren't good. It's that they're said by Miliband. That's the constant factor, the common denominator.

And the worst and perhaps the best part of that is that David doesn't even mean it as an insult. It's just-

But he knows what he's saying and it's with relief and a sense of triumph that he turns to George. "And obviously-I can't reveal what's in the Chancellor's Autumn Statement, that wouldn't be proper-" He can feel the tightening of the argument in his chest, the sheer high of it making his words faster. "But I make a prediction, Mr. Speaker-"

Bercow calls for order-David swears he does it sometimes, just to annoy him-and by the time he stands up, the words are in his mouth and yes, he knows they're on the childish side, but they'll get a laugh and he'll tell himself that's the main reason he says them.

"I simply make this prediction, Mr. Speaker-" He glances at his party behind him, already feeling the laughter about to break through the words. "In a moment or two-" He can feel his smile already breaking out. "He will be looking _as_ awkward as when he ate that bacon sandwich."

Laughter explodes around him but it's Miliband's eyes he meets with a grin of his own. Miliband's shaking his head , but that smile is there, the one he wears whenever one of their arguments has gone so far that both of them know they're coming out with sheer nonsense and both of them are enjoying it far too much.

Miliband's shaking his head with that grin, succumbing to the shared mirth himself now, and he raises his shoulders in a slight shrug as David meets his eyes. He's not sure if the shrug is meant for Miliband or himself or both of them, but he's shaking with laughter now too, and it's then that their eyes meet, Miliband's creased in a grin as he mouths "Really?"

Something seems to lurch a little then, as if something's jolted into place and David can't help the laughter that cracks his voice in two now, dissolves whatever point he was trying to make. "Oh yes-" he manages, their eyes still locked as Miliband arches an eyebrow before David's mouth twitches and they both crumble into laughter again, the arguments scattered around the two of them for a moment as they both laugh, on opposite sides of the chamber, their eyes roaming back again and again to each other's, their gazes finally clutching and holding back together.

* * *

 

Ed can't help but laugh. It's such a typically Cameron line, but something in the grin Cameron's giving him as their eyes meet, something in the way Cameron seemingly struggles to contain his own laughter, makes him shake his head because-this is something that is so _typical_ of them and he knows it all too well.

"Really?" he mouths at Cameron, the next time they lock eyes and it's Cameron's little splutter of "Oh yes-" that makes Ed laugh even harder, even as their eyes meet again, though he's quite sure that neither of them mean to look at each other this time.

Cameron's back on track now, listing everything that Ed's ever predicted wrongly about his premiership (and there are rather more than Ed would like, though he'd never tell Cameron that) and it's easier to bite his lip now, as Cameron rallies his backbenchers.

 _"He_ said it was a fantasy that the private sector would create the jobs-"

_"Wrong!"_

_"He_ said we would choke off jobs and growth-"

_"Wrong!"_

"The fact is-" Cameron can barely be heard now over the roars of his backbenchers. "They told us there would be a lost decade-" He's not looking at Ed and somehow that irritates him, the same as the unintentional David does whenever it slips out.

"They told us there would be a double-dip recession-" And now Cameron's turning, his eyes narrowing, the humour fading now. _"They have been wrong on every single economic issue."_

The tone makes it far easier for Ed to spit out his retort, irritation turning to anger, and he doesn't let himself think about who it's aimed at.

"He's failed _every test he set himself-"_ He has to lower his head because even under the anger, there's still laughter clawing out his throat and that's even more irritating.

Perhaps it's the weird mixture of laughter and indignation (typical that it'd be Cameron who makes him feel like this) that makes his next words louder. "And the thing about this Prime Minister-"

It's easier because of that-calling Cameron Prime Minister. It always makes it feel a little more distant, a little less personal, and for a moment at least, they can try to believe that.

(Or he can.)

"It's that he's turned breaking promises into _an art form-"_ He fixes his gaze on Cameron, makes himself look at Cameron.

And Cameron just smirks back.

That makes it a little easier to spit the next words out.

"And as the election approaches, there's one thing the British people will remember about this Prime Minister-" He stares at Cameron, the words climbing louder now. "It's that when he says it, _he doesn't mean it."_

Cameron's up immediately, still smirking a little, which is downright infuriating. But Cameron doesn't look ruffled-more a little disdainful, even as he doesn't look at Ed.

His voice isn't disdainful though, but that, thinks Ed furiously, might make the points even stronger. Not for the first time, he feels a bitter stab of resentment over the fact that it's always Cameron commanding the note on which their exchanges finish, _his_ words the two of them go out on every week.

"What a contrast-" Even when he's wrong, Cameron never seems ruffled. It's as if it's easy for him to just shake the words off, as if they're of no consequence to him whatsoever. "This is a Prime Minister and this is a government that has turned our economy round-" Cameron's stabbing his finger down with each point.

"Sorted out public finances-" There are more cheers-"And got the economy going." Cameron leans forward and Ed braces himself, familiar with the signs of an imminent attack.

"And no-one-" Cameron's leaning on his elbow now, turning towards Ed, other hand now pointing across the chamber. "No-one will ever forget that they are the people who sold the gold, who broke the economy-" Cameron's facing him now and Ed forces himself to stare back. "Who bankrupted the nation and _still_ they sit there-" Cameron's words are spat now, edged with contempt, and Ed feels something like a flinch.

Cameron stares right at him now. "Completely hopeless and unelectable." The words ring in the air and Cameron almost glowers at him and this time, Ed almost shrinks a little, a jolt of shock shaking him at the venom in the tone.

He knows he's been just as harsh with Cameron. He knows that this is something that is always going to be part-and-parcel of him and Cameron, no matter how many parties they attend, how well their children get on, how often Cameron falls asleep on-

It doesn't matter because there will always be this. Another Wednesday. Every Wednesday. And there underneath everything they do or say to each other, tainting the words for the next five months, and then-

And then it will be even worse.

But there'll be this. There might be smiles and parties and shared grins and bedtime stories, but there will always be this.

Ed watches as Cameron sinks into his seat, shuffling his papers. He stares for a few minutes at the top of Cameron's bent head, even as the voices babble around him, Harriet and Balls and the rest. He stares at Cameron, the other man's words still ringing.

Cameron looks up and meets Ed's gaze. He stares back and there's none of the laughter there was a few moments ago, crackling in the air between them. Laughter's dissolved into something else, harsher and angrier, the way it so often does, whether they like it or not.

Cameron stares back at him, gaze hard and unflinching. They stare at each other for a moment, anger and something else hardening in the air between them, and this time it's Ed who drops his eyes first. Even as he hates himself for it, it's Ed who looks away.

* * *

 

He says it on a whim, really. It's not something they've rehearsed or a line they've scripted beforehand.

He's already got in a line to Robertson, who as usual is more concerned with Scotland than anything else, and he sobers a little when he's reminded of Sophie Lancaster and he means it when he promises to meet with her family's foundation as soon as possible.

And then Clyndon starts on about the deficit and David's simply not having that because they've got George's statement in a few minutes and that'll shut all of them up-but he can remember something Balls came out with and he has to point it out. It's as he's speaking that it comes into his head and he's saying it before he can think twice about it.

"But I would like to highlight something the Shadow Chancellor said this week-" He looks around at his backbenchers. "He said that he would be tough on the deficit and tough on the _causes_ of the deficit."

Balls is nodding and Miliband's watching him quietly, with his head tilted to one side. His lips twitch into a small smile but David's already launching into the line he's just seized on.

"As he _is_ one of the causes of the deficit, I think we've just found the first ever instance of political masosadism."

He's realised he's messed up the last word before he sits down, but the cheers and laughter are breaking out anyway and not just from their side of the chamber. In amongst it are a few shouts of _"Sadomasochism!"_ -Angela Eagle's pointing at him so vigorously that David's tempted to ask how she has such detailed knowledge on the subject, but then someone would probably complain and he does have George laughing next to him, as Bercow calls for order.

The babble continues unchecked until Bercow, raising his voice a little, calls "Order, we all know what the Prime Minister meant-!" David reflects that this is one of the few times Bercow has favoured his side.

He glances over at Miliband and Balls then, feeling that grin dance around his mouth. Balls-to give him some credit-Balls is grinning, raising an eyebrow at David across the chamber-and Miliband-

Miliband is staring at him, his brow furrowed. He's not frowning, exactly. He looks-well-David feels himself frown a little as Bercow calls someone else to speak, shouting now for calm as the tide of chatter rises around them. He's staring at David, head tilted to the side, his lips a little parted. There's an almost dazed look on his face as if he's been hit and just hasn't realised it yet.

Something about the way Miliband stares for a few moments more, without even dragging his gaze away, that dazed look in his eyes-

Something about it makes David's thoughts scramble a little for some reason and he can't quite help but bite his lip, confusion suddenly rising into his thoughts, covering his words. All in all, it's a relief that the next question comes from one of his own backbenchers.

* * *

 

It's as Cameron turns to look at one of his backbenchers that next to Ed, Balls pulls out his mobile phone and snorts. "Even fucking better. Cameron got it wrong." He looks positively gleeful at the thought.

Ed tries to sound as calm and coherent as possible. "What do you mean?"

It's not easy. Ever since Cameron made that stupid comment, Ed's been trying to concentrate but for some reason, the words just stick in his head every time he looks at Cameron. They seem to be thickening his tongue, jumbling his speech and he doesn't even know _why._

Balls snorts and glances at the phone again. "Mate just texted. Said Cameron meant sadomasochism. Where you like taking it and giving it-" Off Ed's uncomprehending look, Balls snorts. "Pain, Miliband. As in, giving and receiving pain. In sex."

Ed feels the blood rush to his cheeks and cursing himself, he glances down quickly. Balls, of course, being Balls, doesn't take a hint.

"Bloody hell, Miliband, don't tell me you didn't _know-"_

"Of course I _knew."_ Ed tries to sound dismissive but it comes out as more of a question and on his left, Angela too seems to be struggling to hide a smile.

Balls leans over, laughter hot against Ed's ear. "Camera'll be on in a minute. You look like a blushing bloody virgin."

This, of course, immediately exacerbates the problem. Ed glares furiously at Balls, who just smirks back.

Cameron's up again speaking and Ed's gaze swings back to him, which he regrets almost immediately. Cameron's speaking again, laughing a little, with a flush to his own cheeks. Ed's brain catches a few little details at once, even as he feels the heat rise even more to his own-the way Cameron sounds out "Magnificent" in that ridiculously irritating Etonian way, the way he shakes his head a little, almost self-deprecating, even as he looks so at ease. People laughing with him, not at him.

"Can I just make clear-" Cameron's suddenly grinning again, his cheeks a little flushed, the look almost schoolboyish. "I _meant_ to say masochism-" There's renewed laughter, most notably from Balls next to him.

Ed stares across the chamber, a part of him wanting to smile, another part of him scrabbling for words, as Cameron gives him a fleeting grin. There's a confusion and taking in Cameron's almost mischievous look, Ed feels that confusion war with a desperate urge to laugh and the anger he felt earlier, which somehow serves to sharpen all of it-

Balls is still laughing hard next to him, completely unaware of Ed's utter turmoil of thoughts, as Cameron aims another grin at them, which leaves Ed even more confused this time. "I've often said that the Shadow Chancellor likes to dish it out-" Cameron gives them another little grin which leaves Ed feeling strangely wrong-footed. "But after today, I think he quite likes taking it as well."

Ed stares at him. "Eh?" He hears his own voice and realises he's spoken aloud, his mind swimming with _take it_ and _masochism_ and Cameron's bloody _grin._

Next to him, still sniggering, Balls lifts up his hand and mimes flicking something forward, making a "-chh-" sound. For a moment, Ed wonders what on earth he's doing, and then, watching his movements, realises he's miming a whip.

The realisation sends a shock through Ed and then seeing Balls aim it at Cameron somehow-somehow just-

Ed's confused. He's hopelessly, utterly confused but-more than that-his brain is suddenly taken up with _whips_ and _Cameron_ and-he can't help pressing his lips together, striving to keep his face free of expression.

Cameron's still grinning, even as Ed wonders madly why on earth he's feeling like this. He's blushing and nervous and every time he thinks the word whips, his brain scrambles with the utter absurdity of the image.

Cameron's still laughing a little, glancing across at them and then at Bercow. "I think we've all learnt a lot today" he says and that maddeningly makes Ed want to laugh and at the same time leaves him scrambling for words. For coherence. For anything.

Cameron goes on about Shrewsbury and Balls sniggers next to him and Ed sits there, cheeks burning, thoughts spinning with whips and Cameron and why on earth he feels so flustered, as if he's been caught out somehow.

*

George isn't as nervous as he used to be commencing his statement but it still isn't his favourite moment. He glances at David next to him and David touches his arm. "You'll be fine" he says, voice low, obviously aware of the fact they're on camera. "Balls is your competition, after all."

George can't help but grin. He eyes Balls across the chamber and for a moment, their gazes meet. Balls' mouth twitches in amusement and, for the fraction of a second, they share a grin.

George has always been aware that he and Balls share a simpler relationship than David does with Miliband. He's not entirely sure why, but he's never hated Ed Balls. Even in their years of technically being rivals, they've never seemed to have trouble passing the time of day when they meet in a corridor or even having a few drinks together after a long night debating over some bill or at an economics conference, where they both enjoy scrutinising the other guests a little too much. George thinks it might be down to the fact they've known each other so long. In his earliest days in the Tory party, he'd been aware of Balls striding around the Treasury, all too often bellowing over a desk or down a phone at some poor unfortunate aide who'd vexed him.

He'd never been scared himself. He's not entirely sure why, even now. Perhaps years of teasing and private school etiquette have had a better effect than he realises but whatever the reason, George has never found himself dreading his encounters with the then-bespectacled, permanently shouting Brownite. Maybe the fact that the first time he and Balls got into a shouting match, they'd already known each other pretty well, but even their arguments had been political, and somehow hadn't come up again in their conversations later on at the Portcullis bar or in a discreet restaurant. If they were brought up, it was through raised eyebrows and remarks thrown casually back and forth, with none of the anger that would fuel their political disagreements.

George isn't sure why he and Balls have always been able to separate political from personal so easily. Then again, he is married to Frances, who once upon a time was best friends with Miliband's wife, of all people, so maybe it shouldn't be as much of a surprise as it is.

Then again, it's not as if he's the one who's best friends with _Miliband._ If you could call what David and Miliband have a friendship.

George is shaken from that thought by Bercow calling for order. He shuffles his notes, takes a deep breath, and David touches his arm. "Go on, George."

When Bercow calls his name, George gets up, the cheers of their backbenchers ringing at his back. His eyes flicker to Balls for a moment and Balls gives the tiniest nod, the nod that always means the personal, for now, is being wiped away-that this is political, and that the next time they talk, the only way this will carry over is in the usual back-and-forth that they're used to.

He wonders very briefly why something feels so different in David and Miliband's dynamic but then the chamber falls silent and he draws in a breath, glancing down at the first line of his speech.

"Mr. Speaker." He lets the words hover for a moment. "Four years ago, in the first Autumn Statement of this Parliament, I presented the accounts of an economy in crisis.."

* * *

 

David keeps his eyes on his paper as George launches into his speech. He lets his gaze rest on his papers for a few moments but it's as George mentions the deficit that David can't help but raise his gaze to Miliband's side of the room. He finds Miliband staring back at him and raises his eyebrows meaningfully, feeling a rush of pride in George's work even before it's been revealed to the rest of the world. He widens his eyes, feeling a stab of triumph at everything they've succeeded in.

Because he _is_ proud of it. He's got every bloody right to be and so have George and Danny.

That's what helps him to keep his gaze fixed on George's back for the next several minutes, nodding whenever George reaches a point that they've agreed should be particularly emphasised.

It's times like these that he particularly appreciates the bond between him and George-he knows without having to ask, that George can sense these nods, this support at his back and he knows, without George having to tell him, that it makes giving this speech a little easier.

"Look at them" he mutters to Stephen next to him and Crabb chuckles quietly, his own eyes now fixed on the Labour benches.

"There was no recession in this Parliament-" George is now saying. "No double-dip. Indeed, the only recession-" He sweeps his eyes across the Labour front benches. "Was the _great-"_ the slightest stress on the word-"recession under the last Labour government."

There's a round of cheers from backbenchers and several on the frontbenches and it's perfectly acceptable to look at Miliband now.

He's laughing-which is no great surprise-but something about the laughter is unusual. David can't quite put his finger on it. Miliband might be trying to look dismissive-a task he very rarely succeeds in-but there's nothing triumphant. In fact, Miliband seems to be keeping his gaze on his knees, tilting his head as that little smile clings stubbornly to his mouth, in laughter that looks almost like giggling.

It then occurs to David that it probably won't look very impressive if the Prime Minister appears more interested in the Leader of the Opposition than his own Chancellor's statement. He drags his gaze back to George and resumes listening, a little more carefully now than he was before.

He can't resist joining in with the pointing when George brings up France but that little smirk is still there at Miliband's mouth and David drags his gaze away, not wanting to think about why it might get caught.

It's remarkably easy to keep nodding along and at several points he has to resist the urge to pat George on the back. He loves these moments of pride and it's times like this that he marvels at the incredible fortune of being able to call his Chancellor his friend.

It's not just George he's feeling proud of. He glances at Danny, seated further down the bench and feels a surge of affection. Danny glances back at him and, with a small smile, mouths "All right?" David nods with a grin and turns back to the fracas.

It's easy to forget, he thinks, as he, Danny and Stephen exchange whispered remarks as George goes on with his statement, that this time next year, the dynamics may be entirely altered. That, in fact, this time next year, none of them may be sitting here at all.

He can picture the look on George's face when Labour erupt in frantic jeers-that almost schoolboyish triumphant grin that crooks his mouth as he looks round once again at the Labour benches. He has to fight not to cheer himself and for a moment struggles with the urge not to throw his arm around George's shoulders, the same way he used to do at school when one of his teammates had scored a century.

He can't resist gesturing at Miliband and Balls to sit down-it's another jab of triumph in his chest and taking in the sight of Miliband and Balls poring anxiously over Balls' notes sends another-though the sight of Miliband's brow furrowed leaves a pang of something else, something that could confuse him.

But even Bercow's interruptions today are good for them, and David at one point finds himself seized with the truly bizarre urge to thank the Speaker. As it is, he feels his mood lifting more and more throughout George's speech.

Perhaps it's that confidence that leaves his eyes straying to Miliband once again. He snatches little glances, sometimes catching Miliband's eye for the briefest of seconds, before they both glance away. David fixes his gaze to his left several times or on George's back but, inevitably, his gaze ends up back on Miliband.

He can't resist when it comes to the EU budget cut-when George refers to "some people's predictions" David, with rather the same thrill of mischief he'd felt earlier, throwing his line at Balls, points at Miliband and Balls, knowing that not just they, but the cameras too, will pick up on the gesture. "That was _you"_ he says, too quietly to be heard but clearly enough to be seen and interpreted and documented, and the triumph is stronger now, even as he can't stop the glee breaking through with it-that familiar schoolyard-ish triumph of _We were right_. Miliband's mouth twitches and something about the look-as though Miliband has just barely restrained himself from smiling back-makes it even harder for David to wipe the grin off his own face.

The triumph is stoked higher and higher as George elaborates on inheritance tax exemption, VAT, and tax avoidance and it's times like this that David feels proud. It's George's moment-of course, it's George's moment. And it's a pride that's collective, a surge of pride in _them_ , all that _they've_ accomplished. _This._ They did it.

It's one of the more enjoyable parts of being Prime Minister.

* * *

 

Ed Balls has never hated Osborne, which is actually pretty bloody inconvenient. But the fact of the matter is, right from their early days, he's never hated Osborne. The Tory with the irritatingly dark eyes and irritatingly sharp intellect, which managed to impress even Ed. (And _he'd_ been the leader writer for the _Financial bloody Times_ , for God's sake.)

But it had been the sheer quickness of Osborne; the sharpness and what had begun as a downright aggravating ability to wriggle his way out of tight spots with figures that had first got Ed grudgingly-very grudgingly-admiring the man. He wasn't the only one-even Gordon had commented, on one occasion, watching Osborne laugh with Hague, "Pity that one's a Tory. If they ever get into power, he could be their saving grace."

Back then, the Conservatives getting into power was a what-if scenario.

But now, watching him across the dispatch box, Ed has to admit-through gritted teeth-that Gordon might well have been right. And in more ways than one.

"We on this side of the House-" Osborne looks around at the expected surge of jeers from the Labour benches and smirks. "Well, Mr. Speaker, we on this side of the House-" he looks round-"Have often gazed at the barren and desolate wastelands of the Red Planet-"

The expected laughter breaks out, as Osborne smirks and Cameron chortles like a child that's just been tickled. Ed keeps his eyes on his papers, fighting back his own smirk, but he allows himself one quick flicker of eye contact with Osborne.

It was a bloody good line. And he'll tell Osborne so later, if they have enough drinks.

It's then that he glances at Miliband and feels the smile slide away.

"And we've long given up hope of finding intelligent life there-" Osborne looks as though he's anticipating moving on to even better wit and Ed drags his gaze away from Miliband and tries not to smirk.

Osborne's still gazing round. "But sighs of _any_ life at all would be a _major_ advance-"

Ed bites his lip then, the way he often catches himself doing, irritatingly, around Osborne but next to him, Miliband is doing much the same. And that's enough for Ed to sober up a little, because Miliband's gaze isn't on Osborne and that reminds Ed all too clearly of what he saw a few moments ago.

Cameron had been laughing, certainly, but his gaze hadn't been on his Chancellor. It had been fixed, just for a few seconds, on Miliband. And Miliband's had been fixed on him.

It had only been for a few seconds and then Cameron had glanced away. Now, watching him across the Chamber, Ed's struck by how very determinedly Cameron is looking in the other direction, his cheeks still flushed.

Miliband's gaze hovers on Cameron, but the second Cameron's gaze roams back-as though he's momentarily forgotten himself-Miliband's drops away. Little, snatched glances pass between them, always darting away before their eyes can meet.

If their eyes meet, they keep watching.

Ed watches and frowns.

When Osborne finally finishes-Ed's sure he could have been a lot quicker if he hadn't spent so much time grinning while the Tories cheered like monkeys being given electric shocks, wishful though that thinking is-Ed watches Cameron greet his Chancellor with several pats on the shoulder, and Osborne give Cameron a grin. While Ed wouldn't claim to know Cameron well-he grimaces at the fucking thought-he's fairly sure everyone's aware of the fact Cameron and Osborne are practically waltzing around wearing bloody friendship bracelets. Even back in their early days as MPs, it was obvious-where Cameron went, Osborne went. And, Ed has to admit, vice versa.

Bercow makes a quick announcement and then it's Ed's turn. He gets up, Miliband muttering a quick "Good luck" to him and then he's leaning on the dispatch box facing Cameron and Osborne.

Cameron's smirking-of course he is-and it's not at him. He widens his eyes at someone and Ed turns to see what he'd already guessed-Miliband staring back at Cameron. His eyes roam away for a moment as Douglas mutters something to him and then back again to Cameron, who's still smirking, gaze fixed on Miliband.

Miliband seems to almost drag his eyes away and before Ed can say anything, Bercow's calling for order again.

* * *

 

Ed struggles to keep his gaze away from Cameron. It should be easier than it is.

"I'm well aware of the old ruse-" Bercow's saying, laughter creeping into his voice. "Of people sitting under the gangway where they think I can't see them-and yelling their heads off-"

Ed's used to listening to Bercow and he tells himself that's the only reason he glances at Cameron, even as an outbreak of yelling greets Bercow's accusation of "Stupidly following the orders of others-"

Cameron always looks irritatingly unruffled, Ed thinks furiously. No matter what Ed says to him, he always looks as though it's just another bloody joke, another thing to laugh about in his office-and it just means Ed reaches even more for the times he does get under Cameron's skin, for the times when the two of them are almost shouting, their breath harsh in the air between them.

It's as Balls gets up and starts speaking that Ed tries to fix his gaze firmly on his Shadow Chancellor's back, nodding as Balls leads into his first question.

He can't help his gaze flickering to Cameron a few times as Balls speaks, a few more times than he should, and at one point, Douglas bumps his shoulder gently. It seems to be accidental but Ed can't help the nagging suspicion that it was to attract his attention and he immediately fixes his gaze more firmly on Balls.

He might be looking at his Shadow Chancellor but his mind hovers, irritatingly enough, on that bloody camaraderie between Cameron and Osborne. The pats on the shoulder, the shared smiles, the way, even now-Ed's grabbed another glance at them before he can stop himself-as Cameron pulls out a pen, clearly helping Osborne with his notes, they're smiling, Cameron even shaking his head a little pityingly, as though simply struggling to find anything of interest in what Balls has to say. Something about it's so utterly infuriating that Ed has to grit his teeth to stop himself muttering something rather unparliamentary.

That brings his mind back to that whipping gesture which has him hastily fixing his gaze back on Balls because the thought of that brings back that jolting sense of not knowing where to look, what to do with his hands, the heat rising in his cheeks-suddenly, he doesn't dare look at Cameron, and he finds himself biting his lip, mind dwelling a little too closely on the whole idea of whips and chains and his hands crawl nervously to his knees.

It's after Bercow asks for order again that Balls says "They'll be out next year, Mr. Speaker" and Ed has to look at Cameron then, with a surge of rather smug vindication at the memory of Cameron's mouthing and waving at him earlier-and he can't help grinning, even as Cameron arches an eyebrow. Ed arches one back, their gazes meeting for almost too long, almost long enough for Ed to forget that he's smiling at a man whose Chancellor's Statement they're currently supposed to be destroying.

He tries to watch Balls-he really does, but it's the looks on Cameron and Osborne's faces that are getting to him. It doesn't matter how often he tells himself that it's only a matter of time now, that they'll be walking into Downing Street soon, making the changes to help people. It doesn't matter, because it doesn't even seem to bother Cameron. And though he tells himself that's because Cameron doesn't care, a niggling part of his brain can't help but wonder if Cameron's watching them pityingly, Crosby and the rest of them working together behind the scenes to come up with something else, some other plan to turn all of Ed and Labour's best intentions upside down, to stop them ever getting anywhere where they can make a difference.

He hates the thoughts but he can't shake them.

Maybe that's the reason he finds it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes off Cameron for the rest of the speech-though he does take the opportunity to fully reciprocate Cameron's attempts at mouthing at him earlier. It gives him a rush of almost schoolboy glee but at the same time sharpens that confusion that's been rising steadily throughout the whole speech. He mouths "That was _your lot"_ to Cameron when Balls references something that was _clearly_ the Tories' fault, and then Cameron just arches an eyebrow and smirks.

Ed can't help but grin and that just makes him more annoyed because he should be furious at Cameron, people are suffering and starving and begging and all he can do is sit there, smirking-

And a part of him is-

But at the same time-

He can't explain it and that annoys him even more.

When Balls finishes his speech, Ed makes sure to pat him on the shoulders and back and finds himself hoping it looks as natural for him as when Cameron did it to Osborne. He even throws an arm around Balls' shoulders on a whim and feels Balls stiffen in surprise before he gives Ed a rather bemused smile. Ed awkwardly pats his shoulder a few more times-he and Balls have never really had an overly tactile relationship.

But Osborne's already getting back up again, almost lazily, and it's so easy to forget that this is the same man he was smiling with at a fireworks party less than a month ago. It's easier still when he sees that smug smile hovering at Osborne's mouth and feels that irritation coil tight in his chest, the same way it does when Cameron wears that expression, because it always feels as though there's some joke Ed isn't in on, something he's missed-

"Mr. Speaker-" and that smug grin's twitching at Osborne's mouth. "With that performance, we have just seen why _he_ is totally unfit in five months' time to be put in charge of the nation's finances."

It's not so much the words that knock Ed, though he'd never let any of them see it. It's the dismissive tone, the smirk, the almost arrogant curl of the lip-Osborne sounds like he already knows he's won.

"And we got an object lesson-" Osborne's waving his finger about now, and Ed glares, knowing he can't even criticise him, because it's a habit he himself has. "In how not to plan your Autumn Statement reply, before you've actually _heard_ the Autumn Statement." Osborne stabs the air with each word and somehow, Ed knows then, just _knows_ that that's what they'll plaster over the headlines, and that's what half the Tories will still be quoting by the time the bloody election comes around. And, looking at Cameron and Osborne's grins, they both know it.

The sudden surge of bitterness catches even Ed off-guard. He adjusts his papers, wanting to chew at his lip but refusing to give the Tories the bloody satisfaction of seeing it.

Osborne's on a roll now, using all of Balls' visits to the TV studios and Ed could wince. He can already picture Tom's face watching this and his fingers tighten on his sleeve, a mixture of anger and bitterness roiling in his chest.

He wishes he could say something, as Osborne happily blows holes in Balls' whole reply. Ed wants to half-scream at everyone listening that Osborne's just covering for all the valid weaknesses Balls has just pointed out, that of _course_ they've made mistakes in it because they had to construct a reply based on what they thought would be in the statement, and then Osborne goes and bloody _changes_ it-

And Ed knows that the Tories will hammer that point in right up until the sun sets on election night.

And even though he wants to shake everyone and tell them that it doesn't _matter_ that they got some things wrong because-because they'll-

The Tories might get the little details but-but Labour-

Labour will help, they'll listen and they'll _try_ , for God's sake, try the same way they've always been trying, since the days all those years ago, crouched at the door of his father's study, listening to the same voice that told him bedtime stories arguing about the future of socialism-

And how to make things better. For everyone, not just a few.

But Osborne's listing Labour members now, ones who've said anything even vaguely derogatory about him or Balls or Labour in the last few weeks and even though he tells himself it doesn't mean anything, each name still feels like a punch to the ribs, whispers of doubt creeping into his mind-which is probably exactly what Osborne wants.

Watching Cameron laugh, his whole head tilting back, as Osborne reads one quote of "completely bonkers"-that makes it far easier not to grin. He doesn't feel remotely like trading smiles with Cameron now and yet-

He doesn't understand it. They can stand in a party, at a fireworks display, sit on a train-Ed feels colour tickle his cheeks at the memory-but in there, they're-

"I'll kill him" Balls mutters, and even that can't make Ed smile right now-

They're like this.

There's something almost despairing settling between Ed's ribs and he hates it.

"People say, Mr. Speaker-" Osborne's pointing at the air now for emphasis. "There's a split in the leadership of the Labour Party, and they're quite right." Osborne looks up at them and smirks. "It's between the people who get the deficit figures completely wrong and the people who forget about the deficit altogether."

Ed feels the words like a punch in the gut, because even though he should be waiting for that, he should have known-how? _How_ could he have forgotten it, why had it been _that,_ that of all things, which he had to-

Cameron tilts his head back and laughs and for some reason, that's the worst part of all.

He shouldn't be dwelling on it but it is there, gnawing in the back of his mind the entire time Osborne's speaking. That image of Cameron, laughing, is there under everything he whispers to Balls, every word of Osborne's, and Ed hates it more with each second.

By the time Osborne gets onto the QE2 centre and the St. James' Park restaurant (and they were stupid, stupid ideas obviously, and Osborne had deliberately pulled out the worst ideas he could find, ones they'd probably have dropped anyway, but they're out there now), Ed knows there'll be some quip to expect, some punchline, but he still doesn't relish the moment when Osborne leans forward and says, with that smirk "Their economic plan is, quite literally, _out to lunch."_

Cheers break out and Ed knows immediately that that will be the headline. Cameron's laughing and Ed's almost thankful that he doesn't want to keep watching him right now. Instead, he glances at Balls, who looks as though he's barely restraining himself from leaping at Osborne with great difficulty.

"Ed" Ed mutters, but Balls ignores him, glowering at Osborne. Ed briefly muses on where on earth Osborne and Balls will end up later, and has a momentary pang of pity for all the glasses unaware that their time has come to be thrown.

Osborne's finishing his speech now and, as always, Ed finds himself watching with a kind of horrified fascination.

"They haven't got a _clue_ how to do that."

Another smile.

"They don't have a plan-"

That's when Balls begins gesturing like a lunatic and Ed can just see Cameron's smirk deepening. But it'll look even worse if he's caught telling Balls to stop, so all he can do is stare straight ahead.

"Their _whole response_ today shows they would take Britain back to square one-" Osborne's eyes are roaming past Balls now, settling in on Ed himself. Ed stares back at him, suddenly horribly unsure where this is going.

"Britain has pulled itself out of the economic crisis-" Osborne points with his pen. "That _he_ created-" Ed freezes. Osborne meets his gaze then-his, not Balls'.

"And we're _not_ going to let him take us back there." And with that, Osborne sits down, to another pat on the back from Cameron.

To Ed's right, Douglas clearly gropes for words. To his left, Balls is seething. Ed just sits there, that pen still wavering in front of his eyes, the words still ringing in his ears.

_Economic crisis. That he created. We are not going to let him take us back._

Osborne's eyes fixed on him. Him, not Balls.

The papers might report it as being aimed at Balls. Osborne might even claim it was aimed at Balls. But the image of that pen, pointing directly at him, is sticking in Ed's mind. And if it sticks in his mind-then who else's-

Ed was wrong, he realises suddenly. The words were aimed at Balls, true.

But, Ed knows horribly, without question, they were meant for himself.

* * *

 

Lynton sighs as George sits down again, David patting his elbow. He knows David's done well-they've managed to stay on message and that's the main thing for Lynton. Then again, there's the other thing.

And the other thing happens to be ringing his phone right now.

Lynton sighs and, bracing himself, picks up the phone. "Yes, Baldwin, your man did fuck up spectacularly. Anything else?"

"Fuck you, Crosby." Lynton bites back a grin. He hears something thump on the floor at the other end and then something that sounds like Baldwin pacing. "I'm going to fucking talk to Ed."

Lynton sits up, eyes flickering sharply to Oliver and Craig, who are both tapping away on their laptops. "What are you talking about? Giving Miliband a lecture on how to eat a bloody sandwich correctly-"

Baldwin makes a sound like a growl and it's then that there's something that sounds like a tussle on the other end of the phone.

"Lynton?" It's Roberts' voice, which tells Lynton that Baldwin's probably preoccupied himself with tearing his hair out or some other useful task. "Look-Tom-Ed's a little-I mean, you saw today-"

"He fucking laughed at the bacon sandwich thing-" Baldwin's clearly yelling over Roberts' shoulder. "For God's sake-and I know you're probably fucking thrilled, Crosby-"

Lynton shoots a grin at Craig and Oliver, who are both smirking now. Oliver, lounging in his chair, gives Lynton a thumbs-up.

"And I know you're probably fucking grinning at Oliver and Letwin right now-"

"Not at all." Lynton shoves another thumbs up at Oliver, before he leans back in his chair. "Why exactly do you want to deliver a lecture to your fearless leader?"

Baldwin makes another explosive sound and it's Roberts who says, voice carefully level, "We're not going to lecture him. We're just going to ask him not to seem so-friendly with Cameron in Prime Minister's Questions-"

"Jesus Christ." Lynton lets his head fall back against the chair. "One minute we're asking them to get on better, now we're asking them for a few more insults, why don't we just arrange a bloody marriage yet-"

"Oh, shut up-" He can practically see Baldwin's snarl and it's a happy image.

It's Roberts who says, "We don't have a problem with Ed and Cameron being friendly outside of PMQs-"

 _"You_ might not" Lynton hears Baldwin mutter. Roberts ignores him.

"It's just-with an election coming up, anyone who watches PMQs-well, they're going to be watching Ed and Cameron, aren't they?"

Lynton arches an eyebrow at Craig, who nods, conceding the point. Lynton grabs a piece of paper and scribbles quickly as Roberts talks.

"They'll be looking for differences between them-what one says, what the other stands for-"

"I do know this, Roberts. I have won elections. Quite well, as it happens." He throws the pen down, and holds the piece of paper up so Craig and Oliver can read it. _Their guy's ratings are in the toilet and they're panicking._ Craig smirks and gives him another thumbs-up.

"The point is-" Roberts sighs. "If they just see Ed-or Cameron-laughing their heads off at each other, they're going to think they don't take this seriously-"

Lynton sighs, pulls off his glasses.

"And then they'll think they're not taking the issues seriously, or that there isn't a pin to put between them-"

Lynton doesn't have a problem with David being friendly with Miliband-far from it, he knows it can only increase public approval, paint David Cameron as a good guy, the one who doesn't make rivalries personal, however far from or near it is to the truth-but he knows all too well David can appear a bit too diffident at times, a little too unaffected by the whole thing.

It might be an illusion but it's one they can't afford.

Lynton certainly isn't prepared to let the campaign they've been working on, spearheading, wrestling with since the days of 2012, be destroyed by, of all things, a bloody _illusion._

He casts a glance at Oliver who, looking thoughtful, nods once. "Fair point" he says quietly.

Lynton looks at him sharply and then turns back to the phone. "What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing drastic. We're-" Roberts laughs. "We don't give a damn about the headlines-in fact, they're pretty good for both sides if they're friendly, to be honest. We're perfectly happy with the-" He laughs suddenly and Lynton rolls his eyes. "The whole best buddies thing can continue, fine, no problem-it's just, in PMQs-be a little less best friends. More, I-despise-your-policies."

Lynton says nothing for a few moments. Then, abruptly, he sits up straight. "Fine. Your job to save Miliband's career. But the best of friends thing isn't being dropped." He's careful to make sure his tone brooks no argument here. "It's good for both sides."

Lynton knows about not showing your hand and he grins when it's Roberts who says "I don't think-well, I don't think they'd be perfectly happy if we suggested dropping that, do you?"

Lynton purposefully doesn't say anything. If Roberts wants to give away his man's secrets, let him-it's only the better for the Tories. Lynton isn't about to do the same.

The fact he agrees makes it even more important that he stays quiet.

It's Baldwin who speaks then, and the words make Lynton grip the phone a little tighter. "Maybe that's the bloody problem."

Lynton keeps his face carefully blank. On the other end of the phone, Roberts lets out a laugh that isn't as loud as usual, and Lynton manages a small smile, irked at the fact he's forcing a humour he can't quite feel.

The fact is, Baldwin's line might not have been as tongue-in-cheek as any of them had hoped.

* * *

 

Ed hadn't expected to see Cameron today-he knows that Cameron will already be sequestered away in his office with Oliver and Letwin and Crosby and Osborne and God knows who else, trying to anticipate a response to the Statement, while their advisers brief the press and probably check that most immediate and bizarre of all political reaction bases, known as Twitter.

In a way, it's an odd relief. There's a strange cocktail of emotions at the moment that comes with Cameron's name-anger still stabbing sharply underneath whenever he lingers on Cameron's words in their exchanges, amusement-downright _irritating_ amusement-that rises at Cameron's comebacks, which _might_ be humorous, but have _nothing to do with the question_ and that strange-strange _confusion_ that surges all at once when he thinks of _Cameron_ and _whips_ , all wrapped up with that _grin_ he shot across at them.

By the time he gets into his office at Norman Shaw South, Ed's still trying to work out just how annoyed he is or isn't at Cameron, and when he sees Bob and Stewart there, both smiling a little too widely, his heart sinks. The last time they looked like that was when they told him the bacon sandwich photo had gone viral.

"What's happened?" he asks immediately, bracing himself for any number of horrors-the manifesto plans have leaked, they've found his attempts at a sonnet from when he was fourteen, Balls has breathed-

"Nothing" Bob says, too brightly. "The thing is-well, it's a good thing-"

"Good PMQs" Stewart chips in and Tom, behind them, snorts.

Ed frowns. "What is it?" he asks again, a tendril of worry unfurling along his spine now. "What's happened?"

Stewart and Bob exchange glances and Ed sighs. "Look" he says, trying for a placating smile but hastily abandoning the idea when he remembers the sight of his own smile. "I-whatever it is, I can take it. I hired you to be honest with me-I mean-"

It's Bob who clears his throat. "You're right. You're-listen-just-it really isn't a bad thing entirely-in fact, it's rather-"

If it's Balls, Ed is going to shoot him.

He takes a moment to consider his own skill at aiming and wince.

If it's Balls, Ed is going to have him shot.

"Thing is, you and Cameron-"

Ed's skin prickles at the name. Bob's still smiling but he's watching Ed more closely now, as if waiting for a reaction.

"Well-we're all happy-I mean, that-it looks good, you two spending time together-that actually looks very good for-"

Ed is all too familiar with Bob's strategy.

"What isn't very good?" he asks, losing a little patience now as he watches Bob and Stewart exchange another glance.

It's Stewart who clears his throat and says "You know-I mean, we've got no problem with you and Cameron being-" Stewart pauses, searching for a word. Ed has no idea why his heart is suddenly far more rapid, why he suddenly feels as if he's been caught out at something, the heat rushing to his cheeks.

"Friendly" Stewart apparently settles on. "The only issue, really, is-"

"PMQs" Bob says, being direct as he so often is. "You're doing well, but at PMQs, we need to improve. We're hoping to emphasise-well, more of a difference between you and Cameron-"

"The contrasts" Stewart chips in. "You know, use the PMQs leading up to the election-"

Ed feels the customary tightness in his chest and simultaneous thrill that the word _election_ seems to send through him these days.

"To show the electorate your differences. Give them a choice, make the choice clear-"

"We're just saying-" Bob leans forward from where he's perched himself on the edge of Ed's desk. "Just-when you're laughing at everything he says about you-"

"Oh, for Christ's sake." Tom erupts, almost throwing the chair over, he sits up so fast. "Stop laughing and smiling with Cameron during bloody PMQs. We don't give a damn if the two of you are wearing fucking friendship bracelets everywhere else, just not in the bloody chamber during Wednesday bloody lunchtimes. You get it?"

Ed stares at him for a long moment before he speaks very slowly. "It's not exactly a subtle point you're making."

Tom snorts. "Oh, for God's sake, I'm not Jack Nicholson and you're not Greg bloody Kinnear-"

"Which would you rather be, though?" Bob muses, apparently to himself. "I mean, either would be-"

Tom stares at him. "Are you insane?" When Bob and Ed both stare at him, he shakes his head. "Nicholson is _obviously-"_

"All right." Stewart holds up a hand. "I don't know if anyone else has noticed this, but I'm coming to the rapid conclusion that none of us are Jack Nicholson or Greg Kinnear-"

Bob stares at him. "That's what we're debating. You've got to _listen,_ Stewart-" He subsides as Tom swells indignantly and Stewart gives him a warning look.

"Ed-" Stewart turns back to him, voice a little softer now. "Look-it's good that you and Cameron get on. It is-just-don't laugh at so many of his jokes in PMQs. That's all."

Ed mulls it over but-rather annoyingly, for some reason-he can't find a way to reject the idea out of hand.

"It _is_ ironic" he offers weakly, but Stewart offers him that smile-the same one he gave Ed when he was reassuring him that almost no one would notice that he'd forgotten the deficit.

"We know. It's just-the public might not-"

"And there's no point in taking unnecessary chances " Bob chips in. "Not if we want to win an election."

Ed stares at him. "I know-"

"So-" Stewart smiles hopefully. "Just a little less laughter in PMQs. That's all. Whatever you do elsewhere-" for some reason, these words prickle at Ed-"-Well, that's up to you. Just-let's use PMQs the best way we can."

Ed knows that what they're saying makes sense. But he feels the need to clarify. "So-Cameron and I aren't on-I don't know, Big Brother status?"

"No." Bob shakes his head, looking a little relieved now. "No. Just PMQs. That's all."

Ed nods. "That-makes sense." He shrugs. "Anyway, I suppose Cameron'll get told the same."

Stewart shrugs. "If he's got Crosby on his back, almost definitely."

Tom makes a sound remarkably like a snort. "Don't count on it. Or put that image in my head."

Ed turns to stare at him as a look of alarm passes over Stewart's face and he mouths something frantically in Tom's direction that rather closely resembles "Shut up." Bob rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.

"What do you mean, don't count on it?" Ed hates that his voice is suddenly the only one in the room.

(But a small part of him, somehow, is grateful that he can focus on the first part of Tom's sentence and not the second part. Because the second part-)

(It's something Ed does not want in his head, his heart beating rather uncomfortably fast at the thought of-)

Tom shrugs. "Nothing. Just that looking positive's good for Cameron."

Ed stares at him. "It's good for me too" he says slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart is suddenly pounding.

Tom nods. "Course it is. We'd be telling you to lay off otherwise. But I'm just-Crosby's pretty pleased it's working out."

Ed stares, suddenly painfully aware of how quiet the office has fallen around him. "What's working out?" he manages, his voice a little louder than usual, his mouth suddenly dry.

Tom gets up, stretching. "You know. He's the one who came up with the idea of the two of you behaving a bit better. Well-it came from Bercow originally, but he just wants his bloody voice to be heard more easily." He collects his papers from the desk, shrugs at Ed. "But, you know. Crosby had a word with Cameron, told him to be a bit less of a Bullingdon Club dickhead, etc. I mean, Crosby was talking to us, we all thought it was a good idea-"

Ed sits silently, staring at him. Bob's casting him an anxious look. Stewart is glaring between him and Tom.

Ed tries to say something, even as Tom gathers up some papers, tells the others that he'll call later. Instead, all he can do is sit still, the words echoing in his skull.

It's not as if it's a _surprise._ Obviously, Cameron didn't just _start_ being friendly-Ed always suspected that. After all, neither had he.

It's just-

The way Tom said it-

It makes it sound- _different._

Like it's just another part of the campaign.

Like _all_ of it's just another part of the campaign-

The Tory campaign.

(All of _what?)_

Because, yes, Ed had known it was important. But-he hasn't-

He wasn't-

He wasn't treating his interactions with Cameron like some kind of- _campaign._

It had just been-well-

Cameron.

Conversations. Meals. Each other's houses.

It had just been _Cameron._

Not some-

Some campaign _trick-_

Just-Cameron.

There's a strange emptiness in his chest. It aches and Ed vaguely wonders why. He doesn't know what to do with his hands and he can't work that out, either. For some reason, he can't make himself look at Bob or Stewart and he's not entirely sure why-they _knew_ about it, _they're_ not shocked-

Ed doesn't know why he himself is shocked-if that's what this is-

It's this strange emptiness, as if the ground, something he was standing on without even thinking about it, has suddenly been dragged out from under him.

(And now, he's flailing-)

"Um-Ed-" Ed becomes aware someone's speaking to him and he looks round to see Bob staring at him. "Are you all right?" His hand twitches, as if he's about to reach out for Ed's arm but thinks better of it.

Ed forces a smile. (Why's he suddenly forcing himself to smile?) "Yeah." His voice is a little too happy, less I-am-perfectly-unruffled, more I-am-a-tiny-bit-on-the-wrong-side-of-psychotic. "I just-"

He doesn't know why he needs to get out of the room-he just knows he does. That he needs-

"Need to speak to Ed." He gets up, not too quickly. "I came up to speak to him, but-obviously-discuss our response to the statement-"

"Of course." Stewart's airy tone is belied by the concerned furrow of his brow. "Just-" He looks as if he wants to say something else but all he does say is "Let us know when you need us."

Ed nods and backs out of the room awkwardly, all while smiling in a way he already knows without looking won't improve his standing with anyone. He then heads down to the bathroom and, hands clenching on both sides of the sink, stares into the mirror.

There's no reason to be upset.

None.

Obviously, it's-

While they might enjoy each other's _company-_ it started off as something _political,_ certainly-

Maybe for Cameron-

It's just a little _more_ political.

That's fair. They've got an election coming up, that has to be both their priorities-

But-

Ed stares down at his hands, which he now realises are trembling a little.

He swallows hard. He raises one and hears himself exhale a little shakily.

His stomach hurts suddenly and there's a tautness in his chest like a drum and he feels almost timid, as if moving a little might knock him off-balance-

He feels-

Ed stares into the mirror, swallows past the odd swollen feeling in his throat and reminds himself it doesn't matter.

His hands are still trembling.

* * *

 

Ed manages to say all the right things until Tom, Bob and Stewart have eventually departed for lunch at his insistence, and then he finds himself standing there, staring at the wall.

It's not as if anything's wrong. There's no reason for Ed to be standing here, that strange, slightly lurching sensation in his chest, biting his lip as he tries to think of something, anything to say.

It takes him a moment to realise that he's trying to think of something to say to Cameron and he doesn't know what to make of that.

He briefly thinks of just getting on with his day and dismissing the entire conversation, but something about the thought of just waiting-without saying anything about it-

Something about the thought Ed just can't stand.

He doesn't know _why_ he needs to speak to Cameron, but-

But he just does.

Another part doesn't want to speak to him, almost doesn't want to speak at all, but Ed knows that if he _doesn't-_

He's not sure, but he knows without doubt that he can't just ignore it.

So that's how he ends up heading back to Portcullis House, feeling strangely shaky and wondering what he actually wants to ask Cameron at all.

It's only when he finds himself in the corridor outside Cameron's office that he remembers Cameron will be involved in discussions and that Ed can't just barge in and demand a meeting.

Which brings him to the realisation that he's just stormed into Portcullis House to see Cameron simply to ask him-what?

Ed almost laughs out loud. He's travelled here simply to ask if Cameron really-

Really is his-

Really is his _what?_

_Friend?_

Standing there, Ed feels utterly idiotic and even worse for feeling utterly idiotic. He bites his lip and on the back of that feeling comes the bitter sinking sensation of humiliation.

He's standing here in the corridor wanting to ask Cameron whether or not-whether or not he-actually _enjoys_ Ed's company or whether he's just-

He sounds like a teenage girl, Ed realises with some horror.

Ed's just processing this thought when the door opens and Chris appears, laughing over his shoulder. He pulls the door shut and then blinks at the sight of Ed. "Ed." He grins, holds out a hand which Ed awkwardly takes, wondering if he'd have been better off just leaving and waiting for Cameron to remember to contact him.

But now, Chris is grinning at him. "The Prime Minister's busy right now but if I tell him you were here, I'm sure he'll want to see you after-"

Ed's already shaking his head because this has become pathetic enough without Cameron finding out Ed was standing in the corridor waiting for him. "No-no-I, I'm sorry-"

Chris frowns, his hand brushing Ed's arm. "Ed, are you all right?"

Ed tries to force a smile. "I-I'm fine-"

Chris doesn't look convinced. "It's just-you look a little perturbed."

Ed shakes his head inanely like a doll. "No, I-I just-" Get a grip.

He pulls himself up straighter, swallows, clears his throat. "I wanted to see him about something but it's not important. It can wait until the Prime Minister isn't busy, I'm sure-"

Chris nods, though he still doesn't look entirely convinced. "If you're sure-"

Ed nods. "I don't want to bother him" he manages and almost winces at how pathetic the words sound.

Chris nods, with a hand still on Ed's arm. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am-" he says, with a wink and turns into another office, leaving Ed with little choice but to turn around and walk away again.

* * *

 

David was feeling happy when they walked out of the Commons and by the time they reach the end of the meeting with Lynton, he's feeling even happier. Now, Lynton roots around in his bag, holding up a hand to stop David from leaving.

"Here. You know the drill, everyone at CCHQ gets one if they do something right, and today, that was you two."

Two stuffed koalas are thrown across the table, one to David and one to George.

"This'll be a nice addition." George examines the koala, looking rather pleased. "Pop this on the bed, see if Frances takes to it." Off David's stunned look, George rolls his eyes. "Not like that-just having it in the bedroom-" David raises an eyebrow. "On the bed-" David blinks at him. "I'm going to stop talking now."

"Please do" Lynton advises him with a pat to George's back. "Though I'm glad you didn't shut up today. You certainly showed why Balls will be out of a job in a few months."

David can't say he feels much sorrow at the thought.

It's then that Chris pops his head round the door and blinks at the sight of the koalas. "Should I even ask?"

George shrugs. "Craig doesn't, anymore."

Lynton grins, and with a clap on Chris' shoulder, announces that he's off to check on progress, and Chris beams, chucking the koala under the chin. "This little guy looks cheerful."

George groans. "Given what we were just-"little guy" is probably the _worst_ phrase you could have-" Off Chris' grin, George shakes his head. "You don't even want to know."

With a tap to David's shoulder, George announces he's off to fetch some food and David calls after him "Don't tell Balls our entire manifesto plan."

Chris laughs. "They still enjoy their rendezvous at the bar, then?"

David shudders. "That sounds rather unfortunate-" He takes another fond look at the new koala and imagines how happy Flo will be with the new addition to her stuffed-animal menagerie. "Still, I'm sure this creature will enjoy its' new home."

Chris laughs. "You've been deposed by a koala."

David grins at the koala fondly, picturing him in a suit. Chris watches too and when David raises his eyes, he notices Chris looks a little more tired than usual.

He clears his throat, keeping his tone deliberately casual. "Are you all right, Chris?"

Chris meets his gaze immediately, with a small smile. "Fine, Dave."

David hesitates and Chris smiles, gentles his voice. "It's going well, Dave. It's fine."

David swallows and nods and Chris gifts him with another smile. There's a short silence and then, turning to gather up some papers, Chris says "Speaking of would-be deposers-" He gives David another, bigger grin this time. "I ran into Ed Miliband in the corridor."

David looks up. "Outside? Did he say anything?"

Chris frowns. "Well-no. In fact-" He glances at the door, then back at David. "He looked a bit upset."

David looks up slowly this time, a whisper of worry creeping in. "Upset?" He'd known that Prime Minister's Questions would be a little more rambunctious today, given the Autumn Statement, but if Miliband was really-

"Well-" Chris frowns. "Maybe not upset. But-he just seemed a little-bothered. He was standing there, like he-you know-wanted to come in-"

"What, like he was listening-"

"No." Chris shakes his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face now. "More-I don't know. He wasn't near the door. He was-well, I suppose he was hovering. Pacing a little."

David frowns. "And-did he say anything?"

Chris shakes his head. "Not much. He just-looked upset." He gives a shrug. "I mean, I'm sure he's fine."

David nods, but the worry niggles at the back of his mind. Chris gives him a grin. "Come on, Harry Potter."

David manages a grin in return at the memory. "All right, Bernard" he says, and Chris laughs. "You need to be more in touch than _Yes, Prime Minister_ , Dave."

Chris pats his shoulder, says something about seeing him back at Downing Street. David reflects briefly on another reason he's determined to keep Miliband out of Downing Street-Miliband is _not_ getting hold of Chris.

Of course, apparently Miliband's corridor pacing has already got hold of Chris.

David sighs, picks up his phone. While the aftermath of their triumph at the Autumn Statement still lingers, he can't help but remember some of the other lines he threw at Miliband today. But surely it wasn't anything beyond their usual Wednesday exchanges-anything that Miliband could possibly take-

The thought of Miliband pacing the corridor looking upset, for some reason, leaves David with a distinctly uncomfortable feeling wedged between his chest and stomach.

He stares at the phone, sighs. Only now does it occur to him that he's been texting Miliband this whole time on his personal phone, rather than the Blackberry that he usually reserves for work colleagues outside of his immediate circle. He remembers now that Lynton was rather happy to hear David had Miliband's number in his personal phone-might even have been the one to suggest David put it in. Lynton's view is to make sure you look at what you're doing even when nobody else is watching-perhaps especially when nobody else is watching.

Something about the fact that David has been texting Miliband from his personal phone and hasn't even realised niggles at him in a way he can't quite understand, but now, he's got other things on his mind.

He taps out a quick text message to Miliband.

_Didn't upset you too much, did it, Miliband? Good to see you preparing for defeat._

He rereads the message and, frowning, deletes the second sentence. He's thinking of the headlines from the previous week.

He sends the message and promptly waits for a reply. And waits.

By the time he heads down to meet George fifteen minutes later, Miliband still hasn't replied and David's trying not to think about the fact that's never happened before.

* * *

 

_You know that was a joke, don't you?_

_Miliband, I know you're getting these messages._

_If I've done something to offend you, just tell me._

_Miliband, why are you ignoring me? This is the perfect chance for you to practice one of your arguments._

_Miliband, I honestly don't know what I've done._

_You know it's your duty to hold the government to account?_

_To hold me to account?_

* * *

 

George isn't surprised when he already sees Balls seated at the bar as he arrives. Balls likes to get everywhere on time-it's one of the things George knows would probably surprise people about Balls, along with his piano playing and bordering on unhealthy infatuation with The Sound Of Music.

He sits down next to him and says, with a grin, "Good to see you're accustomed to opposition, Balls."

Balls looks up, also with a grin. "Labour are used to changes, Osborne. I understand Tories are stuck in the nineteenth century-"

"Now, you know that's just Jacob."

Balls laughs and George grins as he feels their camaraderie settle back over them like a blanket. "Good speech today, Osborne. You'll do well when you're back being Shadow Chancellor."

George laughs, and then, with a quick smile as he orders his drink, says "I think the job's already taken for the next five years, to be honest."

Balls laughs. "Good speech, Osborne. You almost convinced me. " He frowns. "And fuck, that's definitely a concern."

"Is that a compliment or not?" George gives him a grin. "How are you, anyway?"

Contrary to his usual love of analysis, George does know when enough is enough. It's something Frances often brings up-the first time they met, George had begun reading aloud from an article almost immediately. He hadn't thought about it and now, he's not sure what he was thinking or why he did it. He'd simply found the article interesting, so he'd read it aloud. It was as simple as that. Despite his usual love of examining his own and others' motivations-and being honest with himself, knowing how to use them-there are some things that he doesn't need to look at more closely.

And this is something similar. He likes Ed Balls, so he spends time with him. Why should anybody else care?

Now, he listens as Balls talks about his kids and smiles, the obvious love for them creeping into Balls' voice.

"Maddy still talks about you." George breaks out of his reverie to grin at the memory of Ed and Yvette's sharp-eyed youngest daughter, who seems to constantly have her arms folded, chin jutting out. "I'm not sure if you should be flattered or afraid, personally."

"Maddy'd probably take that as a compliment."

"Accurate guess." Balls takes another sip of his beer. "I'd lean more towards the "fucking scared" option."

"She's your daughter."

"Exactly." A grin darts to Balls' mouth. "I reckon your boss might agree."

"What, David?"

Balls snorts. "When he got hit in the head with that bloody ball, shit, even I was freaked out by how hilarious Maddy found it."

He breaks off at the sight of George clutching his drink with one hand and the bar with the other, suddenly almost helpless with laughter. "What the-"

George shakes his head. "He didn't tell me about the ball" he finally manages, still sniggering because it's so typically David.

Balls snorts again. "Don't blame him. Wish I'd captured it on film. That would have been something to shut your lot up at PMQs."

"Sure Bercow wouldn't have had something to say?"

"Order, order-" Balls bangs his hand down and then winces as a barmaid immediately appears. "No, no, sorry-"

Perhaps to stave off George's inevitable comment about this mishap, he asks, almost before the girl's walked away again, "Did he tell you about his and Ed's musical defeat?"

George smirks. "It was mentioned. Dave nearly having Miliband on his lap, notwithstanding-"

 _"Cameron_ nearly having _Ed_ on his lap? Of _all-"_

George lets his eyes meet Ed's and after a moment, they both smirk.

"It was amusing" Balls tells him, with a grin. "Of course, almost as amusing as them fighting over who had won."

George sniggers. "Surprised David survived a day of Labourites."

 _"You're_ sitting next to a fucking Labourite, Osborne."

"Touche."

Balls winks and they both take another drink. There's a few moments of silence before Balls says "Speaking as someone else who might be fighting for a job come May, what the hell do you think of the whole Friends Forever Act?"

George arches an eyebrow. "Politically or personally?"

Balls arches one in return. "Both."

George takes a long gulp of his drink. "Politically-" he muses, staring into his glass. He takes a long moment before replying.

"Politically, it's a positive for everyone involved" he says slowly. "It makes David look good, makes Miliband look good, everyone's happy. As long as they keep it professional at work, it's all fine-"

Balls is still watching him and George holds back a grin, knowing that Balls won't let him get away with it so easily. It's one of the things George likes about him. He wonders if it's a similar camaraderie between David and Miliband.

But then, David and Miliband are a little different, anyway.

Balls raises an eyebrow and George takes another gulp of his drink. "Personally" he says quietly. "I think it can be good for them. Both of them. I think they-" He hesitates, wondering whether or not he should say it, but then Balls is one of the few people he can be honest with.

(And George sometimes wonders at just how strange that truth is.)

But he says it. "I think that they enjoy it" he says truthfully, and Balls makes a small sound in the back of his throat that could be agreement. "And-I think it could make it harder for them in the long term."

In reply to that, Balls lifts his glass, drains it, and says simply "Exactly."

George studies him for a minute and then says quietly, "Does it bother you?"

Balls smirks. "Sabotage, Chancellor?"

"Merely curiosity, Shadow Chancellor."

They grin. It's Balls who says quietly "I'm inclined to agree with you, Osborne. And fucking relish that, I don't say it often."

George grins. "Maybe you should. Maybe then you'd have a chance of winning."

"Osborne, this is all going to look very different after May."

The words are light-hearted but something about the tone is heavier. George takes another drink, to cover it.

"But you're right" Balls says, a little quicker now. "I mean, I'm sure you'll go running straight back to your boss-" George rolls his eyes. "But Ed was pretty fucking far from the happiest camper this afternoon."

George frowns. "What do you mean?"

Balls sighs. "I mean, he was just-you know, he sat in his office. And-you know-he didn't want to really speak to us. I mean-he did-but he was trying too hard, you know. Never seen him smile that big before. Press should have got a fucking snap of that." He rolls his eyes. "Point is, every time someone wasn't looking at him, he looked a bit-well, fucking shell-shocked. It was like we'd woken up 8th May to you lot getting a majority-"

George laughs. "Here's hoping, there."

Balls' grin flickers back into life for a moment, before he shakes his head. "It was just....strange."

 _"They're_ strange" George says, trying to lighten the tone, but the words hang a little in the air and Balls gives him a sharp look-a look as if he wants to say something.

"It will be different after May" Balls says again, and George watches him for a long moment. He wonders which of them will be sitting here next year. Whether either of them will be.

He doesn't say it out loud though and neither does Balls. Instead, they just smile. They just drink. They just talk. And they don't think about the next year.

* * *

 

Playlist

_Million Dollar Bills-Lorde_ _-the quote at the start sums up some of this chapter pretty well._

_Hello Cold World-Paramore -"You say you're really hurting/At least you're feeling something/We can hope and we can pray that everything will work out fine/But you can't just stay down on your knees/The revolution is outside"-this both fits Ed's feelings that David isn't affected enough because he doesn't react in the same way Ed does, and also the sense they all have of heading towards an election where, inevitably, the dynamics they've just got used to are going to change._

_Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)-The Beatles_ _-"I once had a girl/Or should I say/She once had me"-this fits both Ed B and George's friendship and David and Ed-they're so bound up in each other that if one of them ends up hurting, the other does too._

_Space-The Beautiful South-" And if there's ever time in life for genuine mistake/Surely then you got the means to make it/And if you'd like one final slip before you get it right/This moon's asleep, you got the means to wake it/So left alone we're just simple bricks/No more than the stone that the child kicks/But as soon as we're together we are wall/And the stone the child kicks is bouncing ball"-this fits again with the fact the dynamics that they know work for them in some way (even if they won't admit) will change soon, and they don't know how the new combinations will work._

_No Me, No You, No More-The Staves-" How can I want you/A little bit more than I did before/I didn't need you but I want you back/A little bit more, than I knew/Now I can't go back to life before"-this suits Ed's reaction when he thinks the whole connection was just out of political necessity and obligation._

_Gotta Love-Dresses-" I know I won't believe you till I'm home and I'm not leaving/Until then, I can tell, yeah I'm just like you/We've got a lot of feelings, we just don't know how to feel them"-T _his suits, to me, not just David and Ed, but George and Ed B, in their politically antagonistic, personally platonic way.__

_The Worst Is Yet To Come-Motion City Soundtrack-" Tell me, do you think we'll be fine after all? /I'm all nerve, an anxious, sort of complicated fear,/The worst is yet to come, my dear"-this is pretty self-explanatory._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George and Ed B meeting up for drinks after Autumn Statements/Budgets/conferences, etc. is something they do in real life. They make a habit of meeting up: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/generalelection/balls-mocks-ed-miliband-but-says-he-would-enjoy-having-a-drink-with-george-osborne-10102362.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3772750/GEORGE-OSBORNE-reviews-old-rival-s-memoirs.html  
> Ed famously forgot the deficit in his 2014 conference speech, which permanently damaged his credibility: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-29339581/ed-miliband-forgets-deficit-and-immigration-in-speech  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11117748/Ed-Miliband-I-forgot-parts-of-my-speech.html  
> The tidbit about Lynton giving people toy koalas for doing well on the campaign (including David and George) is true. He made a habit of it, as well as toy kangaroos:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/11609570/Secrets-of-the-Tories-election-war-room.html  
> That PMQs can be found here (including David's masosadism comment and Ed's dazed look):  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6kNchHho8A  
> The Autumn Statement and the response can be found here (including David and Ed's pointing and mouthing at each other):  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t8izxyiTNn4  
> The Jack Nicholson/Greg Kinnear references are referring to the film As Good As It Gets. Ed B did used to be the leader writer for the Financial Times before he became an advisor to Gordon Brown in the early '90s:https://www.timeshighereducation.com/features/ed-balls-interview-when-the-dust-settles-people-see-the-truth  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/10167960/Ed-Miliband-admits-he-and-Ed-Balls-dated-same-journalist.html  
> Frances and Justine have been friends since bar school and the first time Frances and George met he did start reading an article to her:  
> https://graziadaily.co.uk/life/opinion/election-exclusive-justine-miliband-isnt-role-applied/  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/frances-osborne-the-view-from-no-11-fvsldhpp25c  
> Leave a comment if you liked it!


	10. Reminiscent Reunions, Economical Exchanges And The Vitriol For Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which George fails to finish conversations, Ed comes across someone he didn't expect and David is convinced Lynton is an entirely suitable name for a koala."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, I will at some point get these chapters up more quickly. (With writing, education and the Stronger In campaign, there's a lot going on.) But hopefully, they're worth it.  
> Again, thanks so much for all the comments, kudos, etc. Keep them coming!  
> If you want to ask me anything about this fic, just message me on [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) ! If you want to read any of the articles linked and can't, just send me an ask!

_"I'm going to talk, so you can't hang up."_

_Nothing._

_"Sometimes," I say. "I can't tell whether people are real or not. Lots of people pretend to be nice to me, so I'm never sure."- Solitaire, Alice Oseman_

__

_"You're such a weirdo.." Reagan said. "I kind of missed you."- Fangirl, Rainbow Rowell_

_"So...have you just....were you just pretending to be nice all this time?" he said, his voice so quiet and soft..._

_"What? No! None of this has been a lie, I swear."_

_"So why have you been talking to me then?" he said._

_At the exact moment he said "I'm so unimpressive" I said "Because you're cool."_

_We looked at each other._

_Then he laughed softly and shook his head. "This is so weird."- Radio Silence, Alice Oseman_

* * *

 

David manages to get through the first few meetings of the day before he grabs his phone again. He determinedly hasn't looked at it during the 8am meeting and it's only now that he needs to ring George to wish him luck, does he glance quickly at the screen.

There are no new messages from Miliband. David pretends his heart doesn't sink.

Slowly, he hits George's name and waits, trying to ignore the disappointment prickling in his chest.

"I _know_ , Dave." George's voice is rather bouncier than it was this time last year and David feels a tired smile tug at his own mouth. "Replay of 2010, BBC need to learn, etc. I know how to handle Humphreys."

"Just checking." David can't help but smile. "Good luck, George."

"Thank you very much." George is laughing, but his voice lowers a little. "Are you all right, Dave?"

David frowns, debating whether or not to lie, but then manages, struggling to sound casual, "You don't happen to know if Miliband's in work today, do you?"

There's a silence. David wonders if he should have kept quiet. But the worry's been there, lurking under his ribs since the previous evening. Sam had sent him a few concerned looks, while Florence had scrambled onto his knee, asking happily "Are you all right, Daddy?"

He just wishes he knew whether or not he'd offended Miliband.

"Maybe the two of you are starting to think alike" suggests George, sounding entirely too breezy for someone who's about to face a BBC interview. "Acquiring his thoughts, learning when he's absent-"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking _you."_

"Charming."

The last thing he needs is any reminding of what kind of- _bond_ everyone's acting as if he has with Miliband, right now.

"Though, according to Balls, he was pretty miserable yesterday."

David's hand had strayed out, idly, to pet the head of the toy koala, that is now sitting comfortably on his desk. (He'd neglected to take it upstairs the day before, after discovering it really seemed to fit rather nicely here.) Now, he stops, thoughts suddenly freezing on Chris's words of the previous day- _he looked upset-_

"He-was miserable?"

"Well, that's what Balls seemed to think. I mean, we had a lot to discuss-what with me divulging all of Lynton's strategies and drawing up our seating plan for me to join the Labourites-we didn't have much time to talk about _Miliband-"_

"Hilarious." David's hand falls onto the koala's head, petting it absently. "But honestly-Miliband was upset?"

"Balls said so." George's voice is a little quieter now, clearing his throat. "Pretty miserable, apparently."

David stares at the koala, which seems to stare sadly back.

The thought of-of Miliband being _miserable-_

Something about it sends a pang into David's chest. He squeezes the koala without thinking.

"Right" he says, still staring at the toy. "Right-well, I-"

"You could always text him" George suggests helpfully and David feels a strong and irrational desire to scream down the phone.

He doesn't because the Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland does still retain some dignity and awareness of what is seemly and appropriate behaviour for public office.

Plus, the koala seems to be gazing at him rather reproachfully. David glares right back at it.

"Got to go for mic check-"

"Oh-of course-" He clears his throat, sits up. "Good luck, but-you'll do brilliantly-"

"Thank you." George's voice is a little chirpier again. "And listen-it might not be anything to do with you. But if you're bothered, just talk to him."

David frowns at the phone. "What do you mean?"

But George is clearly distracted. "Got to go. Call you afterwards, let you know how it went-" There's a hustle at the other end of the phone that tells David things are moving more quickly now.

"Good luck" he says again, shaking off any earlier annoyance. "You'll be fine."

"Thanks." There's the briefest of pauses and then George says, a little quieter "Good luck to you, too."

David barely has a chance to say "Wh-" before George has hung up. David stares at the phone.

"Good luck to you, too" he mutters, glancing at the phone, then at the koala. "What in hell's teeth does _that_ mean?"

The koala stares back silently. David glares at it. "I mean-I _have_ texted him several times." It feels rather like trying to produce a satisfactory explanation for not showing enough enthusiasm to Lynton. "It's _him_ who's ignoring _me."_

He gets up abruptly, automatically lifting the phone. He opens another message, then closes it without writing anything.

He's got some experience dealing with Miliband when they can't agree over policy and given that David has to admit, those exchanges fall somewhat under Craig's description of "the proverbial rock and hard place trying to fucking annihilate each other", he's not hopeful of Miliband dropping the Your-Bullingdon-Club-Twattishness-Offends-My-Labourite-Brown-Worshipping-Sensibilities Act.

(Well, maybe not the twattishness part. Though hearing Miliband say that aloud may provide David with some amusement.)

But David is rather familiar with Miliband's ability to hold a grudge. And while it would be one thing if he was just sulking-but if what George and Balls are saying is _true-_

If he's really upset-

"It can't be because of me" he says, rather plaintively, to the koala. "I mean-I didn't even say-he can't have-it can't be that _I've_ upset him" he says, rather uselessly.

He glares at the wall, then back at the koala. "And it's not as if he didn't expect some sort of excess yesterday" he mutters. "That would make him a downright idiot."

He adjusts the koala, so he can meet its' gaze properly. "I mean, you do know-"

The koala stares back and says nothing and right then is when it sinks in for David that he has been conversing at great length with a non-sentient toy koala for something approaching ten minutes.

He is talking to a koala.

A toy koala.

Because Miliband is ignoring him.

That's it.

David pulls his suit straight, turns and heads for the door. Then, remembering the unfortunate incident with Boris and the kangaroo, he turns and marching back to the desk, snatches up the koala. "You're coming with me" he tells it, before he shoves it under his suit.

If Miliband won't answer his messages, then he'll damn well talk to him face-to-face.

With a koala under his arm, if need be.

(This koala already has a most irritating way of motivating him.)

(It's when he's heading down the corridor that it strikes him and he smiles to himself.)

(Yes, he thinks he might christen the koala _Lynton.)_

* * *

 

"He's got to be joking."

Danny has seen Nick angry many times. He has seen Nick angry over broken promises, tuition fees, dog shit poked through the letterbox and on no less than three occasions, the dropping of a hot dog.

But, he reflects, watching his friend pace back and forth, raking one hand through his hair, this may be one of the angrier times.

"He fucking approved this" Nick almost spits at him, as if Danny is the one who's decided to postpone the Sheffield announcement. "He fucking-he fucking _promised."_

Danny has seen George angry too, and a little wearily (it's him who's dealing with it. Of course. It always is.), he holds out a hand to Nick. "Calm down-"

Nick almost spins round, his eyes seeming to flash a little. _"Calm down?"_

"We don't know what's going on yet." Danny deliberately keeps his voice low and level. "We don't know why he's-it might just be a delay of a few days-"

"He said we could do it." Nick almost grinds the words out. "He agreed to all of it- _all_ the investments, he _said_ -and now he's decided he doesn't bloody well agree with _half_ of it-"

Danny senses it isn't the right time to point out it's more than half.

"This is-" Nick's hand shoots out, almost slapping the wall. "This is _my bloody constituency."_

Danny holds up a hand. "I'll talk to him."

Nick snorts. "Given he didn't even have the fucking decency to tell me in _person-"_

Danny closes his eyes. "Just-let me talk to him." Another idea strikes him and he says, perhaps a little too hopefully "Or we could go to Cameron, George listens to him-"

Nick makes a strangled noise then and Danny looks up, frowning.

When Nick meets his eyes, Danny feels a lurch in his chest. Nick doesn't just look angry anymore-his eyes are wide, and his mouth is almost trembling ominously.

"Don't you see-" He shakes his head, hands knotting back in his hair again. "We always go to _Cameron-"_ He makes a sudden, convulsive movement as if about to grab something. "We always end up running to bloody _Cameron_ , like we're his bloody-"

Danny stands up slowly, waits until he's sure Nick's not about to jump before he lets a hand rest cautiously on his arm. When Nick doesn't pull away, he takes it as a good sign.

"We'll sort it out" he says, quietly, with more confidence than he feels. "We'll sort it."

Nick nods, but Danny can tell he doesn't quite believe him.

* * *

 

 

David's almost too familiar with Norman Shaw South these days-having spent five years there in opposition, as well as his more recent visits to Miliband, he feels as if he knows the place rather too well. But for all his familiarity, David's never once found himself staring at Harriet Harman, Stewart Wood and Tom Baldwin, insisting that he needs to speak to Ed Miliband right away.

With a koala tucked under his arm.

"We understand perfectly well what you're saying, Prime Minister" Harriet enunciates slowly, as if David is rapidly losing his hearing, mental faculties or both. "We're just a little- _bewildered_ as to why you need to speak to him so suddenly."

David tries to take a deep, calming breath. "It's private" he says and then when the trio look unmoved, he sighs. "It's-delicate."

"Delicate?" Baldwin snorts the word _delicate_ in perhaps as indelicate a manner as it is possible to do.

Stewart appears to count to ten before he interjects, as David wishes Baldwin off the face of the planet. "Prime Minister, it would be much easier if you'd informed us in advance-"

"Or made an appointment" Harriet cuts in, and David wonders if there's any way this can possibly get worse.

A door opens and a face that's all too familiar pops out.

"What the hell's going on?" asks Anna, Miliband's press officer, and David wonders if God's in the habit of playing practical jokes.

"Anna. Lovely to see you."

"Can't return the compliment, Prime Minister."

"Well, since we're all being so tactful-" He's just thankful Rachel isn't here, as well.

He takes another deep breath. "I _do_ need to see your Leader quite urgently and if I _don't_ get to see him-I don't know, we're all in danger of the nuclear button being pressed and we all get blown up, since we're now in the market for sincerity-"

Stewart tilts his head to the side. "You know, there might be a reason you lot don't do well in Brussels-"

"For God's sake-" David spreads his hands, as much as he can. "Is this the new position of the Opposition? To refuse to allow the Prime Minister to speak with anyone from your party- _fantastic_ cross-party co-operation, by the way-"

"If you'd made an appointment-"

"Well, I couldn't make a bloody appointment-"

"Fucking hell." Baldwin's already turning away and Anna folds her arms. "If you could tell us _why_ you wish to speak with Mr. Miliband-"

David wonders if there is anyone in the world who could make this situation worse right now.

At that moment, Balls pokes his head out of the door. "What the hell is going on?"

Harriet closes her eyes momentarily. David should probably do the same with his mouth but throws caution to the wind.

"You do realise that if you'd just let me speak to him-"

"Oh, for God's sake." Balls rolls his eyes, throwing up his hands. "This is about Miliband, isn't it?"

David has a moment where he seriously considers just pushing his way through but instead, he settles for throwing his own arms up. "What on _earth_ do you imagine the problem is? All I want to do is speak with the Leader of the Opposition-what kind of-I don't know, _depraved insinuations_ could you _possibly_ derive from that?"

Something has thudded to the floor. David takes in the various gazes, all rooted on one spot.

He lowers his own gaze. The koala is lying at his feet.

David stares at it, then lifts his eyes to find five people's gazes fixed on him.

"Is that a _koala?"_ Anna's staring at it as if she's never seen one before.

David could, of course, proffer a lengthy, charming and rather transparent explanation of the situation.

He could. In theory.

Instead, he offers, weakly, "No."

"That looks like a koala."

David sighs. "It's-it's not _my_ koala. It-that is-it was given to me-"

"Someone gave you a koala?" Balls is staring between him and the toy as if he can't quite decide whether to laugh or not.

"Someone did not _give_ me a koala-"

"Did you....purchase the koala yourself?" Harriet's now watching him closely, as if deeply concerned for his health.

"No, I did not _purchase a koala for myself-"_

"Did you bring it for Miliband?" barks Baldwin like a drill sergeant.

"Getting loud-" says Stewart helpfully, with a hand on his arm. "Getting loud..."

 _"No_ , I did _not-"_

 _"Jesus."_ Balls is staring at David, eyes wide. "I don't know if that's touching or perverted-"

"What-how on earth-"

Miliband's office door flies open and Bob Roberts' voice bellows "What the _hell_ is going on out here?" at the exact same moment that Baldwin almost _shrieks_ at Balls _"Did you just ask Cameron if he bought Miliband a koala fucktoy?"_

David's eyes close and he wishes wholeheartedly for a bolt of lightning to strike them all down.

(Except him and Miliband. Miliband's going to talk to him first.)

 _(Then_ the lightning can strike them down.)

He already knows who's going to be standing there when he opens his eyes.

(Because it's _Miliband._ Of _course_ he'll be there. He'll probably be there in the middle of World War 3, arching his eyebrows at David as they cower in some bunker somewhere and telling him that this would never have happened under _Labour's_ watch.)

(David will probably have to murder him and then he'll spend the rest of the war feeling guilty and knowing Miliband, he'll still find some way to taunt him from beyond the grave- _That isn't very diplomatic, Prime Minister-_ echoing like a ghost over the radio.)

Bob glances between them. David's trying not to look at Miliband. A part of him would like to never look at Miliband again.

(And then Miliband would probably whine about that too.

Bob glances back at David, at the various people assembled in the hallway, at the koala and then throws his hands up. "I don't even want to know."

David is already wishing for Norman Shaw South to collapse into pieces around them all, but he's not going to let Miliband ignore him face-to-face after all this.

So, he forces his gaze up and, meeting Miliband's eyes, manages "I need to speak to you."

Miliband just stares. He looks fine, David thinks as he scrutinizes Miliband's face for any sign of illness or tiredness-perhaps those shadows are a little darker under his eyes-

"Which one of us?" This is from Douglas, who's just emerged from Miliband's office behind his leader. He stops when he catches sight of David. "Oh-so, you." He nods at Miliband, then turns back to David. "Good morning, Prime Minister."

"Morning, Douglas."

Douglas blinks. "Why is there a koala on the floor?"

David is beginning to wish he could reasonably punch Lynton for ever so much as mentioning the word "koala". Of course, he wouldn't because a) Lynton means well, b) Lynton _does_ well, and c) that would be the act of the truly insane.

Instead, he looks back at Miliband. "I need to speak to you."

Miliband doesn't say anything. In fact, now that David thinks about it, Miliband hasn't said anything at all. But he's staring at David, head tilted to the side and it might be David's imagination but Baldwin's eyes dart uncomfortably-

David swallows, bends and picks up the koala. He can feel his phone vibrating as he wedges Lynton the Koala under his arm and then looks straight at Miliband. "I would really-" He takes a deep breath. "Honestly appreciate it if you'd agree to talk to me right now."

_Or say anything at all._

_Because, to be honest, I'd expect the Daily Mail to applaud us all before you stay quiet and the latter, frankly, is rather disconcerting._

Of course, he doesn't say that out loud.

Miliband stares at him for an interminably long second before abruptly, he steps back and indicates his office with a sharp jerk of the head.

David knows when to hedge his bets and when to take-or give-an olive branch. He wedges Lynton the Koala more firmly under his arm before he follows Miliband.

Miliband doesn't say anything until the door's shut and then he walks behind his desk before turning to look at David. David waits-almost _awkwardly_ , if he was someone else-for a smile or a nod or even just an arch of the eyebrow. But Miliband just looks at him.

David looks back. He's had enough of trying to start conversations with Miliband over the last two days.

When Miliband still says nothing, however, David sighs. "Really, Miliband? I'm waiting."

Miliband's eyebrows arch now. "Prime Minister, I don't know if you're familiar with office etiquette, but _you're_ the one who came to see _me."_

David blinks.

 _"Really?_ Nothing? That's _it?"_

Miliband shrugs. "I _was_ wondering why you were carrying a koala about."

David holds up a hand. "Anything except the koala."

Miliband says nothing and that's when something snaps and David's had enough-or that's what he tells himself when he blurts out "I was actually here out of _concern_ , Miliband-a greeting would be rather pleasant."

Something flickers across Miliband's face then and David frowns, trying to catch hold of the look-surprise? relief?-but it's gone before David can decide.

"Concern?" is what Miliband says slowly and maybe it's the sheer amount of _waiting_ he's been doing that wells up in David's throat then.

"Yes, _concern_ " he snaps and takes a step forward because he's _not_ going to have this discussion with Miliband from the other side of the room. "Now while I simply can't _wait_ to hear whatever "Tories showing concern, it's a sign of the apocalypse" witticism you are probably about to throw -"

From the look on Miliband's face, David surmises that this guess was more accurate than he'd anticipated.

"But concern happens to be what I feel when Chris tells me that you're upset and you're waiting outside my office."

David sends Chris a silent apology, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Miliband's eyes widen and David watches the movement of his throat as he swallows.

"Chris told you I was up-th-set?" He can tell Miliband's making an effort to keep his voice steady, but he can't hide the blush that creeps slowly up his cheeks.

"Yes, he did." David's managed to move closer and he now manages to drop Lynton into the seat. Miliband raises an eyebrow but otherwise makes no comment on the koala.

"And Chris was hardly likely to lie, Miliband."

There's no answer. David swallows.

"And then-well, you didn't answer any of my messages-well-" He's suddenly finding it rather difficult to meet Miliband's eyes. "I was worried about you."

Miliband's eyes widen far more. His eyes find David's for the first time since he came into the room. David clears his throat, his cheeks a little warmer than usual. Suddenly, he doesn't know quite what to do with his hands.

"Worried?" Miliband's voice is low.

David forces himself to meet his gaze. "Yes" he says quietly.

The line hovers at his mouth, the comeback he's all too used to exchanging with Miliband. But instead, taking in Miliband's expression, he doesn't say anything and instead watches Miliband open his mouth and then close it again without making a sound.

* * *

 

Ed doesn't know what he expected today but he didn't expect to see Cameron standing in his office next to a toy koala.

Justine had given him a long look when he'd checked and then promptly ignored his phone for the fifth time. In fairness, it probably was confusing-only the other night, Zia had had to rescue it from Sam's milk when Ed had nearly knocked it all over the table in his haste to reply to a text.

It was when he'd ignored Cameron's fifth text that she'd sighed, closed the brief she was reading, and had curled up next to him on the couch.

"Either a reporter's got hold of a story you don't want me to know about-" she'd said quietly, even though the boys were sleeping two floors above them. "Or you don't want to speak to somebody."

Ed hadn't wanted to go into the details of who he was ignoring or why he was ignoring him, trying not to tense up. Ever since he'd walked away from Cameron's office-still with no idea of what he'd been about to say-he'd spent the rest of the day telling people he was fine. There was no reason he _shouldn't_ be fine.

It was just that the thought of answering Cameron as though nothing had happened-though technically nothing _had_ happened-now that he realises Cameron probably feels- _obligated_ or-or _required_ -to be friendly-it was-well-

(Ed had realised at some point that somehow he'd come to think of texting Cameron as a friendly thing.)

But he hadn't been able to put it into words-the strange shakiness that he could feel rising in his chest when this shouldn't even have _mattered._

Instead, he'd just managed "Things were stressful today, that's all." He'd glanced at Justine, whose hand had been on his shoulder, and then tried for a smile. "There's no story being dug up, I promise."

Justine had been rubbing his shoulder, which Ed had tried not to want to pull away from. It was too close, really. Every time he tried to squeeze the events of the day into short sentences, the words seemed to tangle together, lodging themselves in his throat.

He tells himself that Justine can explain the situation to him from a different perspective, help things fall into place. The way he does when he knows he should tell her something. That's what you're meant to do, after all-talk to each other. Tell each other things.

But this-this was Cameron and something about that had made it far harder to explain.

And so he'd said "Don't worry. I'm just-taking to screening calls." He'd known that should cheer Justine a little-she'd always been keen for him to spend less time on the phone.

Justine had nodded and told him that he was doing the right thing and that he needed to take a break sometimes, but Ed couldn't concentrate entirely. His thoughts kept catching, snagged back onto that moment when Tom had said _Lynton will be happy too._

It had been when he'd been lying in bed, still dwelling on his phone and wondering how on earth he was going to explain this, when Justine had pressed a kiss to his neck and when Ed's eyes had flickered open, she did it again, pressing kisses slowly down to his shoulder and Ed had immediately cast his gaze to the door, his fingers tightening in the sheets. "The kids-"

"They're asleep." Justine had tilted her mouth to his and kissed him, sliding her hands into his hair. Ed had let another glance linger on the door, hoping, but there'd been no sound from either of the boys. Her tongue had been warm and wet in his mouth and Ed had felt the familiar confusion of not really knowing what he was supposed to do with his own. Justine had gently trailed her fingers down his neck, accidentally catching his skin, and, wanting to get away from the sensation more than anything else, Ed had rolled over and kissed her back, trying to concentrate on something else, trying to let his mouth move naturally while carefully examining each movement, scanning it in his head-is this usual? That should feel good, why doesn't-and when she'd gently guided his hands to her hips, he'd made a low sound in the back of his throat that had made Justine laugh, interpreting it in the way anyone would, while Ed told himself not to be so stupid, it's fine, it's fine, the way he's had to most times before, trying to just let Justine pull him on top of her, thoughts grappling for something else to focus on until they'd be able to count it as finished, but they hadn't done it in so long he'd been out of practice letting his mind crawl out of his body, away from the warmth and the wetness and too, too much skin and touch and-

Her breathing had been hot and ragged into his neck and Ed had been biting his lip to not pull away when, staring unseeingly over her shoulder, noting dimly that she'd remembered to put her bookmark in before she started this, he'd realised he was thinking of that moment again-standing in the door, with the need to speak to Cameron, to _do_ something-rising in his throat.

He hadn't thought he'd been any stiller than usual, but after a moment, he'd felt her stop, and had realised too late he hadn't been keeping track of his own movements.

"Ed?" Justine had pulled back, hand pressed into his cheek. "Are you OK?"

It had taken Ed a few moments to look at her and then he'd tried to force a smile. "Nothing. Nothing, just-"

He'd guided her mouth to his again, tried kissing her, telling himself he'll like this, he will, he just needs to stop thinking about it, he's managed to stop thinking about it before, at least a little bit, but his thoughts had kept straying and after a few moments, Justine had leant back and said "Ed, sweetie-"

"I'm sorry." Ed had pulled back, shaking his head. "I'm-I'm th-sorry, I just, I can't seem to-"

"Sweetie, it's all right-"

"No, no-it's just-" Ed hadn't been able to explain it, but then he's never been able to. So he'd just shaken his head and eventually managed "I'm just tired and it-it's not anything you-you're doing-it's just-"

 _Just._ He'd had no idea what it was _just_. (And it had whispered in his chest that it's always _just,_ that maybe this time he was thinking about Cameron, but it's always been _just_ , really.)

Justine had been gentle about it and that had made Ed feel even worse-she'd just let him lie down, her hands stroking his hair, and even when he'd closed his eyes, his thoughts had kept running into one another, that lurching shakiness back in his chest as though something might give when he least expected it, trying to ignore the way her fingers had traced his scalp.

And now, he's sitting here in his office, with a koala in his chair and David Cameron waiting for him to say something.

He opens and closes his mouth because Cameron-

Cameron was worried.

About him.

Cameron was worried about him.

But Tom's voice is ringing in the back of his head and it's they that sharpen his tone and almost spit the words out of his mouth. "I suppose _Lynton_ was concerned, too?"

Almost immediately, Ed winces at how childish the words sound.

Cameron's staring at him. ""How do-what do you mean about-" He blinks. "He's a _koala."_

Ed blinks. "What?" he asks, the absurdity of Cameron's statement hitting a little too late.

Cameron blinks. "Oh. You mean-Crosby-Lynton _Crosby-"_

Ed stares at him and then glances back at the koala. "You named the _koala_ Lynton."

Cameron shakes his head. "It's a long story." He glances at the koala again. "As is why it's here. It's just-Boris-and the kangaroo-" He sighs. "It's a long story."

Any other time, Ed would reflect on what on earth that story could be.

(Then again, it's Boris. Maybe not.)

"What do you mean, Lynton was concerned?" is what Cameron says and that's when Ed laughs, the lurching sensation from the day before returning with a vengeance.

Cameron's staring at him now, brow creased. "Lynton doesn't even know about this" he says slowly, staring at Ed with an expression Ed can't quite decipher. "He doesn't even know why I'm here."

Ed blinks, scrabbling for words. "Well-"

He bites his lip, Cameron moving closer now, hand gripping the back of the koala's chair.

"I expect-" He laughs again, because he's not sure what to react to the sight of Cameron standing there, looking so-

"Well, I suppose-I suppose Lynton will be happy to know-I-I mean that his idea's working th-so well-"

"What idea, Miliband?" There's a bite of annoyance in Cameron's tone now and that makes it easier, for the words to snap out-"That idea about you pretending to get on well with me to improve your ratings, Cameron. I mean-I've no doubt it _worked_ rather well-"

_"What?"_

Ed blinks. Cameron is staring at him, eyes wide. He looks as if he's been slapped.

"What on _earth_ do you mean?" Cameron almost shouts it at him. "You actually think that I'm-I'm spending time with you because Lynton's _asked_ me to?"

Ed stares. Cameron's looking at him, brow furrowed, mouth grasping for words.

Ed opens his mouth and then closes it again. "I-"

He shakes his head. "I-I don't-"

With a shock, he realises he doesn't know.

Cameron shakes his head. "I-" He shakes it again and then takes another step forward. "You-you actually-that's not _true."_

Ed's fingers tighten on the edge of his desk because the sheer-the sheer _relief_ of this that hits him-he feels almost-

He almost feels _weak._

Cameron's still staring at him, his own hands gripping the other side of the desk now. "What on earth gave you that idea?"

Ed swallows. "I-" He struggles to steady his voice. "Tom told me-I-he said it didn't look good with publicity and that-Lynton and him had talked about it-"

"Hang on-" Cameron holds up a hand. "Lynton talked about it with him? With Baldwin?"

"That's what Tom said."

He wants to believe that it's not true-wants to believe _Cameron,_ of all people-but then why would Tom-why would he-

"Right." Cameron looks away and Ed watches as he squeezes his eyes shut before pulling his gaze back to Ed's, his hands now gripping the desk even tighter.

"Listen-"

Ed realises he's leant forward somehow, so they're facing each other across the desk.

"I'll be honest with you-"

Ed's stomach drops. He bites his lip hard.

Cameron meets his eyes. "Yes." Cameron doesn't look away and Ed's mouth feels strangely dry. "Lynton told me that we needed to appear more-amenable to each other. For both of us-but-he didn't tell me to do anything else-he-and by the sounds of it, your lot as well-just wanted us to look-well. A little more personable. Less of the Punch-and-Judy politics sort of thing-"

Cameron swallows. "But-that was all. All the rest of it-" He looks away, then back again. "That was nothing to do with them."

Cameron's eyes find Ed's, holding his gaze. "Or-or politics either, come to think of that."

There's a long silence. Ed swallows hard. Cameron's gaze doesn't leave his. Ed can hear the ticking of his watch, which is suddenly very, very loud.

"Oh" is all he can manage, his voice suddenly rather faint.

Cameron just keeps looking at him.

"Is that what you thought?" His voice is lower now. "That all this was-was just a political manoeuvere?"

Ed swallows suddenly, very aware of how close he and Cameron are. His heart seems to be beating very fast. "No" he says, voice barely a whisper.

He doesn't know what quite is happening. He's so near to Cameron, he could count the other man's eyelashes.

"I mean-" Cameron swallows hard, and Ed watches the movement of his throat up and down. "I mean, I'm not sure what it was for you, but for us-"

"It wasn't for us, either." Indignation colours Ed's tone a little. "It won't-I wasn't trying to-" His hands open and close. "It wasn't political for me, either."

Cameron's mouth twitches a little. "Chris said you were upset."

Ed feels the heat rise in his cheeks. "Yes-well-" His eyes dart away from Cameron's, his fingers wrapping together. "N-not upth-set-just-"

Cameron makes a strange, convulsive movement as if he's about to grip Ed's arm but then thinks better of it. "Well-I was-I was worried about you. Miliband."

There's another silence. Ed knows he's blushing, which of course, makes it worse.

"I-I juth-st-I-um-"

Cameron's still watching him and a small smile's playing about his mouth now and that leaves Ed even more confused.

"I thought maybe I'd-ah-done something wrong, as it were."

Ed feels, for the first time that day, a reluctant smile tug at his mouth. "Well, that's nothing new, Cameron."

Cameron rolls his eyes. "I _am_ trying to demonstrate concern for your well-being, Miliband-"

A small laugh escapes then, a little higher than usual. "I-ah-" He stops abruptly and then his eyes meet Cameron's before he can stop himself. "I didn't know what-to say to you."

The words hang there in the air between them.

Cameron gives him that grin again-the one Ed's strangely familiar with from PMQs, that isn't quite _happy,_ but that Cameron seems to pull out whenever he's-

"I thought maybe I'd upset you."

"I can't decide whether that's sensitive or patronising, Cameron."

Cameron's brow creases, but the smile hovers. "I meant it to be the former, rather, Miliband."

Something about the way the dimples deepen in his cheeks as he smiles leaves a strange confusion spiking sharply in Ed's chest.

He waits for one of them to pull back, but neither of them does and then Cameron just tilts his head a little and something about his smile is a little smaller-almost shy and something happens-a warmth that spreads through Ed's chest, an almost giddy feeling that pulls what he knows must be a stupidly happy grin to his mouth.

Cameron's eyes gleam with what looks like amusement but his voice is soft when he says "I was rather worried, you know. About you."

Ed swallows, and tries to pretend his face isn't burning. And that neither of them has moved.

"Thank you" he manages. "It-that was-"

He means to say _appreciated._ He means to say _considerate._

What comes out instead is "Nice of you."

Cameron's eyes soften a little which is when Ed realises that neither of them has leaned back at all.

They both blink, then look away. Cameron moves around the desk towards him and then says, a little quieter "Did you really think it was all political?"

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it again. Strangely, he finds himself grinning uncomfortably.

Cameron grins back, looking a little confused.

Ed grins back again.

The moment stretches out awkwardly.

It's then that Ed realises that they're both standing grinning silently at each other and opens his mouth. "Oh. Well. Thank you. For worrying about me."

Cameron's smile, if possible, broadens.

"Well. Thank you. For being all right."

"Right."

They look at each other for another moment and then Cameron says "Besides, I wouldn't do that to you."

"What?"

"Well." Cameron clears his throat, looks away. "You know. Use it. Politically. This."

Ed's face is suddenly far, far too warm.

Cameron swallows, a little too quickly. "I mean. Well. You know I don't dislike you."

Ed's words stick in his throat.

"I just-wanted to make sure you weren't under some misapprehension." Cameron gives him the smile again, the one he does when he's uncomfortable.

(Ed should feel more gleeful than he does at the idea Cameron is uncomfortable too.)

"I wasn't."

"Good."

Ed feels an irrational wave of irritation and at the same moment the urge to laugh pushes at his mouth.

"I don't dislike you either."

"Good."

"Good."

Ed glares at Cameron. Cameron frowns back. Ed purses his lips and looks away, then looks back to find Cameron doing the same.

"Well, I don't" he says, rather emphatically, and Cameron's mouth twitches. "That's all right then, neither do I."

"I know."

"So do I!"

Cameron's eyes are far bluer this close. Which is precisely when it occurs to Ed that he shouldn't be this close.

"Well." Ed swallows hard. His hand is brushing Cameron's sleeve.

"Well what?"

"Well. Just-well."

He can hear both of them breathing a little too loudly. His hand's still touching David's sleeve.

There's a small thud and both of them spin a little too quickly towards the sound.

The koala is lying on the floor, staring up at them.

Ed watches it for a moment, then turns back to Cameron. "Really, you named it Lynton?"

Cameron's smirk darts back into view. "I wasn't aware you were an expert on the monikers of the average koala family, Miliband."

"Firstly, there are a lot of things you aren't aware of-"

"Of course-"

"Distressingly many for a Prime Minister-"

"Naturally-"

"Secondly, I wouldn't hold it as a badge of pride-"

"And third" Cameron announces, smirk now fully back in place. "One thing you seem to be consistently unaware of is the need for sustenance. Would you like to come and eat lunch-I don't want you to have an easy excuse come May-"

Ed feels his own smile grow rather more quickly than it should, even as his mind catches at the question of what else there is of which he is unaware.

But right now, it's easier to sink into the walk out of his office, Cameron at his side, a sea of curious stares ahead of them and a decidedly oddly-named koala tucked under Cameron's arm.

* * *

 

"Daddy." Flo's arms are tight around David's neck. "The tree is as big as a _chimney-"_

"It's bigger than that-" Elwen leans against him, cheeks flushed from the cold, even here, safely ensconced in the warmth of the living room. Sam's already making hot chocolate and Florence has apparently decided that her father's face is the best warming tool for her hands.

"No, _no-"_ Flo is shaking her head now. "A chimney is so _tall_ -it almost touches the _sky-"_

David laughs as he lifts her a little higher. He presses a kiss to her cheek, stares out of the window down at the Christmas tree they stood outside the previous night to watch unveiled, the children safely bundled up in coats, out of sight of the cameras, the way they had been tonight when they'd been taken out for a longer look.

"I think Father Christmas might be flying across that sky in a couple of weeks-"

He grins as Florence throws her arms tight around his neck and almost screams _"Father Christmas!"_

Sam appears in the doorway and gives David a grin, while miming slamming her hands over her ears. David winks, shifting Flo a little as he squeezes Elwen's shoulder. "Now, once you've all warmed up, I should think that Libbie might come over-and Luke, if they can get him out of his room-"

He casts a glance over his shoulder at his elder daughter, whilst Flo giggles happily into his neck, and feels his smile fade. Nancy hasn't joined them at the window and she's avoiding David's eyes altogether. She's slumped on the couch, staring into space, without any sign of having heard her father at all.

"Nance?" David eyes her cautiously and after a few moments, his daughter's eyes stray to his face. "Are you OK?"

Nancy blinks, as if the words take a moment to sink in, but then she shakes her head. "Oh-oh, yeah-I guess."

David frowns as Nancy ducks forward again, her face cast red in the glow of the fairy lights. "That doesn't sound very certain."

Nancy just shrugs and David frowns at her. Usually, Nancy would be rolling her eyes. Usually, she'd already be throwing out some preteen Phil Dunphy comparison, while David squeezed her shoulders. But now, she just sits there, staring into space. David's heart twists in his chest.

He opens his mouth but right then is when Flo begins wriggling and twisting in his arms, saying "Daddy, Daddy, I can't _see-"_ and in the time it takes him to pull her back up and ruffle Elwen's hair when Flo's foot nearly catches his head, Nancy slides off the couch and trots quietly out of the room, leaving David to stare after her, the fairy lights flashing on and off all around them.

* * *

 

George is fairly used to public events and in the car, he grins down at the text he receives from Dave.

_Please wear that high-viz to our next Cabinet meeting._

George sniggers.

_That text could be seen rather doubtfully, Prime Minister._

_As doubtful as our latest Member of Parliament?_

_Not as doubtful as referring to Salmond as "our"._

_Probably the only way to keep us all safe from him. Though I think that might be Labour's problem._

George frowns. Labour has a lot of problems, but Salmond?

_Salmond?_

_Just an idea of Lynton's. Talk about it when you get back._

George knows David better than he knows politics. And he knows politics too well.

And now, staring at his phone, he has to reflect that he knows when David's on the brink of a new idea-and this one has something to do with the SNP.

His phone buzzes again and this time when George sees the name on the screen, his heart sinks.

Clegg's name feels like a shout and he doesn't need to read more than the first few lines- _You cannot keep ignoring my fucking calls, we have got to fucking sort this out-_ to gather the tone.

Ignoring the niggle in the back of his brain to reply, he lets his finger dance across the screen. It's almost too easy to use these phones. You can get rid of something before you let yourself think about it.

Before he's finished reading it, the message is deleted.

* * *

 

Ed stares mournfully at the Christmas tree, which, to his consternation, never seems to be quite straight enough.

He glances at Daniel, who's currently holding on with his arms around Ed's neck. "Are you enjoying putting baubles on?"

Daniel turns the ornament over and over in his hands. "Why can't Mummy help?"

Ed shakes his head, trying to keep his eyes away from the door. "Mummy's very busy" he says, which is what he said when Daniel shoved the paper onto the floor after the fifth timed flash of the camera for the Christmas card and he'd tried not to wince when his son had almost spat out "Mummy's _always_ too busy."

Now, Sam nods, clearly distracted by the brightness of the fairy lights, but Daniel pushes out his lip. "Mummy's not _busy._ Mummy just sticks up for _plants."_

Ed stares at his elder son whose lip sticks out even further as Daniel stares right back at him.

 _"Daniel."_ He hardens his voice, waiting for his son to apologise, with big eyes and pursed lips, the way he always does after a few moments.

But this time, Daniel just glares back at him and Ed stares at his son, taking in the fact he's almost glowering. He grasps for what he's supposed to do in this situation, the appropriate warning or punishment he's supposed to dish out.

But then Sam tugs at his trouser leg, bleating "Daddy, Daniel-" and in the moment that Ed glances down at his younger son, Daniel wriggles violently, kicks a little and then slides out from under Ed's arm, dropping to the floor.

 _"Daniel-"_ The cry's torn from Ed's throat as his son blinks, clearly shaken. But when Ed reaches for him, Daniel bounces upright, and takes his younger brother's hand, guiding him to the tree as Ed stares askance at the back of their heads.

* * *

 

"Speak to him, George."

"That's an unusual opening."

"I'm serious." Danny's voice is lower than usual and George feels his own smile fade as he resigns himself to the fact Danny wants a Serious Conversation.

"You're out of line here, you know."

George stops. Danny's voice is a little smaller now, but oddly firm when he speaks again. "You agreed those plans."

"Yes, I know I agreed the plans-"

"And now you're saying you disagree, just like-"

"I'm not saying I _disagree."_ George leans back against the wall, keeping his own voice level. "I'm saying I've looked at them again and I just need to question some-"

"You promised he could launch it on Friday."

"That was before I checked it-"

"George." Danny's voice slices across his own. "This is Nick's bloody _constituency. "_

"I know that."

 _"No-"_ Danny's voice spirals a little now, wavering louder. "George, you _don't_ know that. Or you're not _acting_ like you know that. This is important to Nick. You don't know _how_ important-"

He stops. George waits.

"I don't know how important it is?"

(It doesn't need to be a question.)

For a moment, Danny just breathes on the other end of the phone. Then, George hears him say, louder, "It doesn't matter."

There's a pause and then "That doesn't matter. Just-this needs to be sorted out." Danny's voice is crisper now, sharper.

(Not really Danny, or at least not the Danny George likes.)

"I know that, which is why I'm-"

"No, George. This needs to be sorted out _soon."_

George doesn't tell Danny and hopes Danny doesn't know that sorting this out soon might be the best thing for Nick, which is why George is keen to drag it out as long as possible.

* * *

 

* * *

 

_Why the fuck are you ignoring me?_

_Clegg, this shouldn't be discussed over the phone._

_We shouldn't be fucking discussing this at all. And it's not over the fucking phone._

_I'm not going to talk if you can't be practical._

_This isn't about fucking practicality. You promised. It should have been launched last week._

_This is childish, Clegg._

_I don't care. This is my fucking constituency._

_It will still work for your constituency._

_You know and I know that isn't fucking true._

_We'll talk about this face to face._

_And when will that be?_

_I have a busy schedule, Clegg._

_I used to think you had some fucking decency._

* * *

 

David supposes he'd be tired anyway after a flight to and then from Turkey, but sitting in this Polish hotel room, heart aching with how much he wishes he could hug each one of his children right now, he knows that his head's aching with far more than an excess of air travel.

He still remembers the bite of cold in the air as he'd walked through the gates, wrapped snugly in a jacket and he'd stood there, thinking of thin striped pyjamas and shaved heads and of course, he'd known all the details before, but actually seeing it there is something different, something that had left David sick and shaking.

Now, lying on his hotel bed, for the first real time alone he's had since he got on the plane to Turkey, he wishes there was someone to talk to without having to assume the usual diffident air.

It usually comes naturally to him (it's not as though it's some kind of _front)._ David's always found it a lot easier not to get worked up until one knows it's absolutely necessary-

He reaches for his mobile phone and is already hovering over Samantha's number when he remembers she'll be putting the kids to bed and they'd agreed that he wouldn't speak to them until the next morning. The children might know he was visiting a concentration camp today but David doesn't want to take the risk of a sudden bout of emotion hitting him on the phone and frightening them.

So instead, he scrolls to George's name, then remembers that he's probably in a meeting. It's only then that it occurs to him that there is someone else he could call.

He's missed PMQs, after all. This could count as compensation in a way.

"Reached enough people to warn them of the evils of the Tories, Miliband?"

Miliband laughs, a little higher on the other end of the phone. "How do you know?"

"I've heard about your speech." David feels a smile tug at his mouth as he lies back on the bed. "How did the Tory-hating seem to come across?"

"Rather well." He can hear Miliband's voice, a little lower now as he asks "How's the bargaining away of the country going?"

David laughs but the sound comes out a little weak. "Not quite as rapid as your party would have managed it but-" He debates whether to say it and then decides he might as well. "Just-had a tougher day today. Not with anything to do with the country, before you start scribbling on your manifesto-"

He waits for the laughter but instead, Miliband's voice softens. "Why?"

David swallows. "I'm-um-I'm in Poland." His voice is smaller than he'd hoped.

Miliband doesn't say anything. David takes a deep breath.

"I've-um-I've just visited Auschwitz-"

There's a short silence and then, quietly "Are you OK?"

David swallows. "Yes." It comes out as a nervous laugh which is choked off quite quickly. "I mean-no, I mean-obviously I'm OK, but it's just-you know-I'm just a little-"

Ed doesn't finish the sentence for him. Something about that makes something unfurl underneath David's ribs, something that blossoms in a way that leaves David suddenly clutching the phone closer to his ear, holding onto it in the middle of all the strangeness and the distance and the loneliness of the hotel room and the chill in the air.

Something that's almost a _warmth-_

"It's just-" David knows he's babbling a little. "It was just-awful. I mean-I _knew_ it was awful-"

The word sounds so horribly small. "But-somehow _-seeing_ it-" He takes a deep breath and only then realises that his fingers are digging into the bedcovers and that he's trembling. "It was-"

All he can see in his mind are the eyes of those children-so many of them, their heads shaved, their hair swept away like whatever they might have grown up to be.

"God-" A laugh breaks out but it's tiny, a fragment, really. "God, that sounds stupid. _I_ sound stupid, I'm sorry-"

"No, you don't."

The words aren't exactly comforting but something about that makes them more reassuring. Ed's said it as if he's stating a fact. And somehow, David says "Thank you."

"What for?"

"I needed to hear it."

He can almost see the slight shrug of Miliband's shoulders. "It's the truth, Cameron."

David finds himself pressing the phone into his ear, leaning back a little. "It-was awful" he manages, something shifting in the air between them, that warmth loosening his voice a little. "I mean-it was just, truly-awful."

He laughs, and this time, the sound's a little too shaky-"God, it was just-" He shakes his head, unable to finish.

Miliband's voice is sharper this time. "Are you on your own, David?"

The use of his first name sends a thrill of something through David. "Yes."

Miliband is silent for a moment and then says quietly "You shouldn't have gone on your own. Not there."

"I know. But-" David can barely remember why he thought it was a good idea to come here alone.

And then Miliband's voice, crackling a little down the line, and with the distance between them. "I'll stay."

The warmth suddenly creeps into David's cheeks.

"Thank you" he says quietly, and Miliband says, just as quietly, "It's fine."

David shakes his head. "It's just-I didn't know what to write" he says and this time, his voice catches in his throat. "In the Remembrance Book. I mean, what _do_ you write?"

"That's all right." Ed's voice is lower now. "I mean-I don't think anyone knows what to say."

David shakes his head. "I just-didn't know what to do" he says, tugging at the duvet. "I mean-there was nothing I _could_ do."

"You went, though." Ed's voice is softer now. "I mean-maybe that's all you could do but-I think it counts."

David swallows. "Just-" He bites his lip. "I wanted to talk to the kids" he says quietly. "I know it's selfish but-I really wanted to talk to them."

"It's not selfish" Ed says, without hesitation. "Anyone would want to, Cameron."

David clears his throat. "It's just-I mean, it's not as though it was _my_ history" he says quietly. "I mean-it's all of our history-but it's not as if I personally _knew_ anyone who-" He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath. "I suppose it just feels-"

"Just because you didn't know them doesn't mean it didn't- _affect_ you" Ed says quietly. "I mean-I didn't-well, I did-but-just because you didn't know someone doesn't mean it didn't-doesn't affect you-"

David feels himself frown. "Miliband?"

Ed waits a few moments before he clears his throat and says "It's just-you know. Being Jewish, it-"

David could kick himself.

"Oh. Oh, God-sorry. I didn't think-"

"It's fine-"

"And honestly, I really didn't-"

"No, it's-"

David bites his lip. "It's just-I've been going on at you and all the time-"

"It's OK." Ed's voice is low and then he says "I'm glad you called. I mean-you shouldn't be somewhere like that on your own."

"Well-" David tries for a laugh. "Not entirely alone. Rather an occupational hazard-but right now-yes" and his voice is suddenly sadder, smaller. "I'm alone."

Ed's voice is soft. "I'll stay" he says again and again David says "Thank you."

He leans back further on the bed. "Have you ever been here?"

There's a pause and then "No." Ed's voice is lower and then he takes a sharp indrawn breath as if about to say something. "I mean, one day-but no. Not yet."

David opens his mouth but Ed says a little too quickly "I'm glad you called."

"You're-"

"Glad. That you called." Ed's voice hovers there between them and then he says "For calling. David."

David swallows. "Oh. Well. I wanted to speak to you-"

He'd thought he meant to say _someone._

"Oh. Well. Um. That'th-that'th-that's f-flattering-"

It's as that lisp touches David's ears that that warmth blooms in his chest again and he finds warmth blooms in his chest again, a small smile creeping across his mouth. Something about the lisp is just so _-Milibandy._

It and Miliband himself are so familiar and suddenly David finds himself seized with a fierce longing to be home-not just with his wife and children but surrounded by the faces, the voices he knows-and Miliband's one of them, the one he's most familiar with arguing with and the longing to be there is so sudden, it's like a grabbing at his chest-

"Well. I'm glad."

"Um-b-but honeth-stly. Are you all right?"

David, considering, is rather surprised on the whole to find that yes, he is, at least, a little better. "I'm OK" he says quietly. "Are you?"

"Yeah." Ed's voice is lower. "When are you coming ho-back?"

For some reason, the unspoken word sends a small jolt of joy through David's ribs.

"Tomorrow" he says, already trying to count how many hours that'll be.

"Well, Nick will be relieved, after today." Miliband's voice is a little more teasing now, the provoking little jibe back that he knows will make David grin.

"I believe Harriet will stay the same."

Ed laughs.

"Well done on the speech, by the way."

"Thank you."

"You've got another one tomorrow, haven't you?"

"Rather brilliant tracking there, Cameron. Now, you just need to get your Chancellor to pay the economy the same attention-"

David laughs. "Maybe you're focusing a little too much on my tracking there, Miliband. And not enough on spreading the message about what horrific money-hoarding Tories we are."

Ed laughs again but the sound's shorter this time, dropping away like a stone. David too falls silent for a moment, holding onto a thought that has just occurred to him.

"It's strange" he says, before he can think twice. "We'll be saying far worse about each other in a few months time."

Miliband is silent for a long moment. David waits for some line about _"That may be Conservative methods, Cameron"_ but instead he just says, very quietly "Yes. I know."

David swallows, the truth of it hanging there, too heavy to move. Maybe it's where he is or the conversation or a mixture that makes him say "You know I don't enjoy it, don't you?"

"Enjoy what?"

"When-" David swallows. "When it gets more personal. When we-you know-"

There's a short silence.

"I mean, I'd guess you're a little fonder of highlighting my shortcomings-"

"No." Ed's voice is sharp suddenly, louder, jabbing the air. "No, I don't."

David grasps for words. He ends up saying, rather feebly, "Oh."

There's another silence and then Ed says "You're right." He pauses and then says, with an obvious struggle to lighten the tone, "Th-sorry-you-you know what they say-a week is a long time in politics-"

David laughs and the knowledge that they both want to believe that a little more than they should settles between them, a weight on their ribs.

"Still-" David's voice is lighter now. "At least it gave Harriet some practice. When she takes over in May-"

"You mean as Deputy Prime Minister, Cameron?"

"Getting in some practice with Nick? Lecturing the world about how cruel I am?"

He expects a remark thrown back or at least a snigger, but Miliband's voice is far, far softer. "I don't think you're cruel, Cameron."

The words are quiet, almost shy.

"You don't?" David's are more nervous than they should be.

"No." Miliband takes a breath and then says "Not even close."

David swallows. His heart is suddenly rapid. "Thank you." His voice scratches in his throat.

"Of course-" Miliband's voice is a little lighter now. "Not being cruel isn't the same as being _competent-"_

David sighs, something like relief uncurling at this-this, what he knows with Miliband. "It's good you're aspiring to a competent campaign, Miliband. Though maybe don't strain yourself-"

"Where did you get _campaign_ from? The same place you find all those extra finances-"

David leans back into his pillow, letting his eyes flutter closed. He just lies there, phone pressed against his cheek, Miliband's voice edged with that lisp right there in David's ear, almost as though they're next to each other, pulling a smile back to David's mouth.

* * *

 

Ed rakes his hands through his hair, muttering "Winter fuel allowance, child benefit cap" because he can't afford to forget something again, he can't, because if he does, they'll never let him forget it, no one will ever trust him-

He can feel the breath stuttering in his throat, as he tries to even his breathing, staring down at his knees as he tries to calm himself-

Strangely enough, it's Cameron's words from the day before that spring to mind. His voice had been a little lighter then and Ed had felt a pang of relief at that, at the fact that Cameron seemed a little more cheerful than when he'd started the conversation, that somehow his choice to call Ed had worked.

"Good luck on your speech, tomorrow" he'd said and Ed had found himself smiling even as Cameron added "I'll be waiting for the insults."

"Well, I'm sure you won't be disappointed" he'd said and David's voice had cracked into laughter on the other end.

Now, there's a hand on his shoulder and Ed jumps as if he's been caught doing something wrong.

"You'll be fine" says Bob, without preamble as he sinks down next to Ed.

"Thank you" Ed mutters without lifting his head.

Bob touches his shoulder. "Stewart and Torsten are just checking reporters" he says, as Tom takes a seat on their other side. "But we just wanted to check something before you give your-"

"Job interview?" mutters Tom. Bob glares at him.

Tom shrugs. "You're the one who kept calling it back."

Bob sighs and, glancing about, lowers his voice, even though there's no-one around to hear. "We just wanted to check rehearsal arrangements."

Ed swallows hard. "You mean for the debates?"

Tom rolls his eyes "No, Ed. We mean for fucking Peter Pan. You're going to be flapping around a stage dressed in revealing tights while Cameron waltzes around in a beard, slinging his fucking hook at you."

Ed tries not to let his mind linger on that image. For some reason, Cameron's voice biting out _masosadism_ leaps in instead and Ed feels his teeth dig into his lip, as his thoughts scrabble for purchase.

"What I would have said-" Bob chips in, aiming a glower at Tom. "Is that yes, the rehearsals for debates. We think it's best they start before the end of the year. That way, we can gain an advantage." He glances at Tom. "You'll note I managed that without the use of crippling sarcasm."

Tom raises an eyebrow and then claps slowly, one hand delivering several slow slaps to the other.

"The thing is-" Bob turns back to Ed. "We're thinking-we're probably going to need to incorporate Nicola into the debates."

Ed blinks at him and Bob hastens to explain. "Not Nicola herself. Just-someone to play her."

"Since the SNP seem to have bloody crawled into life" mutters Tom.

"And we could have more in common with them than the Tories" Bob explains, at which point Tom snorts so hard Ed's tempted to check that he hasn't suddenly transformed into a pig.

Ed stares from one to the other, something not quite clicking into place. "Are you talking about-"

That's when it clicks. "You're not thinking of forming an _alliance-"_

"No" Bob says a little too quickly and Ed shakes his head because "Bob, we are _not-"_

They have to get a majority. They have _to._

"No, we are not, my Righteous Honourable Friend" Tom interrupts, before Bob can say anything. "We're saying we think they might be thinking of forming one with _us."_

"What we're saying-" Bob chips in before Ed can speak. "Is that we'll have to foster some differences between the two parties, _should_ they offer an alliance. Unless, we'd end up willing to-"

"No" Ed interrupts because he's already said he's not planning for coalition with the Lib Dems, let alone an alliance with a party that until quite recently was run by Alex bloody Salmond. "We are _not_ forming an alliance with the SNP."

Tom and Bob exchange a quick, unreadable glance before Bob says, a little too easily, "Fine. But in that case, we'll have to foster the differences. Because if they _do_ want an alliance and they go public with that-"

"The Tories will fucking leap all over it" says Tom succinctly. He eyeballs Ed. "Unless, of course, Cameron's already telling you all this."

Ed stares at him. "What?"

Tom arches an eyebrow. "Unless Cameron's spilling all these details to you? At your barbecues, tea parties, etc.-"

Ed stares at him for a moment before he manages to speak. "Cameron-" he says, keeping his voice determinedly level. "Has not asked me _anything_ about our campaign. And he's said nothing about his."

Tom's eyebrows travel even further up his forehead. "Though you wouldn't tell us if he did?"

At _that,_ Ed's head jerks up because he's _not_ going to let Tom imply-

"He" he says slowly, carefully, even as the anger rises hot and sharp in his throat. "Is not discussing his campaign with me. And I'm not discussing mine with him. We don't share those details."

He glares at Tom now, the undercurrent of the words palpable to all three of them.

"If you say so" Tom says and then, eyes sliding away from Ed's, mutters "God knows what you _do_ share, though."

Ed opens his mouth-though with absolutely no idea what to say-but Bob interrupts before he can get the words out.

"As I was _saying-"_ he shoots Tom a meaningful look. "We'll have to get someone to play Nicola. And the others-Spencer was thinking it might be an idea that we have an away day before Christmas-just a chance to start rehearsals-"

"Good-"

"We're still finalising things but we can take turns playing the other lot." Bob snatches a quick glance at his watch. "Stewart's already plumped for playing Clegg. And-well-"

Ed asks the question he knows they want him to. "What about Cameron?"

Tom and Bob exchange a glance, smiles peeking out at both of their mouths. "Well-"

Bob grins and Ed follows their gazes. "Well what?"

"Tom-"

"Hamilton-" Tom interjects (the Tom who most definitely isn't a Hamilton.)

"Will play him sometimes" Bob continues, looking rather as though he's about to deliver a present to an excitable child. (Which Ed would resent another time, but right now, he's a little too busy wondering whether to be excited or terrified.)

"But we've got someone else, too." Bob threads his fingers together. "And he's agreed to help out with the campaign."

"And to pop his head in today-" chips in Tom. "To say hello. Before your speech."

Ed stares from one to the other, taking in the barely concealed grins on both faces. "Who is it exactly we're-"

At that exact moment, a voice comes booming down the corridor. A voice that is rather loud, rather familiar and that makes Ed's head snap up, his mind suddenly hovering on a time long ago when that voice could root him in his seat.

"And I fucking swear, if this lot don't pull their fingers out, I will be bloody _yanking_ their fucking fingers out, replacing them with a copy of 2010's bloody exit poll, and shoving it _up_ their fucking complacent little arses, and see if that actually gets any of them _doing_ a bloody campaign, instead of lying about like a bunch of fucking dead fish-"

Ed sits very still for a moment, Tom and Bob's identical grins peeking out before all three of them turn just in time to see the man whose voice is remembered only too well, rounding the corner.

"And I'm telling you if I find out there has been another cobbled-together promise, I will be sorely fucking tempted to pick it up and smash the idiot responsible about the fucking head with it and that-that is nothing, I will turn it into a screwdriver, insert it somewhere painful and I will have the half-wit responsible out on the streets quicker than the lot of them get their pants up when the cameras catch them down in bloody Soho, do you hear me? If they don't get their bloody act together, Cameron will be back in Number 10 for the next three sodding decades, and if they do not, they will be fucked so hard that maybe they'll actually be able to croak out some half-decent _crap_ that might actually let them drag their _whining_ little arses back into power- _good fucking day to you too."_

The man shoves his phone back into his pockets and glances up at the three assembled before him. He blinks. "Sorry about that. Friend of mine-" He laughs. "Well-I say friend. More like the sort of knob who attaches himself to you for a free drink, but-"

He glances between them. "I really hope this isn't the average line of the campaign, this-" He gestures. "This impaired-goldfish-watching-porn look. Because I'll be honest with you, if it is, we are basically fucked nine ways to Sunday."

There's a long silence. Ed stares at the man before him, grasping for words for the sight of the brilliant, erratic, possibly mildly _deranged_ man standing in front of him who just might be his campaign saviour.

It's Bob who finally breaks the silence, a slow grin creeping across his mouth. "Hello, Alastair."

* * *

 

David doesn't expect his first day back in the office to involve a sudden commotion outside the door but then David's learnt not to expect things.

He does, however, look up with a frown, wondering if Brown has suddenly cracked and decided it's time he reclaim what he no doubt thinks of as his rightful place as Prime Minister, and it's then that Gavin's voice garbles into the room.

"Er-Prime Minister-we have someone-the Deputy Prime Minister is here-"

"I want to see him _now."_

David barely has time to blink at this when the door is thrown open.

Nick's standing there in the doorway with a face like thunder. Gavin is behind him, hands hovering in the air where he has clearly failed, despite his best efforts, to prevent the throwing open of said door.

"Prime Minister, I tried to tell you-"

"I need to see you" Nick says abruptly, stepping into the office without even a greeting. "Now."

David blinks but eyeing Nick cautiously, decides this is not the moment to exercise Parliamentary procedure and instead just says "Come in."

Nick steps in and David gives Gavin a smile. "Thanks." He's about to close the door when he remembers the way Miliband would do it and says "I'll take it from here." He gives Gavin a quick smile as he shuts the door behind them and turns to Nick.

Nick's standing there, brows knitted over his eyes and David knows that this might take careful handling.

"Cup of tea, Nick?" he offers him and Nick's head snaps up, eyes narrowing.

David knows this might take more careful handling.

"You need to speak to Osborne" Nick barks out, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You need to speak to him, for fuck's sake."

David holds up a hand. "All right-"

"Don't _all right_ me." Nick's shaking and his eyes are a little overbright. "Osborne is fucking me over in my own bloody constituency."

"He just wants to check-"

"He does not want to fucking _check."_ Nick almost spits out the reply, his fists clenched tight. "He won't even fucking meet me face to face. He does not want to fucking _check._ He is trying to bloody undermine me."

"George isn't-"

 _"Yes, he is."_ Nick's finger stabs the air with each word. "You _know_ he is. He agreed these plans."

David takes in a deep breath, then exhales. It's always easy-the angrier your opponent gets, the calmer you become.

It's then that he realises he's already thinking of Nick as his opponent.

"George just wants some time to re-examine them" he says, keeping his voice low. "I understand you're angry-"

"George is crossing _the reddest of red lines_." Nick's fist crashes down on David's desk. "And you're letting him do it."

The truth is that David has let him do it.

It is just rechecking the details. It is just re-assessing a decision.

It's just at a time that's difficult for Nick.

And David chooses not to wonder if that's why George has suggested that now is the time to do it.

"He's not doing it intentionally" he says, his voice softer now. "This is just-unfortunate timing."

"Oh, it's bloody _unfortunate timing."_ Nick almost spits the words again. "And that's _exactly_ why he's fucking doing it."

David steps towards him then, so that they're a few inches apart. "That's what you think?" he says quietly, deliberately. "That George is using this as a political tactic?"

Of course he is; too many things with George can be a political tactic, at least nearing election time.

But he's going to make Nick say it.

Nick stares back at him. "You know George" he says, which isn't an answer and they both know it.

David just arches an eyebrow.

"He is screwing me over in my own bloody constituency." Nick's voice shakes a little and that's when David reaches out to touch his arm.

Nick pulls away. _"Don't."_

"I'll speak to him" because they can't afford this right now. They can't afford the Coalition to fall apart with only a few months left and this isn't ideal.

He knows what George was trying to do, but this isn't ideal.

"Good luck in bloody getting _hold_ of him" Nick almost shouts and David holds up a hand. "Nick-"

"Is this some kind of tactic?"

David meets his gaze. "Excuse me?"

"Is this some kind of tactic for you?"

"I just said-"

"Not for George." Nick meets his eyes. "For you."

They watch each other silently.

When David speaks, his voice is low. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything."

"Well, it certainly sounds like-"

Nick takes another step forward. "You _know"_ he says, his voice lower. "You know what this is leading up to. You _know."_

David looks back at him and says nothing.

Nick stares for another moment-then shakes his head, hand squeezing his other arm as if looking for comfort. "Forget it" he says, the words harsh in the air. "Just make sure George approves the bloody plan."

David touches his arm then and although Nick doesn't pull away, he stiffens. "Nick."

Nick doesn't look at him.

"This isn't about tactics." David says the words a little louder, as if this might make Nick believe him. "It's not. This is just-"

_Just._

"I'll speak to him" because it's not working. George will see that. He'll have to manouvere his attacks from a different angle-one not centred around Nick's constituency.

Nick looks up at him then and nods once. "Thank you." The words are curt, short.

David nods and after a moment, lets his hand fall from Nick's arm. A short silence stretches out between them.

It needs to last a few more months.

David tries to push away the fact that he hoped it would last longer than this.

* * *

 

 

Ed feels a little like he did as a teenager, he decides, around the time the clock hits midnight. It's a party and he's still searching for words, trying to decide how best to broach a conversation. It could be the 80s again, apart from the fact he has a wife with him, there are smartphones everywhere he looks and everyone's significantly older.

And there are Tories here.

To be scrupulously fair, this shouldn't have come as a surprise to Ed. He had asked Cameron if he was going, after all-which had raised an eyebrow from Justine, leading him to point out that he'd already known Cameron's aides were coming.

"Gabby's going" he'd pointed out, straightening his suit. "And Ameet. And Robinson will be there, and you know how half the hard-left calls _him_ a closet Tory-"

"Robinson?" Justine had glanced up at him. "Nick Robinson? The one we had dinner with?"

"Yep." Ed had nodded, buttoning his shirt. "And he's got to be non-partisan, it's BBC-required. Not that anyone th-sticks to that-" He'd folded up his sleeves. "And he's friendly with Cameron, too."

Now, standing here with Justine, his mind buzzing with the latest Tory slip-up-the cuts are ideological, _God_ , why would they _say_ that, why can't they _see_ it's not going to work-he finds himself, even as he grins, wondering what Cameron would think of all this.

He pulls out his phone.

_Pity you aren't here, Cameron. We could always discuss your latest attempts at cuts._

He waits for a few minutes. When Cameron doesn't reply, he shoves the phone back into his pocket with a frown. Something about Cameron not replying jabs at him, even as he tells himself that Cameron's probably just trying to deal with the current catastrophes on his end.

This strangely doesn't feel as gratifying to Ed as it should and he might be a little more concerned about that if it wasn't for the fact that he catches sight of Robinson across the room. He makes an excuse to Justine and is just making his way over when a hand claps him on the shoulder.

"Tories hanging around" comes Alastair's voice in his ear. Ed tries to smile and tamp down the anxiety rising a little too sharply in his chest. He tries to remind himself that Alastair's on his side, supposed to be helping him.

"Well-" He tries to keep his voice light. "You wouldn't want to be a hypocrite, Alastair." His voice comes out a little too high. "I mean, we've all heard about you and some of your-um-well-" His voice is worryingly rapid, but he carries on, seized by a sudden urge to show Alastair that he'll make it worth his while, that it won't be a waste of his time-

"I mean, with what you said about Osborne-I suppose it's a way of advocating for cross-party cooperation, but I-um-" Ed's voice trails off as he realises he's forgotten what joke he was trying to make, or if it was even supposed to be a joke at all.

Alastair stares at him for a long moment, before he says "Fucking hell, Miliband, you really do need some fucking help."

Ed swallows hard. This is what Alastair is _for_ , he tells himself.

And he can deal with this. He has to. And Alastair's just being-

He's just glad no one else has heard.

No one like Justine or Cameron or-

He blinks at the fact that he's just thought of Justine and Cameron in the same sentence.

Alastair's staring at him and Ed bites his lip. "I-"

Alastair takes a deep breath, then turns to one of the caterers. "Excuse me. I need a Scotch. Before I grab one off the nearest fucking table and pour it down my throat-"

The caterer blinks, as does Ed.

Alastair stares at them both for a moment-then his mouth breaks into a grin. "Joke" he says, with a grin and a gentle touch to the woman's arm. "Glass of lemonade, please."

When the confused-looking caterer moves off, Alastair grabs Ed's arm, none too gently. "Look, Miliband, you might have gathered I don't exactly hold back-"

Ed resists the urge to burst out laughing with great difficulty.

"So I'm going to be honest with you, tomorrow."

Ed blinks. "Tomorrow?"

Alastair is handed his drink-a safely non-alcoholic lemonade-which he accepts with a grin and knocks back.

"Thank you. And yeah, tomorrow-" He turns back to Ed. "And don't stare like that, it makes you look like you're not in control."

He takes another gulp, then says without preamble. "Yeah. So, debate prep tomorrow. We'll pick you up."

Ed stares at him. "No-one told me-"

Alastair looks at him as if he's stupid. "I'm telling you right now. Pick you up at eight."

"Eight?"

Alastair rolls his eyes. "Miliband" he says, still sounding perfectly friendly." Let me give you a fucking reality check. You're in a fucking General Election. You prepare for it. You rehearse. You don't turn up and try and fucking throw something together out of whatever shit you're given that day. You're not in the Great Fucking British Bake-Off. Which is fucking torture, when you're dieting, by the way."

Ed's still blinking when Alastair says "I'd tell Justine because you do _not_ want to have that come as a surprise in the morning."

Ed stares. "But-" He's about to protest that he'd left Daniel and Sam with the nanny tonight, that Sam's been so quiet this weekend, that Daniel had just shrugged when Ed had told him they were going out and said "You're _always_ out."

When Justine had held out her arms and said "Aren't you going to kiss us goodbye?", Daniel had just shrugged and turned away, sitting back down beside Sam, with his back to his mother's arms.

Now, Alastair arches an eyebrow. "Ed" he says suddenly and sharply. "I'm not going to lie to you. These next few months? You're not going to have an easy time. Trips to the park? Wave goodbye to the trips to the park. Lie ins? You're more likely to wake up in sodding North Korea. This? This debate prep is nothing compared to what you've got in the next few months. Your wife had a birthday recently?"

Ed blinks at the sudden change in topic. "Yeah-yes, in September-"

"Good." Alastair takes a swig of lemonade. "Any time soon, and you wouldn't have been with her." He claps Ed on the shoulder. "And you're going to feel lousy about it. But that's the way this works. And if you can't handle it, we need to fucking _know."_

Ed swallows hard, grip warm around his glass. "I-" He swallows again, wonders vaguely where Justine is. Wonders how on earth he suddenly feels pinned down on the spot. Wonders, for a strange moment, how Cameron would answer this.

But it's just him and so he just meets Alastair's gaze and says "Tomorrow, then. Eight."

Alastair claps him on the arm. "Atta boy."

He knows Alastair notices he didn't answer his question and wishes he didn't have to notice himself.

* * *

 

It's a few minutes later that he manages to finagle his way into leaning against the wall next to Nick Robinson. He tries to look casual as he sips at his drink, tries to ignore all the worries suddenly niggling about what to do with his other hand, and whether or not Nick's bored, and why he suddenly seems to be groping for words.

"Um-hi-" he manages, feeling ridiculously stupid, especially considering he and Justine had dinner with Nick and his wife, Pippa, just a few months ago. "Hi, Nick-"

Nick, of course, seems completely at ease. "Hi, Ed. Good night?"

"Um-yes. Yeah-yeah-great, great, um-I-"

It had been Alastair who'd pointed Nick out to him with the words "See if you can speak to him. Keep the press onside. God knows they'll be fucking gunning for you enough in the next few months."

And somehow, Ed has found himself standing with Nick, trying to make conversation and wishing, rather desperately, that Justine would turn up or that he could call Marc or that Cameron would get back to him.

"How's your night been?" he asks a little too loudly and then tries not to wince as Nick smiles.

"Fantastic, so far. Bit of a reunion for New Labour though, isn't it?"

Ed tries to laugh again. "Yes-yes, um-just a pity Tony and Gordon aren't here-could finish the evening with an argument-"

He has no idea why he finds it so difficult. He can talk to his colleagues, laugh with them, even to interviewers-but sometimes, with speeches or the press-or just people-sometimes, he just-

Nick laughs again. "Last Christmas before the election." He arches an eyebrow. "Everything could be very different this time next year."

Ed swallows hard and tries to push away how uncomfortably close to home the words are. But the fact is, Nick's right. Ed has no idea what the situation could be this time next year-with him, Cameron, almost everyone he knows-when he thinks of-

He realises then that this is the kind of moment that Alastair would tell him to take advantage of, and so it's then that he says, perhaps propelled by those visions of the future, "Heard about the Tories' latest cuts?"

Nick raises an eyebrow. "Quite a bit. Why?"

Ed knows what Alastair would do here, knows what he'd tell Ed to do and he almost trips over his words in an effort to get them out. "Oh, I-I just wondered what you thought of their motivation-I mean, the fact that they're cutting more-"

"Things Can Only Get Better" is starting and a few cheers break out. But Nick keeps his eyes fixed on Ed, encouraging him to continue.

"More than is necessary-that is just a _clear_ indication of their ideology-"

"Darling-" Justine's hand's on his elbow, interrupting Ed's train of thought. "Sorry, Nick-"

Nick gives her a brief, warm smile, the type he sometimes seems to specialise in giving.

"I was just wondering if you'd like a dance to this-" Justine hardly needs to explain-half the room are now dancing which serves a second purpose of telling Ed who's been taking advantage of the free drinks.

He glances between her and Nick, torn for a moment, and then remembers Alastair's words from earlier.

"Sorry, darling-" He bites his lip, glances between them again. "Just in the middle of telling Nick-"

"Oh. "Justine's eyes flicker from Ed to Nick and a shadow crosses her face for barely a second before she puts a hand on Ed's arm. "OK, darling-"

"Sorry-" Nick interjects with a grin. "Stealing your husband on a Saturday night-"

Justine laughs and Ed does as well, but a second too late.

Justine touches his arm and tells him "I'm going to go and see if there's anyone who can tear themselves away from politics for five minutes-"

Ed laughs but he can feel himself fidgeting, eager to tell Nick as soon as possible, and when he turns round, he almost pushes the words out. "See, the problem with what the Conservatives want to do is that it exposes the _mettle_ of their ideology-" Nick's listening and Ed almost falls over the words. "You see, this just goes to _prove_ that austerity _isn't_ about the state of society, it's about-it's _about_ the Conservatives' basic ideology."

He seizes on the theme gratefully. "Austerity _is_ the Tories' ideology."

Nick gives him a grin and says "Suppose that's Labour's next headline?"

"Well, it hardly needs to be said-" He tries to laugh because if he can just get the message out that _this_ is what the Tories are up to, what they _really_ intend, they'll have a chance to make a difference- "This is what we need to make sure people _know."_

Nick arches an eyebrow. "Looks like we've got a lot to look forward to in the election coverage" he says, as usual, annoyingly non-partisan.

Ed nods and smiles and then finds himself anticipating the rest of the evening stretching out in front of him. When he glances down at his phone, he sees Cameron's name on the screen.

_How innovative, Miliband. It's almost as though you haven't talked about this for the last five years._

Ed shouldn't smile as hard as he does. But in the middle of a party with his wife laughing with one of his friends, it's Cameron's words on the screen that leave him smiling and not for the reasons Alastair would like.

* * *

 

David would not usually spend his Saturday night texting with one hand and on the phone with the other, while Samantha wonders aloud if they'll have the most boring retirement in all of history.

"I'm sure we won't be the _most_ boring" David muses. "I mean, Brown will probably want to take that title for _his_ relationship-"

"Sorry, I'm confused." Sam lowers her magazine. "Is it me or George that you're talking to?"

"Is that Sam?" George sounds completely unperturbed on the other end of the phone. "Frances threw me into the spare room an hour ago and told me that she'd heard more about Ed Miliband from me in the last hour than she ever has from bloody Justine-"

"Well, she's never fought an election-"

"Well, usually, this would be for aides-"

"Well, I didn't actually _tell_ you to do anything; you basically called me and began orating details about Miliband's past-you do know we're not on _This Is Your Life?_ -I'm hardly going to introduce Miliband with a dramatic voice and some ridiculous backing music-"

"Know your enemy" George intones, before he bursts out laughing. "Oh dear God, there's a photo here of Miliband and Balls, asking if they're _the next Blair and Brown_ -like fucking _hell_ they are, Jesus-"

"Jesus Christ, Miliband would probably _collapse_ , if he's being compared to Blair." David props himself up on his pillow. "Brown was basically the man's adopted _father_ , for God's sake-the way he went on about him-"

"Oh? Has he mentioned Brown in all your little tete-a-tetes?"

"Not really." David shrugs, stares at his phone where one of Miliband's texts is emblazoned.

"Mostly, we just-" He searches for a word.

"Jesus, don't leave it too long-" George sounds deeply amused, which is almost never a good sign. "It'll leave me with images that are too fucking awful to contemplate-"

"Oh, shut up." David leans back. "You're the one with the book-how the hell did you get hold of a copy, incidentally?"

"Erm-" David gets the chance to smirk as George waits a second too long before replying. "One of my aides handed it over."

"Mmm. You spoken to Nick yet?"

There's a short silence, as David expects. Then, "I emailed him."

"Approved the plans?"

"Yes. For the New Year."

"Ah." David lets the silence hang for a moment and then "Did he get back-"

"Yes. Briefly."

David sighs, opens his mouth, then thinks better of it. George is silent, obviously shoving the ball into David's court.

He waits another moment, then says "Isn't it by that Hasan?"

There's the briefest of pauses, then "Yeah, him and Macintyre."

David hears George flipping through pages, both of them returning to the book a little too enthusiastically, and then there's a burst of laughter. "My God, did you know we are _hollow men?"_

"We're _what?"_

George clears his throat. " _"Cameron and Osborne, who he viewed as hollow men-""_

David raises an eyebrow. _"Hollow bloody men?_ Well, that's something for a man who keeps trying to dredge up something even _vaguely_ resembling a principle from his own stomach."

"Lovely image." George chuckles down the phone, while David wonders why he doesn't feel as pleased as he should about the joke actually working.

"But us _hollow men-"_ George chuckles again, as he turns a page. "We must do our meagre best for Miliband's lofty standards-oh, look-the frustration in your eyes spurred him on-"

_"What?"_

"I _know."_ David can picture George's grimace. _""He could see the frustration and irritation in the Prime Minister's eyes, which spurred him on-"_ God, it sounds like some dodgy novel that'd be confiscated in Victorian times-what on earth was Hasan _on_ , writing this?"

"Well, whatever it is, I'd rather like some of it. Though, of course, no doubt Miliband would have a fit if he heard-what he no doubt thinks we partook in in the _Bullingdon Club-"_

"Oh, the _shame."_ George snorts and David feels a mean stab of pleasure as he thinks of the words _hollow men_ again.

"Well-" George chuckles down the phone, a little louder than necessary. "If these are Miliband's supporters, you can tell Sam you can keep all the furniture in place come May. What a pile of _tosh."_

David smiles, soaking in the words with a little more glee than usual. This is him and George, working together, to stay here, in government, where they belong.

This is what he knows.

And, this time-for the first time in a while-thinking of May doesn't come with that pang of something disturbingly close to regret.

* * *

 

_ Playlist _

_I'm Callin'-Tennis -this just reminds me of the whole feeling of the impending election and the coming together and pulling apart, not just for David and Ed but for all of them._

_"But your love is divide/You know I'm coming for you/Let me in, I'm callin'/Come on and let me in, I'm callin'/Can you feel it, night is falling/I'm callin' I'm callin'_

_Our Way To Fall-Yo La Tengo -this just reminds me of David and Ed in their quiet, texting-each-other, eyes-met moments, and them trying to hold onto them, even in the run-up to the election._

_"We'll try and try even if we last an hour/With all our might, we'll try and make it ours/'Cause we're on our way/We're on our way to fall in love"_

_Barracuda-Heart -I don't know why, but I associated this with the moment they see Alastair again for the same time. Maybe because Alastair would make a barracuda look feeble._

_"So, this ain't the end/I saw you again today...If the real thing don't do the trick/You better make up something quick/You gonna burn it out to the wick/Aren't you, Barracuda?"_

_Miserable-Tokyo Police Club -this is basically all the tricks they'll sink into before the election and not knowing what's on the other side of it, as well as their struggling to understand each other's points of view, especially for Nick and George._

_"Are you miserable?/I am totally blinded by the sun in my eyes/Are you miserable?/I feel like the only one who gets his way sometimes/Are you miserable/Do you get miserable?"_

_Allergic (To Thoughts Of Mother Earth)-Placebo -this reminds me of Alastair's warnings to Ed, his all-out focusing on the result, and the idea of sacrificing everything for the possibility of victory._

_"Heaven in a tourniquet/The after life to keep your eyes on/bitter pill you take you take today/With expert levitation forward/polished to the nth degree/it takes its' smile from every children/you take the beating....Don't let me down/don't let me down/don't let me down/don't let me down"_

_English Tongue-Palma Violets -this reminds me of the bond between David and George and the way they're prepared to take things further and further in order to net victory, as well as their loathing of what they see as Ed and Labour's moralising, which they can put aside._

_"You can't judge life if you can't understand/The way that we work we're a close-knit plan/Don't speak to me in that judgement tone/You're going with me or you're going alone...There must be someone with an English tongue/Marking your words for the miles you lost/It's gonna be/A cruel cruel winter"_

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nick and George's argument is a genuine one they had, when Nick did demand to see David, which descended into an argument. A couple of the lines of dialogue are apparently genuine, according to the book "Coalition." George did ultimately agree to allow Nick to launch the initiative in Sheffield Hallam, his constituency, but in the New Year, rather than the day after the Autumn Statement as Nick wanted.  
> David did visit Auschwitz in Poland in December 2014: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-30419615  
> You can see the Christmas tree being put up in Downing Street here (an annual tradition): http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-30388912/downing-street-s-christmas-tree-lights-are-switched-on  
> Ed's speech was about spending cuts: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/dec/10/ed-miliband-soul-britain-economy-deficit His worry about forgetting parts of his speech stems from him infamously forgetting to mention the deficit in his 2014 Labour Party Conference speech, which permanently damaged him:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-29339581/ed-miliband-forgets-deficit-and-immigration-in-speech  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/jun/03/undoing-of-ed-miliband-and-how-labour-lost-election  
> Alastair did help with Ed's campaign and took turns with Tom playing David in TV debate rehearsals. Alastair's refusal of alcohol, for anyone who doesn't know, is because he's a recovering alcoholic: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/lifestyle/9664506/Alastair-Campbell-Working-out-how-and-when-I-could-have-a-drink-dominated-my-thinking.html  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/profiles/alastair-campbell-interview-britain-is-a-problem-drinking-country-its-time-we-woke-up-to-it-8808913.html  
> Ed did used to be called "sweetie" by Justine, who used to confiscate his phone: http://www.celebsnow.co.uk/celebrity-news/ed-miliband-my-brother-david-is-hotter-that-s-not-what-my-wife-says-82025 http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/moslive/article-2079322/Ed-Miliband-I-think-worst-habit-excessive-seriousness.html  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/call-my-wife-ed-miliband-left-phone-at-home-for-holiday-8106752.html  
> Ed lost relatives in the Holocaust: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/jan/27/ed-miliband-recalls-death-grandfather-holocaust  
> The party Ed goes to is one that was described as a "New Labour reunion" by Nick Robinson, who was there along with Alastair. There were a mix of people from parties there.Gabby=Gabby Bertin, David's Director Of External Affair: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-4554684/Gabby-Bertin-reveals-campaigns-disabled-people.html Ameet=Ameet Gill, one of David's speechwriters and advisors: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/8155084/David-Camerons-voice-Ameet-Gill-finally-speaks.html  
> Ed did turn down the opportunity of dancing with Justine at the party in order to keep talking to Nick about the Tories' cuts being ideological according to the book "Election Notebook".  
> The book George is reading from is ED: The Milibands And The Making of A Labour Leader by Mehdi Hasan and James Macintrye. All the quotes from that are genuine.  
> Hope you liked it! Leave a comment because they are like cookies and make me write faster!


	11. A Rehearsal of Reparations, A Frequency Of Festivities and The Perihelionic Parallaxes of Playgrounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which there is an abundance of parties, the future doesn't like not being considered, and drawing between stars can be preferable to spending time with one's colleagues."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this is later than usual, but, fortunately, the next one will be far sooner, as this chapter was originally longer, but I decided it dragged on so decided to chop it in two. So it will be up a lot sooner!  
> Again, thanks so, so much for all the comments and kudos-please keep them coming, I read and look at every one :) If you want to read any of the articles linked and can't, or just want to chat about the fic, send me an [ask](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr!

_"It was socialism powered by capitalism. It was a strange, competitive, cerebral and privileged environment. And they were in it together.-Still Alice, Lisa Genova_

_"Because it's actually not awful or anything, walking with him."- I'll Give You The Sun, Jandy Nelson_

_"I took a break to lie on the couch, staring at the white ceiling as E. and Lula talked. A familiar feeling washed over me; I was the odd one out."- Britney Franco, Dear Diary Entry, Rookie Magazine_

* * *

 

Ed leans against the makeshift podium-actually the back of a chair-and swallows hard.

"Don't worry"" Stewart says with a grin. "It's just us."

Ed shoots him a grateful smile and that's when Alastair's voice slices between them. "OK, first cut right there."

He points at Ed. "Worry. These are when you _practice_ worrying. You are going to need to fucking _worry_ in the debates for real. Let me explain this to you-you are _rehearsing_ that panic. This _is_ that panic. If this is _not_ that panic, then when you _feel_ that panic, you will fucking panic _more."_

"OK, Alastair-" Rachel places a hand on Alastair's arm. "I think it might be you who's in a fucking panic."

Alastair whirls round. "And you should be. In fact, you _all_ should be panicking. I don't know if any of you fucking realise this but we are not exactly the fucking frontrunner here."

Ed blinks. Spencer bites his lip and avoids his eyes. Alastair, on the other hand, looks straight at him. "You want me to be honest with you?"

Ed hesitates.

"Because I want to let you know, I'm not going to do this fucking job unless I can be honest with you. Because if you aren't ready to listen-and not just to bloody Axelrod, either, when he deigns to drag his voice over from Stateside-then I'm going to fucking walk out that door." Alastair jerks his head towards the doorway. "Up to you."

Ed swallows hard. Tom's watching him closely. He can feel everyone else's gaze on him.

This is what he needs. He tugs at his tie and nods once.

Alastair stares at him for a long moment, then grins at him. "Good."

* * *

 

An hour later, Ed's standing still, leaning against the back of the chair, his head aching with arguments.

"The fact is, Nick" he says to Stewart, who looks nothing like Nick Clegg. "You broke your promises. You made a promise on the tuition fees and you _broke_ it-"

"I've said that" Stewart says, nodding in a remarkably Clegg-ish way. "I've accepted that and I've apologised-"

"Well, that's not going to be enough." Ed catches sight of Alastair nodding encouragingly. "That's not going to be enough for the thousands of students you let down. That's not going to be enough for the thousands of students whose futures you gambled with. And they'll _see_ that-they've _seen_ that and they won't trust you again."

He takes in a sharp breath and he hears the applause break out. He glances round, eyes shooting again to Alastair and he feels his heart quicken slightly when he sees Alastair grinning. He feels a small smile making its' way to his own mouth.

"Good." Alastair claps his hands. "That's good. Might be an idea to use that line against Cameron, though-have a bit more weight-" He claps Stewart on the shoulder and gives him a grin. "Good Clegg impersonation-thought he'd fucking snuck in myself for a minute." He snaps his fingers. "Which reminds me. Any thoughts on Scottish accents?"

Ed blinks. "Scottish-oh, Nicola Sturgeon? Head of the SNP?"

"Damn right Nicola Sturgeon, head of the SNP. Nicola Sturgeon who's just become head of the SNP and could bloody torpedo you." Off Ed's look, he nods. "Did you even pay attention to that referendum? There's a fucking surge of Scottish nationalism sweeping across the bloody map and if we're not careful, it'll be choking the sodding life out of the Labour party."

Ed stares at him and Alastair folds his arms. "Honestly" he says, as Stewart tilts his head, eyes now fixed on Alastair. "You need to have some fucking preparations in place for if she offers you a coalition."

Ed, who's just taken a gulp of water, promptly spits it out down his front. Alastair grimaces and hands him a tissue. Bob rolls his eyes and mutters something like "Glad the cameras didn't catch that one."

Ed ignores him, staring instead at Alastair. "You can't seriously-you can't honestly consider that Sturgeon would want to form a coalition with us?"

Alastair folds his arms and it's Torsten who says "Not with us-"

"With you" says Alastair bluntly and Ed stares at him. "With-"

"You know-" Tom folds his arms. "What they're saying about Sturgeon."

Ed shakes his head slowly.

"They're calling her the next Thatcher" Tom tells him. "Not the fucking ideology. The whole persona. And that is not bloody good for us."

"They're saying she's strong" Torsten says more quietly.

"And they're saying-" Alastair fixes his eyes on Ed's. "That you're weak."

Ed stands still, vaguely aware of his heartbeat, suddenly loud in his ears. Torsten's avoiding his eyes. Ed can feel the colour rising in his cheeks. His palms suddenly feel damp, and he pushes them together, swallows hard.

Alastair steps forward then, lowers his voice. "I said I'd be honest with you."

"I know." Ed's voice is tight, smaller than he'd like. He forces himself to meet Alastair's eyes. "I want you to be."

Alastair nods. "So we need to get to rehearsing against Sturgeon. As soon as possible-"

Ed nods. "We'll find somebody." He struggles to brighten his voice, to prove to Alastair that he can do this, that Alastair's time isn't being wasted-

Alastair nods. "Good. Might need to get someone in for Bennett, too." He claps his hands together, making Torsten jump. "Right. We don't know if Cameron's taking part yet-"

Ed frowns. "I think he will-I mean, it would look awful."

Alastair shakes his head. "Regardless, we'll rehearse both ways. Look, you and Cameron in PMQs does not look good-"

"I know-"

"For either of you" Alastair continues, as if Ed hasn't spoken. "But a little less for him-so now, we need to focus on that, work on it." He claps his hands. "So. Five minutes. Then time for the Cameron rehearsal."

Ed frowns. "Who's playing Cameron?"

Immediately, Tom smirks and Ed's gaze flickers to Alastair with a sinking certainty that he already knows the answer.

Alastair smiles. "Me."

* * *

 

As Alastair moves to stand next to him, Ed should probably be considering his arguments, but infuriatingly, his mind simply darts back to what had happened after they'd reached home the previous evening.

He hadn't been able to think of a great moment to tell Justine that he would be disappearing for the whole of Sunday-now, he has to reflect that there was probably never going to be a good moment to tell her that-and he'd ended up blurting it out with his back to her as she got into bed.

She'd remained quiet for a moment and then-"Wait, wait-why are you telling me this now?"

Ed had swallowed before he'd turned to look at her. "Alastair's idea. We need a rehearsal, especially if I'm going up against Cameron-"

"You do go up against him, every single week-"

"It's a completely different thing-"

"How is it a completely-"

"Because this is an entirely different context, it's on a wider range of issues, we have to rehearse-"

"I understand that, but I still don't see why it has to be on a Sunday morning-"

"Oh, for God's sake." The words had been ripped out, jagged with his own annoyance."This is something that needs to be done as soon as-"

Justine had pointed warningly at the door and Ed had forced his voice lower. "As soon as possible-"

"Why can't you just reschedule-"

Ed had laughed. It was, on reflection, probably a bad idea. "Just reschedule, do you know how busy _they_ are-how busy _I_ am-"

"I'm perfectly capable of understanding how busy people are-" Justine's voice had lowered, calmer, firmer, the way Ed imagined she was in court. While the thought usually amused him, made him proud, now all he feels is annoyance, sharp and bitter in his throat.

"And that's why we have to arrange this for tomorrow-"

"The children wanted you to go to the park-" There's a bite in Justine's voice now, too. "They wanted to go to the park with you, they wanted you to-"

"Well then, why can't you take them-"

"Because I've got preparations to do, I've got to consult with the experts-this is one of the biggest cases I've done, for God's sake, Ed, I don't need to tell you that-"

"Right. So it's fair for you to leave them for work, but not me-"

"I _leave_ them?" Justine's eyes had been brighter now, her voice sharper. "I _leave_ them, that's what you think I do-"

The words almost rear up in Ed's chest- _Well, you've said it before._

"I didn't mean it like that-" Ed's hand had dragged itself through his hair then. "I didn't, I didn't mean-I was trying to point out-it's not, you can't say your work has to come before mine, you can't just-"

"My work-you _knew_ this was my work-I've been upfront with you about the scheduling of _my_ work, you _knew_ this was pencilled in-"

 _"I_ was upfront with-Alastair told me tonight and I told you after he told me-"

"You can't just expect me to drop this at the last minute, for pity's-"

"Of course I don't bloody expect you to-you expect me to drop _my_ commitments, so don't play that card-"

"Play a-you think I'm _playing a card?"_

Ed had been ready to collapse then, to just throw his head down onto a pillow and forget the whole thing. "That's not-for God's sake, I just asked if you could take them to the park-"

Justine's head had fallen forward then, forehead resting on her hands. "Well, I can't take them-" She'd raised her hands, then let them fall. "I can't rearrange this now, it's just impossible-"

"And I can't rearrange mine now, so it looks like we've got a logjam."

Justine had lifted her head suddenly. "Well if you're going for this away day, what time will you be back?"

Ed had shrugged. "I've got abth-absolutely no idea, I don't even know where I'm bloody going-"

"You don't even _know-"_

 _"No-"_ and it had burst out of Ed's mouth. _"No_ , I _don't_ know where I'm going, there's another bloody reason for you-"

"Well, who's going to look after them then?"

"I've got no-we'll have to call my mum or something, I don't bloody know-"

"Is she going to be free?"

"I've just said, I've just said, I've just told you I've got no bloody idea-"

Justine had sighed. "Well, we're going to have to try-or we could just get hold of Zia-"

"She's Monday to Friday, she's away, we can't ask her to come back-"

"Well, we're going to have to hope your mum's free, aren't we-"

"Why are-" Ed's struggling for the words, scrambling at the back of his throat. "Why am I getting the blame-"

"You're not getting the blame-"

"Why do I _feel_ like I'm getting the blame-"

Justine had raised her hands. "I don't know why you feel like you're getting the blame. You're not getting the-don't do that-" as Ed had turned away, shaking his head at the impossibility of how irritating the situation looked-"Ed, that's just incredibly irritating-"

"Well, I'm _irritated."_ Ed had heard the words explode out of his mouth and this time Justine's shushing had just served to make his voice even louder. "If this was you-" The words had fallen out unintentionally, as though they'd been thought many times before. "If you'd been told you had to go into work, you wouldn't have thought twice about it when-"

Justine had stared at him. "You know-" She'd pressed her head into her hands, as if she might find the answers hiding in the gaps between her fingers. "You know-we've always agreed we'd talk about it, that it was important if issues came up with careers, that it was important I had my own-"

Ed had suddenly found himself leaning against the wall. Quite suddenly, he'd just felt tired, the anger falling inside into a gnarling mess of knots, that had left him furious and exhausted at once, like an inarticulate, weeping toddler.

"I can't do this now" he'd said quietly and Justine had stopped talking, instead staring at him with a bemused, wondering look.

"Ed-" and then she'd stopped herself and begun again. "You know I don't-for God's sake, you know I don't always relish having to put it first-"

Not _having to._

"Before anything." The words had come out as though they'd been waiting to breathe.

Justine had stared at him. "What?"

He'd already been shaking his head. "It doesn't-"

He'd just turned to the door then, the room and the words and the argument all closing in on him until he hadn't wanted another breath of it.

"Ed-" Justine had called after him but he'd walked out of the room anyway and it hadn't been until he was lying in bed in the spare room that he-perhaps both of them-had accepted that Justine wasn't coming after him.

They still hadn't been speaking in the morning and it had been when Justine had bent to kiss Daniel's head that Ed had realised it wasn't just him who wasn't in the best of moods with his wife.

"Daniel-" Justine had bent down to give their son another kiss. "Are you going to say goodbye?"

Daniel had just stared at the TV screen, where the Octonauts were jabbering. Justine had bent down further, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Octonauts, Daniel?"

She'd pressed her mouth closer to his cheek and Daniel had made a small, angry noise, pulling his face away.

Justine had stopped and Daniel had kept his face turned away. "Daniel?" She'd tried to give him a squeeze and Daniel had made another, shorter noise and wriggled hard. When she'd tried to press her mouth to his cheek again, Daniel's arm had flailed, pushing at Justine's arm and then at her face, shoving her back.

 _"Daniel-"_ Justine had caught at their son's wrists.

But Daniel's gaze had drifted past her and he'd pulled away, his eyes fixed on the TV screen.

Justine had glanced at Ed. Ed had looked away. There had been something prickling under his skin, a stab of something a little too close to vindication.

When Justine had reached for Sam, he'd just sat still, eyes on the screen and when his mother had said "Sam?" the little boy had simply stared straight ahead.

Justine had pressed a kiss into his hair with the words "Mummy'll see you later, all right?" Sam had stared past her at the screen and Justine had hovered for a moment, but when neither of her sons had looked at her, she'd moved to the door and when neither of them had turned, she'd slowly walked outside, leaving them behind.

Justine had stopped next to him in the hallway and while she hadn't quite met his eyes, she'd seemed to wait for him to say something.

He'd waited for himself to say something. Something about how young the boys are. Something about how they just don't understand yet. Something about how they'll appreciate it all one day.

He'd waited. He hadn't said anything.

Justine had opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I'll be home about seven."

Ed had nodded.

"I don't know" he'd said before she could ask. "It's Alastair running it-I've got no idea how long it will go on for."

And he'd almost been looking forward to it by that stage, just because arguing, practicing, going over the points he'll be making in a few months time, sounded better than standing there wondering what to say to Justine in a house that suddenly seemed too quiet with two little boys who'd rather stare at the TV screen than speak to either of their parents. Who it feels a little too like they're leaving behind.

But-they're not. They're not.

(But too often, it feels like-)

"Have a good day."

He'd managed to tell her that. Justine had managed to thank him. She'd managed to kiss his cheek and tell him good luck.

When she'd called bye to the boys, there'd been no answer at all.

Ed had sat with them while he waited for the car to pull up and tried to join in, chanting along with the characters in a manner that was ridiculously over the top but would have sometimes been a worthy sacrifice for the laughter he'd get from the boys. Today, with the boys barely glancing at him, all it had done was make him feel profoundly stupid.

When it had been time to go, he'd given the boys an awkward hug each and for him, Sam had managed a "Bye" and a lean of the head into his arm. But Daniel had still sat there, silent, and even when Ed had left the room with a grateful nod as Zia had moved past him to take over, Daniel hadn't looked at him once.

"You're not even _paying attention-"_ and Ed's head jerks up to see Alastair glaring at him suddenly, and his voice is different now, harsher. "See, _that_ is the leader you are electing. This is the person that you are being offered to get into Number 10. The same person who can't be fucking bothered-"

"He's not going to say fucking, Alastair-"

Alastair whirls on Stewart. "Well, I'm going to say fucking. I'm going to fucking say fucking if I feel like fucking saying fucking. And I'm going to fucking say fucking if it means it fucking gets through to him."

Alastair meets his eyes and Ed swallows as the other man raises an eyebrow. "Ready?" The word holds more of a challenge than last time.

Ed chews his lip, then forces himself to stop to meet Alastair's gaze. "Yes" he says and then a little more firmly "Yes."

Alastair folds his arms. "Good."

"Right." Greg gives Alastair a nod and says "Shall we tackle economy first?"

Alastair nods, busying himself with his notes and Ed, seeing their eyes on him, does the same. He squeezes the paper between his fingers, races through the arguments in his head-global financial crisis, Tories borrowing records, austerity targeting the poorest-

Alastair lifts his head and nods. Greg fixes his eyes on him. "David Cameron, if you get elected, how are you going to prove to the British public that they can trust you on the economy?"

Alastair clears his throat and leans forward a little, similar to the real Cameron. "Well, if the British public need a reason to trust us, all they need to do is look at our record. When I became Prime Minister, we inherited an economy that was falling apart-" Alastair brings his hand down in almost exactly the same way as Cameron does and then points directly at Ed. "Thanks to the mess left by _him_ and the rest of Gordon Brown's advisers who were left floundering in the Treasury, and the British public will remember-this man, who is now leading the Labour party, who claims he wants to be your Prime Minister-" and Alastair looks straight ahead, as if finding the camera. "Was one of the men who was happy to leave every single citizen of this country struggling and helpless, while _he-"_ Another point at Ed. "Was happy to cling onto the coattails of the man who'd sold the gold and plunged our nation into this crisis."

The indignation rises furiously, opening Ed's mouth, the old explanations already climbing in his throat but Tom shakes his head, and with an effort, Ed forces his mouth shut and Alastair, casting him the quickest of glances out of the corner of his eye, goes on.

"What I can promise the country the Conservative party will deliver are the vows that we set out in our manifesto. We were left with an almost incomprehensible deficit, which we have managed to almost halve in under five years. Unemployment figures rocketed under Labour-we have taken those figures down."

Greg nods at Ed and Ed immediately turns to Alastair, trying to picture Cameron standing there, arching his eyebrow, staring at him.

"The truth is, David-" Something about the name in his mouth feels strange and he almost stops, nearly tripping over the next few words. "The British public aren't blind-they can _see_ -they can _see_ your failures on the economy because _they're_ the ones who live with the repercussions every day." He can feel himself finding his feet, the words stringing themselves together into sentences now. "The people living with and paying the price aren't the people in the Westminster bubble, they aren't the people in that fortunate top 1%. It's the-the mother who's working three jobs to try to keep food on the table. It's the hardworking families in the squeezed middle who _I've_ been speaking to who have somehow completely missed the benefits you claim the population is reaping and instead are feeling the effects of your government's cuts. _They_ are the ones that are paying the price under the Conservatives-they will _not_ be the ones who will pay the price under Labour."

Stewart claps. Torsten whistles. But Alastair, when Ed turns to him with a cautious, hopeful smile, just stares back impassively for a moment, before suddenly, surprisingly flashing a smile.

For a moment, Ed's shoulders relax. But then Alastair beams-a smile that isn't Alastair's at all-and says "Do you know, I'm glad Ed Miliband wants to talk about the truth because I've got some truths for him." Ed feels his own eyebrow arch as Alastair positions himself, one hand taking his weight, the way Cameron does.

"The truth-" and Alastair points at Ed now. "Ed Miliband is going to tell you tonight that he wants to be your Prime Minister. But here's what you need to remember about Ed Miliband. This is the man who nodded along with Gordon Brown's brilliant plans to sell the gold. This is the man who happily stood by and recommended we borrow and borrow and borrow some more, so that when the world was hit with a financial crisis, our nation almost buckled as a result. This is the man who was happy to ignore every attempt at a reparation to the damage we attempted to put in place-" Alastair fixes his eyes on Ed's. "All of those reparations that he warned us against helped us to make progress. All of them. And Ed Miliband was willing to overlook each and every one purely to strengthen his own political position."

Ed feels it hit him in the chest, the smack of shock that quickly filters into white hot burning indignation. His mouth opens, the words piling up ready to explain when Alastair holds up a hand.

Ed struggles but clamps his jaw shut. Alastair waits until Ed has remained silent for a few moments before he goes on. "This is the man whose own Shadow Chancellor thinks that the note Liam Byrne left in the Treasury-"

Ed rolls his eyes.

Alastair punches the makeshift podium. Torsten nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Do not roll your fucking eyes." Alastair is pointing right at him. "Do not fucking roll your fucking eyes. It looks like you're rolling them at the fucking public. You think that's going to get fucking votes?"

Ed swallows. He can feel the stares of the others on him. He feels small, stupid, his limbs suddenly too gangly, too unwieldy for his body. Alastair is glaring at him.

Ed nods mutely. He can feel the heat crawling up his cheeks. He swallows, folds and unfolds his fingers.

Alastair barely waits until Ed meets his eyes again before he launches back in. "This is the man whose Shadow Chancellor sees the damage they've done to the economy-" Alastair turns round to face an imaginary audience. "To your country-as a joke. _That_ is the man Ed Miliband wants to put in charge of your money."

Alastair steps back and gestures at Greg, who blinks, as if no longer sure who's in charge in the room. "Oh. Um-" He swallows, clearly jolting himself back into character. "How would you respond to that, Ed Miliband?"

Ed swallows hard to buy himself a few moments. His face feels hot and cold. He feels like he did at Haverstock, the first time someone hit him-the pain still spreading through his face, his cheek already swelling but hot shock, waves of it, gripping his insides leaving him shivering, something too close to tears prickling at his eyes, even his teeth chattering.

Now he swallows hard, his gaze wavering. "Um-"

He can sense Alastair's roll of the eyes before he even lifts his head and usually that would spur him on but now-he can feel his mouth working, groping frantically for words that are struggling to make an appearance.

"Well-what David Cameron has just told you is wrong" he manages, his voice quavering far more than he would like. "It-it is a complete fabrication to say that I don't care about the people of this country. In fact, I'd say, if we were to compare policies, then I'd say that the only party you could accuse of not caring about people are the Conserv-"

 _"No."_ Alastair's voice is like thunder and Ed isn't the only one who winces. His hands are suddenly clammy and he finds himself clutching the back of the chair harder, so the wood is digging into his fingers.

"Answer the question." Ed somehow manages to meet Alastair's eyes, which are overbright, the way Ed remembers well from all the times he'd encountered Alastair in government. "For God's sake, it's what you accuse Cameron of. People aren't stupid. They've heard Cameron throw five different shades of shit at you there, they want to know what you're going to say to it."

Ed doesn't dare to meet the eyes of any of his aides now. He wonders briefly, if Tom or Greg will interrupt at all and doesn't know whether he's hoping for that or not.

"Right." He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment so he doesn't have to meet Alastair's gaze. "Ed Balls-" Somehow, he tries for a laugh. "Ed Balls may have an-unorthodox sense of humour. But I can assure you-while he-he may have tried to lighten the mood-he did not regard the-the situation we found ourselves in as a joke. We-" He squeezes his eyes shut. "We made mistakes with the economy, that is true. We made mistakes which must never be repeated. But we are determined _-I_ am determined-that we can show we've learnt from these mistakes. And whatever David Cameron tries to tell you, he and his party do not have all the answers. Austerity hasn't worked and the right thing to do would be to accept that and move on. Instead David Cameron wants to cut more, not less. If you vote for the Conservatives on 7th May, _that_ is the party you are choosing." His words sound weaker but at least he gets them all out.

"And how would-"

Alastair's already talking. "I would respond by pointing out Ed Miliband is completely wrong on the figures. We have almost halved the gap of the deficit through cutting and tough choices." Alastair lowers his voice. "These are not choices we wanted to make. These are not choices anyone wants to make. But these are the choices we were forced into, left with by Labour. By _him-"_ and Alastair points at Ed. "Brown, Balls and Miliband and they're using the same arguments now that they used seven years ago when the financial crisis first hit. That just proves that Ed Miliband, one of the _key instigators_ of this crisis-" Alastair stabs the air with each word. "Is not willing to take responsibility. Taking responsibility is what a strong leader does. Accepting responsibility is a show of strength. And-" Alastair fixes his gaze on Ed. "I'd think we'd go too far to expect that strength from a man who has been described as one of the weakest leaders the Labour party has ever had."

Ed's mouth opens and closes. He feels as though every word he could try to summon has vanished, just ripped away. Sickness curls suddenly, tight, in his stomach.

"That man-" Alastair's pointing at him now, jabbing the air with each word he speaks. "That man who left us with these impossible choices-that man, who stood by and let this country be plunged into turmoil-that man who can't even bring himself to stand up to his own Shadow Chancellor-" Alastair looks out at the audience. "Do _no_ t, if you care about the future of this nation, ever let that man walk into Downing Street."

A dead silence falls after these final words, but they ring through. They're ringing in Ed's stomach and chest and he's hollow and too full at the same time and suddenly feels like he might vomit. His knuckles are white around the back of the chair. He feels ripped open, raw, empty.

It's Tom who breaks the silence. "Jesus Christ, Alastair-"

Alastair shakes his head, not even looking at Tom as he does so. Instead, he keeps his eyes fixed on Ed, who can feel his own gaze wavering, a horrible trembling spreading into his limbs at the sight of the glare on Alastair's face, teeth clenching as he narrows his eyes, staring straight at Ed. "That was the first question."

* * *

 

Ed is gripping the chair tightly. He's been trying to force himself to meet Alastair's eyes for the last hour but it's been getting steadily harder, the way it's been getting harder to meet the eyes of his aides. The way, it's starting to feel easier to fix his eyes on the makeshift podium, his shirt cutting tight under his arms, sweat damp on his back. Cold nausea grips his stomach.

"He is trying-" Alastair is saying, addressing the room at large. "To use Syria as an example of strong leadership. Ed Miliband, using Syria as an example of strong leadership. Let me remind him what actually _happened_ back in 2013. This man-" Alastair points at Ed. "Was called into a room to help us respond to a chemical attack by President Assad on his own citizens. Nick Clegg, William Hague and myself were trusting and relying on this man's help and support-and, to be completely honest with you, his decency. Not as a politician, but as a human being." Alastair points at him again. "And what did Ed Miliband do? He prevaricated, he postponed, he evaded. He said he wanted to support action, then changed his mind."

"I never _said_ I would support action-" The words burst out without thought. "I never gave anyone a promise of support-I said I'd _consider-"_

"This is the man-" Alastair says, talking over him. "Who ultimately withdrew support-support he had previously promised-not because he thought it was the correct option. Not because he wanted the best for the citizens of Syria. But because he wanted to try to score some political points."

Alastair's glaring at him now and it hurts. Ed keeps his jaw tight, even as he feels himself tremble. He closes his eyes, searches frantically for anything he can hold onto to keep his breathing steady, the way he used to-and the memory hits him like a punch-the way he used to back when he stood in a line of five, his brother a few places away and had to say, with David's eyes on him, that he didn't think his brother was as good a leader as he would be.

Alastair's voice slices into his head, forcing his eyes open. "This man was willing to put political capital above people's lives. This is a person who is willing to put his own career before the innocent lives of people who rely on politics to protect them. This is a man who, when push came to shove, put his own interests before the lives of civilians."

"That isn't-" Ed's voice bursts out of him, cracking on the words. "David Cameron is misleading-we never gave a _promise_ on support-"

"You said you would be _willing_ to show support for action and you went back on those words-"

Ed sees Torsten wince and at that moment, his shoulders slump.

Alastair points at him. "That is Ed Miliband's view in a nutshell. Indecisiveness, manipulation and above all else, putting your own career first- _that_ is what Ed Miliband thinks makes a good leader and _that_ is the sort of leader he'd be."

Alastair snaps his fingers. "Next question."

Ed blinks. "But-"

Alastair shakes his head. "Shut up."

A ripple spreads through the room, like a whisper. Ed feels himself grope for words. "I-"

Alastair holds up a hand. "You nothing. _You_ don't get to talk. Cameron's already talked. He's already said every word that'll make the headlines. And he's nailed you. For the rest of the night, every single person in that audience will be sitting there and every time they look near you, they're going to be thinking of what he said. No matter what you say now." Alastair turns away from him and Ed mouths wordlessly as Alastair says "Next."

Tom's looking pale. Things are always bad if Tom's looking pale. His eyes flicker briefly to Ed's and then glance away again. Ed feels a wrench of something like embarrassment and something like guilt and something-

He stopped meeting the eyes of most of his aides a while ago now-probably after the first question. For the last-hour? Ed's lost track of the time now-the questions have been there, hitting him over and over. He's aching as though he's been battered, Alastair's words bruising his skin, cracking him open.

Greg slowly reads out the next question. "How, when asking people to vote for you, can you ask them to trust in your leadership?"

Ed sees Stewart flinch and wants to hide. He blinks, furious at himself. This is-he knew this is what it entailed, he knew this is what he'd have to be prepared for. It's absolutely ridiculous that-

"David Cameron" Greg says, motioning towards Alastair.

Alastair clears his throat and steps forward. "I've been Prime Minister for five years. When I became Prime Minister, we inherited a country in crisis after thirteen years of a Labour government. We were faced with terrible choices, difficult decisions. I'm not going to stand here tonight and say that we got every decision right. I'm not going to claim to be a perfect leader. But what I will tell you is this; every decision I have made has been with this country's future in mind, with the future we can all head towards under consideration. And we have learnt from the mistakes of the past-from the mistakes of Labour and the mistakes of our own." Alastair turns to look at him and Ed feels a dull thud of something like apprehension in his chest.

"Ed Miliband" Alastair says, looking straight at him. "Has not done that. He wants to go straight back to the days of Labour. To borrowing, borrowing and more borrowing. To the exact same methods he used when he was in the Treasury-the exact same methods which, when hit with crisis, left this country reeling-which Ed Miliband and his party will always be responsible for."

Alastair leans forward, addressing an invisible audience now. "We have learnt from our mistakes and from Labour's mistakes. Yes, we have had to make difficult decisions. But every decision we have made has been to correct the mistakes of the past. Ed Miliband will try to suggest that we have made these decisions out of a lack of care. Nothing could be further from the truth." Alastair stabs his finger down like a full stop. "We have made these decisions _because_ we care. We've left child tax credits alone, we've helped reduce unemployment rates. We _do_ care and we will always do our best to show that I have kept the promises I made. I will keep the promises I'm making you now. For Ed Miliband to say otherwise is nothing but a lie. This is a man who was prepared to put politics above people's lives. This is the man who was prepared to twist and lie and manipulate. This is the man who has proven in the past that he is willing to put his own career before British citizens, before the lives of innocent people, and before his own _family."_

Stewart freezes, eyes flickering immediately to Ed. Torsten's mouth drops open. Greg's knuckles whiten on the paper. Rachel just stares, pen hovering in her hand. Ed notices all those things vaguely and quickly at the same time and he feels it hit him. It hits him hard in the chest then spreading out through him, cold and hot at once, his hands trembling. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He doesn't even know if he can or if he should speak or if he-what he should say-

Alastair is finishing speaking, finishing his sentence but Ed can't focus. He feels as though he's been hit. He feels the same way he did the time some older kid threw a punch into his chest back at Haverstock, the same shock catching his lungs a few moments later, the aching sickness spreading down, under his ribs. He tries to breathe slowly, levelly, but all he can feel is the hot shock of it in his brain. And he-

 _He won't say it_ is suddenly searing into his brain, screaming quietly underneath it all. He won't-Cameron wouldn't say that because-because he can't-he wouldn't be, he honestly-

Stewart's staring at him and Ed realises belatedly that he must have been prompted to speak. His brain seems to have been stunned. Any words he reaches for are gone.

He opens his mouth but is cut off by Alastair punching the chair. "For fuck's _sake."_

"Alastair" says Greg but his eyes flicker to Ed's. Ed swallows and tries to form words, any words.

"For fuck's sake." Alastair nearly kicks the chair over. "What the _fuck_ is that meant to be? A fucking deer in headlights?"

 _"Alastair-"_ This time, Greg's voice is much louder and the glower he aims at Alastair makes Ed flinch.

"Do not fucking _Alastair_ me-" Alastair jabs a finger at Greg as though he's just insulted Blair. "You asked me to do a job. And my job is to tell him where he's fucking up. And _this-"_ The finger is jabbed at Ed this time. "This is fucking up. This is _more_ than fucking up. This is a fucking catastrophe laid out in front of you."

Ed feels the words hit him in the chest. The "this" might as well be a "he."

"Let me show you-" Alastair actually kicks the chair. "Let me show you what they'll do to him out there. And I swear to you, what I'm about to do is goddamn pretty fucking mild, compared to the media, who will fucking bite off his head and spit out the bones."

Alastair wheels round to face him. "You don't have any answers, do you?"

Ed blinks, his fingers white over the back of the chair.

"You don't have any answers for what you did."

It's a statement rather than a question and Alastair arches an eyebrow at him.

"I-"

"You can't explain why you plunged the country into debt with borrowing because you have no excuse for what you did-"

"I didn't-"

"You can't explain why you refuse to accept responsibility for this, because the truth is, pure and simple, that you're a coward."

The words ring out in the room. Ed swallows hard.

"That is the man claiming he would be a good Prime Minister for your country" Alastair announces, swinging round to address the room at large. "A coward who refuses to defend his own party's record in government because that record was inexcusable." Alastair stabs his finger down again on the last word.

He wouldn't do that. The thought slaps Ed in the face before he can push it away. He wouldn't-Cameron wouldn't say that-he'd never-never gone-

"You borrowed" he says helplessly. "Your borrowing has exceeded what Labour borrowed, your-"

It sounds as if he's pleading.

"This is the man who showed himself to be a complete hypocrite over the Syria atrocities-"

"You wanted to rush in-" Because he _did_ , Cameron wants to rush in, Cameron _always_ wants to rush in, he never bloody _thinks_ about anything-

"This is the man-" Alastair goes on mercilessly and Ed tries to reach inside himself for the ruthlessness, the thing Peter had once told him to hold onto ("You don't get anywhere by being nice, Eddie"), the clear-headed righteousness that he'd once held onto throughout the leadership contest, with his brother standing just a few feet away.

"This is the man who was happy to put politics before the lives of innocent people-" Alastair turns so he's looking Ed straight in the eye. "This is a man who's so blinded by ambition that his own _family_ are considered dispensable."

It's an aching coldness that cracks into Ed's chest then, something that spreads out over his words, trapping them. "That's not true."

"But then-" Alastair laughs casually. "This is a man who thinks so little of his family, he couldn't even be bothered to add his name to his own son's birth certificate."

Ed's heart almost stops. In the room, he registers a few indrawn breaths. He stares at Alastair, so shocked any hint of a retort has vanished-

How-how dare-

And then, even as Alastair launches into the next remark- _Cameron wouldn't say that-_

"But this is the man, the man who claims to want to be your Prime Minister, this is the man who was willing to crush his own brother's ambitions so he could crawl into power. And he plans to do the same with this country. Make no mistake-" Alastair looks out as though addressing an imaginary camera. "Ed Miliband doesn't care about the good of this country. Ed Miliband cares-and _only_ cares-about himself." Alastair raises an eyebrow. "Which is exactly why he stabbed his own brother in the back."

This time, there are more than a few indrawn breaths. Ed barely hears them. The words smash into him. He swallows hard. He feels his mouth open and close and his knuckles whiten on the back of the chair.

Alastair's eyes are fixed on him. "That man-that man whose leadership was described by his own _brother_ as a soap opera-that same brother who can't even bear to be in the same _room_ as him-actually thinks _he_ would be a good Prime Minister."

Ed can't speak. He can't think. He feels a sickness sinking into his stomach and when he looks down, he can see his fingers are trembling.

He closes his eyes, grasps for any words at all.

"The same man who doesn't care about his own family" Alastair's saying while Ed struggles to keep his breathing even. There's something hot prickling at his eyes.

"Wants you to believe that he would care about any of you-" Alastair points at him. "He wouldn't. He's let down the Labour Party, he's let down his family and he'd let down the _country_ if he were Prime Minister."

The words ring through the room and that's when Tom moves forward. "That's enough." His own voice cracks a little. "That's fucking _enough."_

Rachel's already staring at him. "Are you OK, Ed?"

Ed can't look at her. He can't look at any of them. He swallows, again and again, and his hands shake.

"Ed?" says somebody-he thinks it's Torsten, but he can't say anything because his eyes are prickling, his cheeks are too warm and _no, no, keep it together, no-_

He shakes his head and then he's moving away from the chair, his eyes down, feeling the breaths begin to shake in his chest and he has to get out of here.

"Need some air" he manages to gasp or something like it, and then he's pushing quickly past the others and he doesn't stop moving until he reaches a door and finds himself out on the fire escape, cold December air slapping him in the face, his breath coming in tearing gasps and his eyes too hot and prickling and a little too wet for his liking.

* * *

 

_"I meant it, you know."_

_"You didn't mean it. " Because his brother didn't mean it, or he meant it but he meant something else too. Once, Ed would have known it or thought he did._

_David looked back at his brother._

_(He's always been able to do that look at you. Ed's eyes have always danced or stared too hard, and his hands have always waved and his voice has always faltered a little, but David's always been able to just look.)_

_"This isn't good for them, you know. This soap opera." David gave him the briefest glance. If glances could whisper, this was one, and Ed felt himself blamed and trapped in one look._

_"Or for us" David had said, almost as an afterthought, and Ed wanted to laugh and shout at the same time._

_ There isn't an us. _

_"You don't want there-" It had been all he was able to manage and David had just arched an eyebrow._

_(When they were children, Ed used to spend hours trying to copy the way his brother did that. He could never do it, of course.)_

_David just looked at him, and then, under that perfectly arched eyebrow, said "Well, it's not just about what I want."_

_And Ed had heard the confirmation and denial in those few words. It would have been easier if his brother had screamed at him._

_(It would always have been easier if his brother had just-)_

_"I won't see them" he'd said helplessly because it had just occurred to him, the boys, and because it was the only thing he could say._

_(There was too much to say and so that was the only thing he could say.)_

_David just shrugged, raising one shoulder in a little gesture. An aah-well gesture. An aah-well-sacrifices gesture. Like he couldn't be bothered to raise two. "We'll work something out."_

"Ed?"

Ed turns round hastily, wiping at his eyes, welcoming the way the cold air bites at his skin. He turns, blinking hard as he's jolted out of his reverie. "I-yeah-"

It's Alastair. He's not smiling, but he walks forward and then leans forward, folding his arms on the railing beside Ed. He looks down for a moment, then turns back to look at Ed. Ed doesn't even think about walking away.

"They think I was too hard on you" Alastair says abruptly. He looks Ed straight in the eye. "Do you think I was too hard on you?"

Ed swallows, unsure whether it's a trick question or not. He chews his lip, fingers clenching around the railing.

Alastair's voice is lower, then. "If I'm hard on you, it's because they're going to be harder."

Ed feels an obligation to say something. "I know-" he manages. It's all he can manage and he looks away, because the worst part is that he knows Alastair's right.

Alastair's voice lowers. "Oh, Jesus Christ, Miliband. Don't tell me you're fucking crying."

Ed ducks his head quickly but the shame of it stabs into his chest and he can't bear to look at Alastair. It's pathetic. It's shameful. He can't get through one rehearsal without-

He feels something nudging at his hand and he turns to find Alastair passing him a tissue.

He feels almost too ashamed to choke out a "Thanks" and Alastair nods and waits until Ed's wiped his face dry.

When he speaks again, his voice is lower. "You've got to be prepared, Miliband. You've got to be fucking prepared, because for all you know, he's going to be much fucking harder on you than that."

Ed stares over the railings, trying to touch the greyness of the December sky for a moment, and then he says "You mean-Cameron?"

Alastair snorts. "Of course, Cameron. Who else are you going up against, Hague?"

Ed takes a moment to absorb the words and then abruptly begins to move, wandering back and forth, his fingers trailing over the railings. "He wouldn't" he hears himself say suddenly.

There's a moment of silence and then Alastair says "What?"

Ed trails his hand along the bars again. He used to do the same thing as a child, counting the railings he passed as he walked to school, with his brother walking ahead of him. (David always walked ahead of him.)

"He wouldn't-he's not-Cameron's not going to say that" he manages. "He's not that-" He searches for the word. "Vicious."

There's a silence and then Alastair says "Listen."

This is so unlike Alastair that Ed looks round very slowly, still taking in the fact his head has actually remained attached to his body.

He's not even sure, now the words are out, what made him say it. Just-the fact it's _true_ , because Cameron _isn't_ that-

Not that Cameron won't _say_ things-

But it's just-

What Alastair came out with-

It was so-

Vicious and-

And Cameron _isn't_ like that.

Not the way Alastair thinks-

"I don't know what's between you and Cameron-"

Ed's head jerks up sharply at that.

"Whether you're-friends or whatever-" Alastair dismisses this with a twitch of the head. Ed feels his shoulders sink in relief and then wonders why.

"But that's got to be forgotten." Alastair holds up his hands. "I'm not saying it's fucking easy. But when you're preparing for this-you've got to forget it. While you're behind your podiums, he's the fucking enemy. I don't care if he had you and the wife over for dinner last night, while you're up there, he's not your fucking friend, all right?"

Ed swallows. Alastair's not shouting but Ed's got no doubt that that could change in a second. He's got too much experience of Alastair.

But Ed says it anyway. "That's not what I meant."

Alastair raises an eyebrow and that's when Ed says, quickly "He wouldn't say that. I mean-I know all of that but it's not-he _wouldn't_ say that. He's-he's not that-" He bites his lip. "Malicious."

Alastair stares at him for a full moment before he says "I sincerely hope you're fucking joking or I don't know whether to fucking kill you or kill my-fucking-self."

Ed's teeth sink into his lip harder, the tissue crumpling in his palm as his hands curl into fists. "No" he says, despite every instinct in his body screaming at him to shut up.

(He doesn't even know why he's arguing.)

"It would-that would look as bad for him as it would for us" he says, voice a little stronger now. "It would look-gratuitous."

Alastair stares at him for a long moment and Ed waits for the explosion. But Alastair just says, voice lower-which is somehow more terrifying-

"That's a point. But these points are still there. And you need to have a fucking defence because I can guarantee you now, Cameron's going to throw at least one of these fucking lines at you. " He takes a step closer, lowers his voice. "There's too much, Miliband. There's too much for him not to throw at you."

Somehow, that stings as much as the questions had.

"It's just-he's never that-" Ed searches for the word but trails off when he sees Alastair's eyes narrowing.

For a moment, he thinks Alastair's going to scream at him. But then instead, Alastair just steps forward, leans closer.

 _"There's only one person around here I can remember knifing a Foreign Secretary-"_ he says, quietly, looking Ed straight in the eye. _"And I think I'm looking at him."_

The words twist in between Ed's ribs, falling into his memory, polished and smooth and sharp in Cameron's voice, and he feels his cheeks flame.

Alastair keeps looking at him. "The thing is" he says quietly. "That's what some people think when they look at you." He raises an eyebrow. "Too many people."

Ed stands very still, his throat swelling.

Alastair just keeps watching him. "So we can't give him a chance to hammer the idea in too firmly."

Ed tugs at his suit. He's shivering a little and he looks away, taking in the way the view sprawls out into the distance.

"You know why I'm doing this" Alastair says abruptly, tugging his jacket higher. He doesn't look at Ed but instead follows his gaze out to the distance. "It's because I want you in Number 10."

Ed nods. Whenever anyone says those words, it makes him swallow and shiver and he's stopped being able to tell whether it's from excitement or not.

"Ten years of the Tories" Alastair says suddenly, with his eyes on the horizon now. "At least. If Labour don't win in May."

"We'll w-" Ed tries to say it but he can't quite yet.

Alastair gives him a long look but doesn't say anything yet. Then, he says quietly "Make sure you do."

He turns back to the horizon. "You know, we need Labour in government" he says quietly. "God knows what'll happen under five more years of Tory rule. At least five more years of Tory rule."

Ed flinches. Alastair doesn't look at him and he says quietly, "You know, with no power, we can't help anyone."

"I know that." Ed remembers joining the party when he was seventeen, the surge of pride he felt that he was doing something. That he'd be helping people.

"So I-" Alastair suddenly takes in a deep breath and says "Miliband, can I ask you something?"

After getting over the shock of Alastair asking permission to ask a question, Ed nods. "Um-yes. Yeah. Of course-"

Alastair gives him a strange half-grin. "How do you do it?"

Ed frowns. "What?"

Alastair turns away. "The-friends with Cameron. I mean-I can understand being friends with Tories-" He laughs suddenly. "I'd be a fucking hypocrite, otherwise. But-it's unusual."

Ed opens his mouth and then closes it again. He grasps for words, because he-

Cameron is just-

Cameron is-Cameronish.

(Cameronish. Cameronesque?)

He's a Tory and an Etonian and a Bullingdon Boy.

He helped Murdoch and supports austerity and fights for the bedroom tax.

(The _bedroom tax_ , of all things.)

He's the person he's got to beat and-

And then he can burst out laughing far too easily, his whole head tipping back as if he just can't contain whatever he finds so amusing.

There's the way his voice is always there in the back of Ed's mind, arguing and contradicting and niggling in a way that shouldn't make him smile.

There's the way he looks at his children and Ed's children too, with that grin and the way he hugs them, the way he wraps their arms tight around their shoulders like a shield.

There's the way he looked on that train, as he talked about riding to boarding school all those times, over all those years. There's the way, sometimes, he can-

He can do something-

Something-something so _kind_ that-

Little glimpses of it, like the sun through clouds but it's _there._

It's just-

"I don't know" he says, honestly. "I don't-but he's-"

Alastair raises an eyebrow. "What?"

Ed can't finish the sentence so he answers the question with a question

(exactly the way Cameron does that Ed _hates)_

and says "You don't really think he'd be that cruel?"

Alastair looks back at him for a moment and suddenly, it occurs to Ed to wonder just how much of this he's got ahead.

"I think" Alastair says, after a few moments, "He knows sometimes he has to be."

The words hover there for a moment before Alastair says, even more quietly now "And sometimes you might have to be, too."

There's not much to say to that so they stand there for a few moments more, looking out at everything stretching out in front of them before Alastair mentions they should probably get back inside, before someone thinks they've fallen over the railing.

Ed laughs a little too loudly and they turn away back to everything they still have to plan.

 _Because he's Cameron_ is still hovering between them.

Almost like that alone is good enough.

* * *

 

They rehearse until it's dark. Dinner is grabbed from a service station on the way home.

By the time he gets home, Daniel and Sam are both long asleep.

Justine's in their bedroom.

He stands at their door for a long moment. From out here, he can't tell if the light is on or off.

He turns away from the door and goes to the spare room and tells himself it's just because he doesn't want to wake them.

* * *

 

"And if you make a mess, then David will clean it up for you. As he does most other things."

There's an outbreak of laughter and David grins at her, while George digs him in the ribs. "Our wives enjoy shaming us. I've a mind to complain" he says with a grin, as the crowd heads for the buffet table, the children's hair still damp, sticking wetly to their heads-David can see the translucent drops on Nancy's dress where she's obviously pulled it on too hastily after the pool.

"George" David says, with a pat to the elbow. "Your wife found it amusing when Natalie Rowe's name was all over the headlines. If anyone should have the right to complain about their marriage-" He yanks a napkin off the table and smacks George affectionately with it. "It is not you."

"Or you, sweetheart." Samantha's voice tickles his ear and she gives him a squeeze and a wink. "So, watch yourself."

Sarah, who has accompanied her to the table, gives them both a rather more ominous grin. "Sam's kinder than I would be."

George waits until the two women are occupied with collecting their food and then mutters "How do they do that?"

David shrugs. "God knows. But if it's possible to have an influence this young, I'm really regretting making Sarah Florence's godmother."

* * *

 

David's examining one of the goat cheese tarts when the voice brushes his neck. "Please don't turn this into a repeat of your seventh birthday, Dave."

David takes a moment before he turns round to meet Alex's eyes, taking in his elder brother's small grin-one that could appear polished to those who didn't know him well.

"You're amusing" David says drily, offering his brother the plate. Alex takes one with a grin.

"So was that." Alex takes a bite of the tart. "I never knew projectile vomit was a literal term until then."

David wrinkles his nose. "We're _eating_ , Alex."

"Dreadfully sorry for that lack of diplomacy" Alex remarks, taking an unperturbed bite of tart. "Maybe that's why I'm not Prime Minister."

He gives David a wink. David waits for a moment and then smiles back.

Alex cuffs his shoulder gently. "Tania will be over in a moment" he grins, as the two of them turn to look out over the room. "To let you know just how badly she thinks you're royally fucking the country up." He gives David another grin. "Though no doubt you've got your best friend to help you out there."

David doesn't jump but his arm leaps a little before he can stop it, knocking Alex's arm slightly. Alex's eyes narrow, sharpened steel that flashes the same way it had when David had been one of the only boys in his year group not thrown out when they'd been caught and Alex (who'd probably never touched anything stronger than wine in his life) had been watching him with his head tilted to the side, as though he'd wanted to ask David something. Whatever it was, it had never been asked.

Now, the silence stretches a second more, and then David laughs, and the sound's a little stretched too. "I think that might be a little awkward" he manages, grabbing a tart himself a little too quickly. "Given this is one of the places Miliband is hoping to get his hands on-"

Alex's eyes flash to his again, but this time there's something else there, something like amusement. "I-ah-didn't mean Miliband" he says, a small grin pushing into the corners of his mouth. "I was talking about Nick."

David feels himself falter for the slightest breath and he has to remind himself it's a simple mistake to make. (And he shouldn't really have to remind himself.)

"Oh" he manages. "Well. I suppose I'm fortunate enough to have both-"

Alex casts him another, smaller smile this time. "Both?"

David feels the colour creep to his cheeks and takes a bite of the tart that he doesn't taste. "No doubt you've heard all about how Miliband and I are supposedly the best of friends."

Alex laughs a little too shortly. "You've always been rather good at that."

"At what?"

Alex takes a sip of wine and when he meets David's eyes again, his eyes sparkle a little. "Making best friends." He almost winks. "Even ones you can't keep."

"This from the ruthless barrister?"

"Your term. Not mine." Alex smiles and swallows another mouthful of wine. "It's a compliment, you know."

"Being ruthless?" David clinks his own glass to his brother's. "Or making friends you can't keep?"

Alex laughs and David says, before the sound can die away, "Sam wanted it to be just close friends tonight."

Alex doesn't pretend to misunderstand him. Instead, he says with an arched brow "And Nick isn't one of them?"

The thoughts flash over David's eyes for a moment; the first time Nick was here, the way George-this had been before the time Nick confessed his fears about George's regards-had given Nick a rare smile as David had reassured them that this wine was not supplied from the taxpayers' money, and the way Nick had laughed, with some remark about "Makes a change" and a wink as he took a sip of wine, wedding ring clinking against the glass. He sees Nick's face the previous week, eyes narrowed, face wrought.

David looks back at his brother, gaze sharp, waiting, eyes as bright as the glasses.

David smiles, the way he knows how to. "Like you said" he says to his brother, smile never wavering the whole time. "Making friends you can't keep."

And for some reason, Nick's isn't the only face that comes to mind.

Alex smiles at him before David can hold onto whatever Miliband's remark would be in his mind. "Both" he says quietly, just for the two of them, and for some reason, David tenses. "What?"

Alex meets his gaze. "Both attributes" he says, with a small smile. "Are a compliment for you."

He smiles at David and David returns the smile a second too long, these two compliments they take for their own fizzing in the air between them. Their gazes hold a flash of steel there between them, and then they clink their glasses together-the sound a little too sharp there between them, over the festive clamour all around.

* * *

 

"And if you don't get back next year" Emily says, with a grin at her sister. "Just think, that might have been the last time I got into a fight with a Chequers security guard."

Sam rolls her eyes. "I think that might be small comfort for Dave." She gives Frances a grin. "Though maybe not for George."

Frances snorts. "Am I obligated to pour-" She indicates her glass of wine with a jerk of the head. "This over something? Fulfil a headline-"

"Sarah would probably take care of that for everyone." Sam takes a sip of her own wine and scans the room for her friend. "If she isn't already hitting some journalist who's sneaked in."

"Don't let Sarah hear you." Sam turns with a grin to see Michael standing behind her, holding his own glass of wine. "She'll think it's a good idea."

"Though Sarah _is_ a journalist" Sam points out.

"A columnist" says Frances, clinking their glasses together cheerily. "We writers take the distinction seriously, you know."

"Don't bring that up either" Michael assures them. "She'll think elaborating on that is a good idea, too."

Sam gives him a grin. "Dave's over there" she says, indicating where David's standing with his brother. "And George was-"

"Probably quoting from the Telegraph" Frances chips in.

Michael tilts his head. "He could do worse. The Telegraph could-"

Sam claps Michael on the arm, the way she's learnt to over the years. "It's Christmas. Leave the politics."

Michael gives her the Michael-grin-small and serious. "Sometimes, it feels like we've been saying that for five years."

Looking at Michael, Sam feels a rush of affection. She pats his arm and a part of her remembers-with a surprising rush of gratitude-that whatever happens in five months, Michael and Sarah will still be here. They'll have to be here.

Michael gives her a small, startled smile, the way he often does at any sign of physical affection. "So where _is_ Nick tonight?" he asks, and Sam frowns with a glance at the others. "He couldn't come, Dave said-something about them having a night with the kids." She pushes her hair back, glances upstairs to where her own children are asleep or running riot and Sam would guess the latter.

Michael nods, but he casts Sam a curious look and Sam wonders for a moment at how much stranger it will be for them in May-for David and George and Michael-than it will be for any of the rest of them.

Sam wonders if sometimes it's all too easy for her to forget that, as the disco lights start to dance across the floor.

* * *

 

Nick doesn't know if he's happy he's in front of the TV or not. Which, in itself, should worry him more than it does.

Miriam's typing up a blog entry. Antonio's upstairs on his ipad. Alberto and Miguel are likely asleep, or at least are supposed to be. If Nick doesn't check, they can all pretend they are.

He doesn't look up but he can feel Miriam watching him, every few moments another glance up from under her eyelids. Nick keeps his gaze trained on the TV he isn't watching, but he can feel Miriam's eyes, even when neither of them is looking at the other.

He knows that Miriam won't ask him-she never has and never does. Instead, Nick always knows that she's watching and not asking and eventually that can open his mouth, more than a hundred other questions would.

He waits and then says without looking at Miriam "Maybe we'll be going  next year."

Miriam laughs, tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Do you want to?" she asks, her dark eyes glinting, and Nick laughs and turns back to the screen, but his mind grabs onto the picture of David's voice-not last week, but one of the several times over the years-

_We never promise you anything like that-_

_For God's sake, David, what do you want? A bloody piece of paper with it scribbled on-_

He hadn't said what he wanted to say, this time. He'd known that the moment he'd stepped out of the room and that's a feeling he's had over and over again the last five years of this coalition.

He squeezes his eyes shut, as has become his habit when he has thoughts like these. They've done good work, he reminds himself, together in this coalition of theirs'. It's just that-

Maybe it's a self-preservation thing, Nick thinks suddenly, staring at the light washing over the carpet from the TV screen. Maybe it's a way of pushing the memories out before he has to have them _dragged-_

He stops himself short, reminding him of what Paddy had said in their last call. _There's no chance Cameron's getting a majority. And who's his natural ally now?_

 _He'll be coming to you_ , Paddy had said, sounding a lot more confident than Nick had felt, then or now.

_They both will. You just need to keep the message going until then._

Something about that still niggles in Nick's thoughts now.

But he holds onto them stubbornly because everything points to Paddy's being right. The facts, the figures, the polls. Everything. All Nick has to do is wait for David to call.

It's just that-

Nick has never felt like the type of person who-

He takes a few moments before he says, without looking at Miriam, "We might grace him with our presence next year."

Miriam laughs again and Nick manages to summon up enough mischief to turn around and give her a grin. "You could always bring along one of those cakes packed with sugar-"

This earns him a cushion over the head and a lecture from Miriam on the dangers of junk food and Nick listens a little too hard, careful to let the words be louder than the thoughts in his head.

* * *

 

"My dad is far worse" Bea tells her, _Grenade_ making the floor shake a little, so that Nancy can feel the vibrations travelling up the mattress through her cheek. "Your dad doesn't put his head round the door while you're trying to do homework-" She springs upright, swimming costume donned once again. Flo's downstairs in her little costume already, weaving between the dancers,balanced on Mum's hip in her armbands, Mum's hair shining in the multi-coloured disco lights making the great hall sway and shimmer.

"Actually-" Libbie's head pops up from behind the bed, hair a dark, messy curtain that falls over her face out of the handstand she's just used to throw herself upright, doing a little star jump in her bikini. "At least your dads don't go on about you learning Mandarin."

Nancy swings herself off the bed, the three girls' arms tangling together as they head for the door before. It's pitch-black outside and Nancy knows it's past midnight, but it's a party, and even Flo's still up, and the boys are down in the pool.

 You're lucky" Bea announces, as the three little girls make their way down the great staircase in their costumes, too young to realise what an incongruous sight they must be. "You're not at Grey Coat yet."

Nancy shrugs, as they head for the great hall, and then, as they poke their heads round the door frame, almost rears back at the sheer wall of noise. The DJ's shouting something but Nancy can barely hear her over the rave music.

"No." Bea's backing away. "No. Dad's dancing." Liberty breaks into snorts of laughter at the sight of Uncle Michael, glasses slipping down his nose, spinning Auntie Sarah round, and so does Nancy.

"His glasses are coming off" Bea announces, as if they can't see for themselves. "It's _never_ good when their glasses come off." She shoves Nancy gently in the side. "Have you seen yours'?"

Nancy's laughter dies away into a groan of horror at the sight of Mum and Dad in the centre of the dance floor. Far, far worse is the fact Dad's spinning Mum round, while Auntie Helena leads a crowd who seem to be urging them on. Nancy stares at the horror before her in silence-though, luckily for her, it's hard to see through the sheer amount of bodies, even in a room as big as this.

"How's your mum having a 40th birthday, anyway?" Bea asks, folding her arms as she leans against the door frame. "Isn't she, like, older?"

"Don't know." Nancy chews her lip. "She was meant to be 40, like, three years ago. But they didn't have a party or something, because of the Royal Wedding." Nancy, at almost eleven, has been made aware plenty of times how fortunate she was she got to attend the event of a lifetime, but can't help but think-an opinion she'll hold into her adult life-that it was rather wasted, given she remembers it-up until they got out of the church and could go back for the street party-one of the most utterly boring days of her life. (Elwen had fallen asleep across Gita's lap right as the vows were being exchanged, which meant Nancy hadn't glimpsed the part of the rings being slid onto each other's fingers as right at that moment, there was a gentle thud, a squawk from Gita, and she'd looked down to see her brother had managed to roll off Gita's knee and onto the floor.) 

Dad starts swivelling his hips. It's a horrible sight. Bea, apparently forgetting her own horror of just a few moments before, promptly laughs so hard she has to take a seat on the staircase to recover herself.

"Come on" Nancy says, the moment she's sure Bea will be able to breathe, and with some help from Liberty, she manages to manoeuvre her friend off to the swimming pool.

"You should have seen Dad when we went round Grey Coat." Nancy's not stupid. She knows Dad just wants to help-he always does. And that's just how he is, with everybody-all the people he works with, but it's not how he can be with her _friends_ (apart from Libbie and Bea, who are used to it, and anyway, their dads can be _worse.)_

"Mum didn't let Dad come" Bea informs her, skipping ahead as they scamper out onto the driveway, Nancy immediately hugging herself as the freezing night air assaults their arms. The boys' laughter echoes against the cold sky, a few stars scattered overhead, but a few of their parents' friends are there to nod at them as their little feet crunch over the gravelled driveway, clouds of cigarette smoke rising from their mouths as they lean against the wall, a couple of them ruffling the girls' hair as they head past. "Thank God. He'd have been awful. Plus, he'd probably get punched out by a teacher."

Libbie's laughing but Nancy feels her shoulders tense and she holds herself still the way she's been practicing.

Liberty gives her a curious look-just a quick glance shot out of the corner of her eye, but Nancy doesn't meet her gaze.

Bea nudges her and for a moment, Nancy opens her mouth. Sometimes, she thinks about asking them, her friends, but the words always swell in her throat, too big to fit out through her mouth.

She's not even sure what the words are and when she thinks about the way Dad ruffles her hair when she beats him in baking and the way he used to cuddle her, pressing kisses into her hair, while he read her Dr. Seuss-

She can't quite ask. She could ask Elwen but he can be a pain and Flo's too little to ask anything of, unless it's about Harry Potter or Frozen.

"Anyway-" Bea says, glancing over Nancy's shoulder at Libbie, as all three of the girls' shoulders slump as they reach the little outhouse that leads to the swimming pool. "I bet St. Paul's don't give you so much homework-"

Libbie snorts and for a few moments, her friends chatter over her shoulders. Nancy usually hates it and objects whenever they do that because Liberty and Bea are only a year older than her, which does not add _much_ in terms of life experience (and anyway, neither of them are writing an _opera.)_

But tonight, she lets them chatter and concentrates on threading her fingers together and looking down in the way she had when Ed Miliband had asked her about it. She didn't know if he'd believed her or not. But Nancy's good at making people believe she's all right.

Sometimes, when she looks at the way her dad smiles and ruffles her hair and chucks Flo under the chin and wrestles with Elwen, when words from headlines jam in her head and some of the whispers that hold onto her dad's name tingle in her ears, she wonders if he is too. She wonders if that can be passed down, the way everyone tells her she looks just like Mum did when she was her age. Maybe everyone can do it, and that's just what growing up is.

But Nancy's still young enough to forget things for a while and so, as the three girls dart into the pool area, and are immediately set upon by Luke, with Flo and Nell riding on his shoulders, with Eliza screaming at him, her drenched hair telling the younger girls that she's already been caught more than once, she manages to lose any thoughts of her parents as she scampers away from him towards the deep end and jumps in, the heated pool a slap of welcome warmth and her head breaking the surface with a gasp, tilting back so that if she squints, she can see the faint glimmer of the stars through the glass roof.

* * *

 

"But honestly, Dave" Tania tells him, hanging off his arm. "You could just tell us your strategy and I could see to it that your new best friend is sufficiently briefed beforehand."

David laughs. "Maybe his brother isn't the only one who feels betrayed by his own blood."

He enjoys the smack on the arm he receives from Sam, the low whistle from George, and the far harder slap on the arm from Tania. "You're _awful_ -no wonder you turned out a _Tory."_

"No wonder _you_ turned out Labour-"

"That's a compliment-"

"That's a misinterpretation-"

"Oh, do shut up" mutters Clare, pushing her hair behind her ears. Both David and Tania turn to her at once and she shakes her head. "Don't even _ask_ me who I vote for."

Sam laughs and Frances gives George a grin. "I could have voted Labour, darling" she teases and George snorts. "You're welcome to it."

"So are you" Michael tells Sarah, which is a great mistake, as Sarah immediately swings round to face him, her eyes narrowing. "Darling, do you really imagine I'd have waited for your _permission?"_

Michael beams at her and then gives David and George one of his quick looks that lets David know there's a line coming. "Of course" he says, rather ostentatiously polishing his glasses. "Given Dave's going to the Labour Christmas party, perhaps it's his loyalties we should be concerned for."

Tania gives David another slap on the arm and George bursts out laughing. Samantha gives him a smack herself and David can laugh a little but he notices Michael's eyes flicker to him and then away again.

It's a few moments later when Sam and Sarah are chatting and Frances is laughing with Tania and Clare that David, George and Michael find themselves gathered together and it's then that Michael says "You know-doesn't the whole thing make it a little more awkward?"

David feels his brows knot but he keeps his voice level. "What whole thing? The Labour party? Their existence makes it more awkward, I've got to say-"

George sniggers and Michael gives them a smile-one of Michael's small smiles. "No" he says, adjusting his glasses with one hand. "No, just-" He cocks his head to the side. "I mean, you've got to remember what Miliband thinks, I suppose. He could-I mean, he wants to _win"_ he says and George has stopped too now, his eyes on David.

David glances between the two of them and he feels that idea, that confusion flicker, before he reins it back in, almost without thinking.

"Well, there are a lot of things Miliband wants that he won't _get."_ The words rise up a little sour in his mouth. "I mean, I should think he probably wants his brother to love him again, but he can't have _that."_

There's a moment's silence and then George bursts out laughing. Michael doesn't laugh but another small smile creeps out again-but his eyes flicker to David's and then away and that little glance prickles in David's mind, the same way his own words sting a little in his mouth, still ringing sour in the air.

* * *

 

It's the one time they're all allowed to be together and Nick doesn't appear to be relishing it.

Danny, on the other hand, is making a point of doing just that. Danny, for all the faults he's aware (painfully aware, sometimes) others ascribe to him, has always considered himself rather good at making the best of things. He's always been able to do it. Having red hair, having glasses, being a Lib Dem-Danny's used to finding the best in something. Making the best of it is sometimes necessary.

"You really should enjoy the party" he remarks to Nick, who's staring down at his drink as if he might want to fall into it. "Especially if it's-"

He trails off, the way everyone's started to do recently, when they talk about the future.

Nick waits a moment before he replies, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "You mean, in case we kick the Tories out?"

Danny laughs a little too loudly and Nick smiles a little too wide, at something they both want a little too much to be funny.

They look around for a few moments at the many-too many-MPs spilling around them. Jacob is chatting earnestly with Boris, who seems to be beaming in a typical Boris-like manner. David Laws is talking politely to Andy Burnham, while Zac seems to be talking to Miliband. At the sight of the latter, Danny automatically looks for David and then wonders why that's automatic.

But he supposes this is one of the times it would be perfectly acceptable for David and Miliband to talk, after all.

When he spots David, chatting away with George and Michael about something, his gaze strays automatically to Nick.

"Have you talked to him yet?" he asks, almost casually, without meeting Nick's eyes. Instead, he raises a hand and aims a grin across the room at Tim, who appears to be listening politely to Theresa. They both return the smile and wave and it's then that Nick says, without looking at him, "We're on better terms."

"That sounds almost friendly."

Nick manages a smile. "It's just-" He laughs then, deliberately loud over the music. "I suppose it's good we learn now what it's going to be like."

Danny glances back at him then. Nick gives him a smile that's too wide and too quick.

Danny tilts his head. "You really think this is what it's going to be like?"

Nick laughs and Danny is suddenly seeing them an hour or so earlier, Nick and David, both ruffling the hair of a small boy, Miliband crouched down next to him. The three of them had turned to smile at a proffered mobile phone and for a moment, all their heads had been together, their smiles centred on the little boy. And they'd leant away, those smiles captured on camera.

* * *

 

Zac elbows Sadiq as the music segues into a One Direction song. "I hear you're a fan of this."

Sadiq gives him a tap on the arm and then shakes his head. "I said Ammanagh was a fan of theirs'. Which I doubt I'll ever be able to forget, given that song has burrowed its' way into my head."

Zac shakes his own head and watches Ed across the room, with David. Sadiq does too and Zac glances between them. "I forget-you two know each other pretty well, don't you?"

Sadiq nods. "Pretty well. I mean, a few years-"

"And I thought we were meant to be the party of old connections."

"I don't think since 2005 counts as an "old connection", Zac-" Sadiq points out, taking a sip of his own drink.

"Must seem like one, with Miliband."

Sadiq gives him a raised eyebrow. "It's Christmas. I'm going to let that pass."

Zac gives him an arched eyebrow in return and a grin. "Will you have come up with a retort by New Year?"

He grins at the look on Sadiq's face. "Come on. That was a good line."

"Would you like an honest verdict on that?"

Zac gives him a grin and they both watch Ed and David across the room for a moment. "He's at yours' tomorrow, isn't he?"

Sadiq blinks. "I hope not, or Saadiya might have something to say."

"Oh, well, that's hilarious, why don't you hand that line to Ed? It might help him win."

Sadiq's eyes are glittering with amusement. "Is this how it's going to be until May?"

Zac gives him a shrug. "Probably. Bad luck for your guy, isn't it?"

"Ed writes all his own stuff" Sadiq points out. "So those lines might fall short-"

Zac stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing. "You don't really expect me to believe that. Come on-"

Sadiq sighs. "I know that, I know that Crosby writes everything for your man, Zac, but-"

"Oh, that's _beautiful_ -do, please do continue while Ayesha tries to get Ed to, I don't know, fit a joke into his mouth and see if he can in fact make the words _work-"_

He's learnt over the years since they've known each other that there's a certain limit to which he can push Sadiq, particularly when it comes to Ed, and he's leaning against it now.

So instead, he lightens his tone, gives Sadiq a grin and says "You could always make a bet on your leadership chances."

"Very amusing, Zac."

"It is." Zac casts another glance about the room and then winces. "Oh, dear God. What's Boris doing?"

Boris is currently leading a conga around the room while he claps his hands, declaiming One Direction lyrics loudly. Balls is in the centre, George is clapping his shoulders, Bercow is attempting some enthusiastic dancing, while Andy is starting a round of clapping. Justine is chatting with Jacob, her long blonde hair bobbing as she does so, who appears to be regarding the whole spectacle with a rather endearing bemusement.

Sadiq leans in, eyes on Boris, so that his voice brushes Zac's ear. "And there's _your_ leadership challenge."

"What-that wildly _popular_ leadership challenge? I'd just like you to imagine it if, ah- _Gordon_ had fallen into a river or got stuck on a zip wire-"

"Oh, bringing up old wounds-it's a touch of class, Zac-"

"You know, when you try to bring up the moral ground, that's when you know you're _losing-"_

"Tories see moral ground as pointless, _fascinating_ insight-"

"Oh, you know what I mean-it's like when someone tries to illustrate how close they are to their kids by spinning out some crap about how-"I'm present when I'm present", you know, that kind of thing-"

 _""I'm present when I'm present?"_ What kind of-"

"Oh, that's always what people come out with. And it's always complete shit-I mean, "I'm present when I'm present"-so? What happens when you're _not_ present? It makes no sense-"

"Oh, I agree it makes no sense. I mean, I don't know how we got onto this t _opic-"_

"But you find my company fascinating-"

"See, it's this kind of self-delusion that, that renders _your_ party-"

"Camera's over there. We should get them over, do a little editorial."

"What, how to debate over grammar at a Christmas party?" Sadiq takes a sip of his drink. "Cameron could always round the argument off at ours'."

"If he and Miliband haven't killed each other over a turkey-"

"Over a _turkey_ , fantastic comeback-"

"Well, I know it's not a kind name for him, but if I didn't know better, I'd swear "Balls" was made up..."

* * *

 

"I'm starting to get fed up of parties."

"You're not fabulous at being a guest, Prime Minister."

David widens his eyes. "I think you're in the minority there-but then, I know a minority is rather what you're hoping for-"

"You're rather projecting again, Prime Minister-" Ed takes a gulp of orange juice. "And ignoring the facts."

"The facts being?" David takes a sip of wine, having watched Miliband decline three glasses consecutively, and glances around at the crowd of Labourites he's found himself in the middle of.

"The facts _being-"_ Miliband tugs at his tie and then aims a grin and a wave at someone. "That you are actually here as my _guest."_

"For which I've thanked you" David points out quickly. "Repeatedly. And enthusiastically."

Miliband's mouth appears to be twitching. "Thanking me by offering to sing "The Red Flag" is not genuine thanks-"

David grins, feeling a little lighter-which he needs after the week he's had.

"I'll find some alternative method of thanks, then" he informs Miliband happily, taking in the faces he usually sees across the Commons. "I don't know, a song-"

"Amusing, Prime Minister-"

"Or just drop to my knees."

There's a split second of silence, during which Miliband almost chokes on his orange juice and Douglas, who has just appeared at David's elbow, says "I'm not sure I want to hear the start of this conversation."

"You don't" Miliband informs him and David sighs. "Is there a reason you're sticking with orange juice?"

Miliband arches an eyebrow. "I prefer my thinking to be clear, Cameron."

David blinks at him. "Is there any particular reason?"

Miliband just raises a brow again. "Cross-party territory generally requires-"

He's interrupted by David snorting. _"Cross-party territory?_ You're not in a war film-I haven't just descended on a bloody German parachute into your _trench-"_

"Maybe you're a negotiator" Douglas suggests amicably. "Who has been invited over for talks with the enemy."

Miliband stares at him. "Did you _study_ history?"

"Clegg."

David blinks. "You studied Nick?"

Miliband frowns at him. "Did _you_ study Nick?"

"Don't ask me, you're the one negotiating about him."

"Yes." Douglas snaps his fingers. "We must free Clegg from the shackles of his Tory captors."

Miliband stares at Douglas for a moment, before saying "Balls is serving the drinks again, isn't he?"

Douglas nods. "Right-before Andy and Yvette took over the bar."

"Right." Miliband glances over, then winces. "God, it looks like a deleted episode of Cheers."

David snorts. _"You_ just made a pop culture reference, Miliband."

"Well, I know it isn't the Smiths-"

"Christmas must be _thrilled_ its' status as the season of miracles has been restored-"

"God" announces Douglas, who's been glancing between the two with some amusement for the last few minutes. "This is like PMQs if everybody was high."

"This is not what a person looks like high" David assures him, and off Miliband's look "I happen to have some experience with those under the influence of narcotics."

Miliband arches a brow again. "I imagine."

David bites his lip hard to hold back the utterly treacherous grin twitching at his mouth. "And you accuse _me_ of not being a good guest, when you as a _host_ cast cruel aspersions on those you have invited to your gathering-"

"This is proving my point" mutters Douglas, taking another sip of his drink.

"I never actually said you _weren't_ a good guest." Miliband's eyes are dark and glittering. Maybe Balls did mix the punch too strongly, but David finds himself grabbing onto the absurd thought that they look almost playful.

Then he's grabbing onto the thought that Miliband should look playful more often.

It's a weird thought, the way Ed's eyes glitter, his mouth almost puckish, and David lets it go a little too quickly.

"Inferences, Prime Minister-" Miliband's saying, which doesn't help with forgetting, and then Douglas chips in with "Anyway, even if _Ed's_ casting aspersions, the rest of us are good hosts. Even to archetypal Tory scum."

"Thank you, Douglas."

"You're welcome." Douglas gives him a beam, and then says "Which by the end of the night, should you ever wish to change your allegiance, you will feel."

This sincere invitation is concluded by Balls, who greets David with a snort and a "Haven't tripped over your privilege there, have you, Cameron? I'd get some minimum-wage worker to clean it up but you've probably had them all shot."

David grins. Balls glances around at Douglas and Miliband, both of whom are looking at him askance, and spreads his hands. "What? It's Christmas. I'm being nice."

* * *

 

Andy glances at Yvette, who's leaning on the other end of the bar. She glances back, then looks away. They glance away, then back at each other, then grin.

"It's not a competition" Andy tells her and Yvette grins back. "I'm not competing."

They look away, then back at each other, and then both collapse into laughter.

"I'll get asked for more drinks than you" Yvette warns him cheerfully and Andy arches an eyebrow. "I thought it wasn't a competition."

Yvette grins. "It isn't. Competition implies you have a chance of winning."

Andy beams. "Overconfidence is not a becoming trait, Ms. Cooper-"

"Don't let Harriet hear you say that "Yvette points out, before frowning. "Actually, forget Harriet, _I_ should fucking kick you for that."

"Please don't" Andy requests cheerfully, turning back to the bar. "It's not terribly festive."

Yvette snorts and then turns too. _"This_ isn't terribly festive" she points out, indicating the bar and the space between them.

Andy's smile fades for a second, though he hitches it back into place quickly, decisively. Yvette means the competition. He knows that.

He also knows she means the reason why they're both at the bar.

Andy looks at Miliband quickly across the room. The worst part of it is that he likes him.

The fact is, Miliband can be likeable. In a geekishly endearing way, likeable. And that can be good.

It _is_ good.

It's not election-winning good.

Andy winces even thinking it.

But if it comes to it-

It's not just about that either, though, he tells himself, as he's sure Yvette is telling herself, it's what's good for the party.

But what's good for the party can sometimes be what's good for you. And Andy isn't sure which it is this time.

But as Yvette put it, it's not festive.

So they grin and chat and offer to pay for drinks and each pretends not to notice that neither has moved from the bar.

* * *

 

Sadiq gives Ed a few moments of watching Cameron, a smile playing around his mouth, before he touches his elbow and says, his own grin peeking through, "So he accepted your invitation then?"

Ed jump sa little and Sadiq bites his lip, quickly hiding his own grin. Ed turns to him, a little too quickly. "W-yes." Another glance at Cameron, under his eyelashes. "Well- _he_ invited _me_ , so-"

"Ah." Sadiq takes a sip of orange juice, grinning as he notices that Ed's drinking the same. _And that's the only reason?_ he's about to add, but at the last moment, he takes in the flush of Ed's cheeks and stops himself.

They go a long way back, him and Ed. He's not entirely sure just why they click the way they do-there's similarities, of course, but somehow Sadiq has always found that Ed just seems to suit him. They go well together, work well together. There'd never really been a question of Ed choosing anyone else to head up his leadership campaign-not once Douglas had chosen David.

Another time, it might have been David.

Sadiq takes another look at Ed and it flashes into his mind, as it does from time to time.

Ed's dark eyes, wide, searching for his own, jaw tense and set, lights humming in that hotel corridor. _David, what have I done to-_

"Balls is going over" Ed says, suddenly tensing and then he says "It's-"

Sadiq takes another sip of juice. "It's what?" he says, still watching Cameron, the way he's chatting away to Rachel, laughing at something she's said. It's a strange thing about Cameron-that he can always do this, no matter where he is.

"Strange" Ed says, his knuckles whitening a little on the glass. "Just-" He shakes his head suddenly and the words spill out a little too fast. "I mean-looking at him, you wouldn't think-"

"He's not a monster, you know, Ed." Sadiq says it a little too easily.

"I know." The words are snapped a little too quickly and Ed flinches. (Sadiq doesn't.)

"Sorry." Ed takes another sip of orange juice, touches Sadiq's arm awkwardly. "It's just-"

He watches Cameron and for a moment, Sadiq watches confusion creep across Ed's brow. "He's so diff-"

He trails off and then clears his throat. "I don't know how he does it, anyway" he says, voice a little quieter than usual. "It's just-"

Sadiq wonders the same. But glancing at Ed, he feels a stab of something-something fond and raw, something that reminds him that Ed can't do that. Ed has never been able to do that.

In 2010, that had been a good thing.

In 2010.

Now, Sadiq watches him for another moment and then looks back at Cameron, who's making Rachel laugh now, Cameron's smile reaching all the way to his eyes. Ed watches him and Sadiq watches Ed watch him.

He watches, glancing between the two, and it occurs to him then that 2010 really was quite a long time ago.

* * *

 

David gives Balls a grin. Balls doesn't return it, which David has expected. Indeed, Balls has been considering David with his head on his side for several minutes, arms folded.

"Well?" he asks, with a grin. "Found what you were looking for?"

Balls snorts. "No."

"And what was it?"

David doesn't know quite why he's always enjoyed rattling people. Perhaps it's a relic of boarding-school days, when the idea was very much to rattle or be rattled. Or maybe it's from sitting through PMQs since the '90s. But it's something he's always liked.

Balls snorts. "God knows."

David laughs before he can stop himself. "This has been informative, then."

That's when Balls exhales, turns round and blurts out a little too quickly "Look, Cameron, I'm not being fucking rude but what the hell are you doing here?"

David blinks. "Fabulous hosting skills, Balls-"

"Oh, for God's sake." Balls takes a step closer to him. "Cut out all this crap. You know what I'm talking about."

David gives him a long look, judging the situation carefully. Then, slowly, he says "Labour might want to work on its' communication methods, if they're as poor as this."

Balls laughs then, the sound harsh and impatient. "Come on, Cameron. This is it." He gestures between them. "This is what I-there's a fucking election coming up. You know what I mean. And you and Ed are bloody palling it up-"

David arches an eyebrow. "So-" he says, deliberately waiting a few seconds too long. "What you're saying is, I should be throwing Miliband's invitations back in his face?"

He stresses the plural ever so slightly. As he'd hoped, Balls' eyes narrow a little but-as he'd anticipated-the other man recovers himself almost immediately. "You know what I mean. You can't think no-one's going to fucking pick up on it-"

"On what?"

Balls stares at him then. "I know you want to win the fucking election, Cameron."

David tilts his head. "Miss Marple feeling the threat to her job, is she?"

But the words hover between them, and the question in them is sinking between David's ribs.

He bites out the words, one by one. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

Balls snorts. "Come on, Cameron."

He's going to make Balls say it. "Tell me." His voice is a little lower now. "What you're implying."

Balls stares back at him for a moment and then almost blurts out "If Ed's giving anything away to you-"

David stays very still, letting the words sink in, giving himself a moment to plot his next move.

"Would I tell you if he did?" he says and allows himself a brief grin at the look that appears on Balls' face.

"I'm warning you, Cameron, if-"

"If what?" David stares at him, keeping a smile at his mouth. He chooses his next words with care. "That's really your assessment of your leader's abilities?"

Balls' eyes bulge. "Don't put words in my mouth, Cameron."

David takes a step closer to him this time. "I haven't tried to get one single bloody thing out of him about your campaign."

(He knows Balls won't believe him.)

(He wouldn't have told Balls if he thought he'd believe him.)

Balls shakes his head. "I didn't ask you about asking Ed-"

"He calls you Balls." The words slip out before David can think about it.

Balls blinks twice. "What?"

"He calls you Balls. You call him Ed but he calls you Balls-"

"What's going on?" Ed's appeared at his side with Sadiq, both of their eyes flickering between Balls and David. Ed's jaw tightens, his eyes swivelling slowly to Balls.

It's Sadiq who says a little too quickly "Hey, Dave-that all right to call you-" off David's nod, flashing a quick grin "Have you tried these?" He grabs at a passing tray of canapes with a grin at the waiter. "Cheers."

David blinks, a little wrong-footed by the sudden turn of the conversation.

"Delicious" Sadiq says gamely, popping one in his mouth. He chews for a moment, then frowns. "OK, might be an exaggeration."

"-and he's _telling the truth_." Ed's voice cuts into the conversation and Sadiq and David's heads both whirl round at the same moment, and their gazes snap back to each other.

Sadiq speaks first, after a long moment, Miliband's voice having become a fierce whisper next to them.

"Ed doesn't often read him the riot act" Sadiq says, almost casually, and David stares at him for another moment before asking "How much did you hear?"

Sadiq watches him quietly, and then says "I suppose it was always going to be _him_ who-"

But whatever he was about to say, he doesn't finish because then suddenly Ed is there at their sides, his dark hair rumpled as if he's been running his fingers through it.

"Sadiq." Miliband's eyes dart between the two of them for a moment before he swallows, throat bobbing awkwardly with the movement and then says "Could I-could I just have-"

"Sure." Sadiq holds up his hands easily. "Do you want me to babysit our future Chancellor?"

David snorts. Sadiq has the grace to look amused. Ed doesn't.

It's as Sadiq steps towards Balls, who looks as if he's already been joined by Andy, that Miliband draws in a deep breath and then makes an awkward indication with his head, which David takes as an indication.

He follows Miliband to the door, watching as the other man pulls both their coats down from the rack, vaguely noticing that Miliband recognized them both with ease. The winter air slaps them in the face. David shivers and takes his coat from Ed with a muted thanks, pulling it tightly around himself.

He turns to look at Miliband, who's turning to him. "It was Balls who asked me."

The light from inside illuminates half of Miliband's face and David can see his eyes glittering. Miliband just watches him for a moment and then says "I know."

 _And he's telling the truth,_ rings in David's ears again and he blinks. "Hang on-you-"

Miliband's eyes dart a little too quickly away from his own.

David hesitates, mouth open, and then closes it again. "Go on."

Miliband stares at him and then rakes a hand through his hair. "I know he was the one who asked you" he manages, voice a little strained. "I know-"

He seems to struggle for a moment, eyes darting before suddenly he stops moving, his hand dropping abruptly to his side. "Let's go."

David blinks. "Pardon?"

Miliband meets his eyes, gaze suddenly glittering fiercely again. "Let's just-I need to get out of here."

David stares at him, grasping for words. When he finds them, they come out rather feebly. "But it's your party, Mili-"

Miliband laughs. It's not so much the laugh that makes David stare as the fact that it's _Miliband._

 _Because Miliband doesn't often laugh like that. Miliband's laugh is stupidly high and unguarded. Miliband's_ laugh is a little too much like a giggle for its' own good.

Which is really rather typically _Milibandy._

Or maybe it's just like that for _David-_

Miliband mutters something and then with a quick jerk of the head, heads away from the building and David finds himself with little option but to follow him.

* * *

 

Ed isn't entirely sure until they both step outside that he's indicated to Cameron to follow him, and even when it sinks in that he has, he isn't sure why.

He's not even entirely sure why he wanted to leave. But something about hearing Balls' voice-

He's not sure. Maybe it had been something about Balls' voice, his eyes narrowed as Ed lowered his own-

_For Christ's sake, Miliband-_

_What? It's a bloody Christmas party-_

_Yeah, a fucking Labour Christmas party. And he's a fucking Tory._

_You sound like a fucking child-_

He's dragged out of these thoughts by the sight of Cameron standing next to him, brow furrowed. He stares back, then realises Cameron's waiting for a cue from him.

Ed blinks at the thought.

Cameron takes a step towards him and Ed speaks a little too quickly. "Do you have your team?"

"My-"

"Protection team."

On cue, a figure moves behind Cameron and Ed jumps, a little wrong-footed at the sheer subtlety of the Prime Minister's security team.

The thought whispering that they, or people like them , will be _his_ security team in a few months, he draws in a breath and manages "Um. Would you like to go somewhere-would you like to-"

He feels oddly awkward, as if he's just asked Cameron out to dinner.

Cameron stares back at him, eyes sharp and fixed on Ed's own, and then he says, as if Ed's asked him to pass him a pen, "Yes, all right."

Ed blinks as Cameron turns to his protection team and says a few words, and then turns back to Ed. "Where?" he says, rather peaceably and then waits, clearly for Ed to say where he wants to go.

Unfortunately, Ed has little idea.

* * *

 

"I've never seen you drive" Cameron remarks and Ed shrugs. He doesn't drive as often as he'd like; the ministerial car arrives more often than not. He glances at Cameron, sitting next to him in the passenger seat, then again.

Cameron leans his head on one hand, and Ed can feel him watching, even as he turns his attention back to the road.

Cameron's protection team are behind them, but for some reason, Ed doesn't want to think about them at all. _Protection team_ just makes him think of _Prime Minister_ and then _election-_

_Election._

_You know why he's probably doing it, don't be so bloody-_

He squeezes his eyes shut.

"Is that advisable at the wheel, Miliband?"

Ed grits his teeth and shakes his head, Balls' voice still ringing in his ears.

(He hates Balls' voice. It gets everywhere. Like oil or Tory smears.)

"Miliband-"

_For God's sake, this is the reason everyone thinks we don't have a bloody chance-_

For a moment, he can't tell whose voice he's hearing.

"Ed-"

 _"What?"_ He half-spits the word at Cameron, and then freezes in place as the other man leans back abruptly, clearly an inch away from brushing Ed's arm.

Ed swallows. "Oh. God. I-I really-I, um-"

Cameron doesn't say anything. Ed bites his lip. "I-um-"

Abruptly, he pulls the car to the side of the road and hears an answering squeal of tyres behind him as Cameron's team does the same.

A muffed curse slips through Cameron's teeth and Ed leans his head on the wheel.

"Ed." Cameron's hand lifts and then "Ed."

Ed doesn't look at him. Instead, he takes a few deep breaths, the wheel digging into his forehead.

The answer that had spat itself out before he could think about it when Cameron had told him _This is your party-_

_Not really._

It's not true, he tells himself weakly. It's not-

_And you're telling me you believe him-_

_I'm telling you that-_

He sees again Andy and Yvette standing at the bar and his stomach twists a little.

It's after a long moment that he lifts his head from the wheel and turns to see Cameron's eyes watching him, head tilted to the side.

Which is when he realises that he has just ended up sitting with his head on a steering wheel in front of Cameron. Who he's just driven off down a road with apparently no fixed destination in mind.

Ed considers how long it would take to attach a hose to an exhaust pipe.

Instead of this currently rather tempting thought, he sits up slowly, deliberately not looking at Cameron. He adjusts his suit, loosens his tie a little.

Then, he turns to look at Cameron, feeling defiantly that Cameron had better look back because-

Cameron's watching him with his head on one side, hand draped over the top of the seat. Finally he says "Yes, Miliband. I often feel like doing that after dealing with my backbenchers as well."

Ed stares at him. A small smile tugs at Cameron's mouth.

It takes Ed a moment to make his mouth work. "You do know that you just confided divisions with your backbencherth to your Leader of the Opposition?"

Cameron merely shrugs and then a strange laugh peels itself out of Ed's mouth. It's higher, a little tighter than usual, but somehow it's not even an effort. Somehow, the word _your_ sent shivers down his back.

He's about to make a comment about changing places in a few months, but stops himself at the last minute.

(But it's strange, the thought of having any other Leader of the Opposition when he's-he's used to _Cameron_ being the one he debates-)

(The thought of Cameron having any other-not that Cameron will _need_ one-)

(But the thought of someone _else_ arguing with Cameron-)

(For some reason, Ed grits his teeth at the thought and something like sickness curls in his stomach.)

Cameron just smirks back at him. "Where are we going then?"

For some reason, this just makes Ed laugh harder and Cameron grins more. When Ed can speak, he looks at Cameron and almost forgets why he left, dissolving into laughter again.

Cameron's shoulders are shaking a little when Ed next meets his eyes and both of them are grinning.

"So where are we-"

"Where are we-"

"Going, then?"

Cameron smiles. Ed opens his mouth, watches Cameron for a second before he blurts out "I have an idea."

"Oh?"

"You'll ridicule it."

"I won't."

"Yes, you will, Prime Minister." For some reason, this almost makes Ed laugh harder.

"I won't." Cameron draws his finger across his chest. "Here, see-"

Ed eyes him doubtfully. Cameron grins. "You could always make me do that before every promise I make on the campaign trail-put it in your manifesto, there's probably room-"

Another snigger explodes out of Ed's mouth and this time, Cameron's shoulders shake too. For a few moments, they both convulse in shared mirth, laughing from their respective seats, losing control again every time one glances at the other.

It's-

"I know a place" Ed manages, when their laughter has calmed somewhat.

Cameron raises a brow. "Evidently."

Ed stares at him for another moment and then says "You still want to come?"

Cameron just looks at him and says "Of course."

Without looking away, Ed reaches out and with a flick of his key, the engine roars into life at the exact same moment Cameron's eyes fall a little too hastily away from his own.

* * *

 

It's when they get out of the car, Ed leading the way onto the grass, that Cameron asks again "Where exactly are we?"

Ed takes a breath, watching the words drift in a cloud in front of him. "Just-here, you'll th-see in a moment-"

Cameron's protection team are following at a distance. Ed blinks and has to fight back a wild urge to laugh. He suddenly feels a little mad. He's out here in the middle of the night with Cameron and an entire protection team. On a whim.

He blinks and suddenly something swells in his throat and he feels almost shaky. He quickly avoids Cameron's gaze, which is fairly easy in the dark.

"Come on" and Cameron's voice is light in the dark. "You're the one who knows the way. Unless you've hired some assassin to take care of the election for you-"

Ed manages to roll his eyes. "Your protection team are just behind us, you know-it would hardly be a well-conceived plan-"

"Well, exactly. Typical of Labour."

Ed snorts and then-

He thinks it might be the words or the tone or-

But he reaches out and his hand fastens on Cameron's sleeve.

"Come on."

His hand stays there, stupidly and Cameron doesn't push it away. In fact, for a few moments, they just walk like that, with Ed's fingers fastened into Cameron's sleeve.

He lets go then and says "Sorry-" and Cameron says "It's fine" too quickly.

* * *

 

David only realises there's a fence a few inches away from him when he resorts to the use of his mobile phone to light the way, and consequently grabs Miliband's arm. "Careful-"

"What-"

"You're by the fence-"

"Oh. Right." He feels rather than sees Ed's shoulders relax a little and lets go quickly. "We're, um. Here then."

"Are we?"

Ed nods and reaches out, fumbling with what David quickly realises is a gate, frowning. He tilts his head back and squints at the shapes he can make out in the dark. Large, misshapen outlines jut up out of the ground and squinting, David can just make out that they look like-

"Parliament Hill." Miliband's holding the gate open for him. "Parliament Hill playground."

David blinks, wondering quite where he'd been expecting Miliband to take him. "Um-"

Miliband's tracing the ground with the tip of his shoe. He pushes his hands into his pockets, avoiding David's eyes. "Um-" He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "We don't-I just-"

He rubs his neck again and something in David's chest twists painfully. Something about the gesture's so bloody.... _young._

Miliband looks-

Typical bloody Miliband.

David steps closer to him. "Excellent" he says, keeping his voice light. "Given most of the public think we're children anyway-this is a rather helpful visual aid-"

Miliband snorts and David turns to give him a grin.

Miliband crosses the playground and David follows him, until they reach the swings, where Miliband leans against the pole. "I-I know it'th weird-" he says, tugging at his sleeve apparently unconsciously. "It's just-um-it's where Z-we bring the boys sometimes. And-"

David deliberately waits a few moments before he says "Taking me to a playground in the middle of the night isn't quite the strangest thing I've ever heard of, Miliband."

Miliband's cheek lifts a little in what could be a smile, the stripe of silver in his hair glinting in the moonlight.

David, biting his lip, manages to wait a few more moments before he says "But it's certainly up there."

Miliband does look at him, then. This time, there's no doubt he's smiling.

"So much for wanting to come with me, Prime Minister-"

"It might not just be the delight of your company, Miliband-" David steps round and pushes a swing back and forth gently. "I might just be rather enamoured with the idea of exploring playgrounds in-"

He breaks off at the look on Miliband's face. "I might abandon that sentence."

Miliband's lip twitches. "Pleathe do."

There's another moment of silence before David lets out a small snigger and that's when a laugh explodes out of Ed's mouth, next to him and David's hand fastens around the rope of the swing, a little rough on his palm, his chest aching and his cheeks hot with laughter, even in the icy grip of the night air on his skin.

It's his hand around the rope that puts the idea in his head, he tells himself. But the fact is, it's late and it's dark and there's no cameras around and there's no one else around except a protection team who are paid to be discreet.

He steps around and with a grin at Miliband, who's still recovering himself, sinks onto the swing. It bobs gently under his weight.

"What are you _doing?"_ Ed's voice cracks curiously in the air and when David glances round, Miliband is leaning against a swing pole, a smile still peeking out at his mouth.

"Swinging, Miliband." David's foot traces the ground. "I understand it must seem a novelty to you, actually using objects for their intended purpose-"

"Tax havens included?"

David flashes him an offended look. "I was thinking more of staplers."

Miliband just rolls his eyes. "You seem to forget you've been Prime Minith-ster for five years-"

"I don't forget. I'm frequently reminded by yourself-" David's actually swinging a little now, tossing the occasional grin over his shoulder. "And of exactly what relevance is that reminder?"

"The relevance of positively defending your own record. I mean, it's understandable that you _can't-"_ Miliband breaks off as David reaches back and catches the rope of the other swing, jerking it up and down. "What are you doing, Cameron-"

"You did choose a destination. I understand your party's unfamiliar with the concept of _reaching_ its' chosen destination-"

Miliband's eyes roll so far that David wonders if they'll come back down again. "You'd do a lot better if you _listened_ , Prime Minister-"

He's cut off by David shaking the rope again. "What?"

David arches an eyebrow. Miliband rolls his eyes again. David grins at him.

Miliband sighs, then steps round slowly. "Thith-s is inadvisable" he tells David, a tad tetchily. David grins. "You brought me here."

Miliband sighs and David drags a foot along the ground as he begins to swing a little more vigorously. He waits a few moments before he says "How come?"

He keeps the question light, tilts his head back as he swings, but Miliband's head snaps round sharply to look at him. David keeps his gaze straight ahead, now swinging a little higher.

When Miliband speaks, his voice cracks with a smile. "You know your coat's getting caught, don't you?"

"Yes." David tilts his head and beams at Miliband. Miliband looks back at him, mouth twitching, before pulling his gaze away just as he dissolves into laughter again.

David grins as Miliband lifts his head a little, his own hands gripping the ropes now, slowly swinging himself back and forth. "I juth-st like it here" he says, a little more quietly, the laughter dying from his voice. David watches him, Miliband's eyes bright in the dark, hands still wrapped around the ropes. He notices that lisp and, with a start, realises he's noticing it more these days. He wonders if it's getting worse or if he's just never noticed it like this before.

"It's-" Miliband draws in a breath. "I don't know why I'm telling _you_ thith" he says suddenly and David looks away before Miliband's eyes can catch his.

"Well, I don't know" he says, swinging a little harder. "I'll be sure to include the Parliament Hill playground in our election manifesto, now I know it's a prominent Labour concern."

Miliband breathes out in a ghost of a laugh.

"Is that what these are now?" he says, a little more quietly. "Manifesth-sto discussions?"

For some reason, the lisp is like a wriggle in David's chest. His heart's a little faster.

"Is that what you think they are?" he says, with an attempt at a grin and Miliband meets his eyes, a laugh already breaking out of his mouth. "You can't help yourth-self, can you, Prime Minister?"

"I could always repeat my answer-"

Miliband's smile escapes again, now. "That would be a generouth-s offer if it was an answer-"

David does what he always does when MIliband asks him something like this-he grins. "Well-you seem to be good at inferring the answers you want-much like your party-"

He's cut off by another roll of the eyes and then, to David's surprise, Miliband tilting his own head back, peering at the sky. He watches as Miliband too begins swinging himself a little higher.

After a few moments, David says "Well, no one could blame you for wanting to get out of there on occasion."

"Hilarious-" Ed breaks off as he turns and meets David's eyes. David just smiles and the words hang between them, to be taken as one or both of them wish.

There's a short silence and then, speaking a little too quickly, "We haven't been here in a while. The boyth-I think they-" He trails off.

David turns to look at him but Miliband swings back as he swings forward.

"I suppose it's difficult for them, you know. I mean-they're little."

"Mm." Miliband swings a little higher now. "My father always made-well, he-" David catches a furrow of the brow, a twist of the mouth. "I don't want to be worse" he says quietly and David bites his lip.

"You-" He gropes for words. "You're not worse" he says, rather lamely. Miliband's cheek lifts in a slightly sad smile and David presses on, a little too eagerly. "They adore you. The boys, I mean."

Miliband's expression flickers very slightly, but in the darkness, David can't be certain whether or not he imagined it.  "Thanks" is all he says and he tilts his head back, the first touches of moonlight lingering on the badger-like streak in his hair.

"I rather missed my dad-" The words slip out before David can stop himself. He tilts his head back and peers up at the sky.

"At school?" David waits for the remark but Miliband just watches him, head tilting to the side.

"Yes." David tries for a laugh. "I suppose there wasn't much time for this sort of thing, during the term."

His tone is forcefully light but Miliband keeps watching him. David averts his gaze and swings a little higher, resisting the urge to tug at his shirt where it suddenly seems to be chafing at-

He knows it isn't because it was years ago, so he doesn't.

He keeps swinging, but Miliband keeps up with him now, watching him through the dark.

* * *

 

Ed notices the way Cameron's lips flatten themselves carefully. He notices the whitening of his knuckles on the chain. Ed notices, quickly, and then looks away before he can notice more.

"That's-um." He fumbles for the words a little too awkwardly, but all he can come out with, somewhat pathetically, is "I'm th-sorry."

Cameron's cheek twitches as if he's about to smile or laugh but instead he just says "Thank you, Miliband."

Ed feels himself blush, the colour heating his face, nibbling at his lips. "I-well-" The words snap out a little too quickly, the way they do all too often, and he bites his lip harder, wincing. "No-wait-I didn't-"

It's then that Cameron's shoulders rise and fall suddenly, in what might be a laugh and then he says "Miliband" just once and turns to look at him. Ed looks back, swinging in time now. They look at each other. Cameron isn't smiling, not exactly-but there's something like a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, something softer in his eyes.

"Maybe we're making up for it" Cameron says, with the smallest smile. Ed stares back at him and then hears himself laugh. For a few moments, they both just swing, their legs out in the air. Ed remembers briefly the few times he'd swung as a child, the strange freedom soaring high in his chest, his shoes kicking the sky. (He used to think that was what he was doing. David told him it was stupid.)

They swing and then Cameron says, quietly "You can see the stars now."

Ed squints. He can make out the glimmers of stars overhead, as his swinging slows. "Yeth" he says, and represses a wince as the words come out a little stiffly.

But Cameron just says, that laugh still in his voice as his own swinging slows, "My dad used to show them to me."

Ed glances at him, takes in the tilt of Cameron's head, the shine of his eyes. "Was he into astronomy?"

Cameron laughs a little, quieter. "Not too much. He knew some of the names. But he just used to draw them."

"Draw them?"

Cameron grins. "Not the way-not like that-" He glances at Ed, their swinging almost at a complete stop. "Like this."

He lifts his hand, traces a finger in the air-Ed follows the direction of his hand and manages to make out the stars he's tracing between. Cameron traces the shape a few times until Ed makes out the shape of a square.

Cameron's hand falls and Ed blurts the words out before he can stop himself." I uthed to do that."

Cameron glances at him with the hint of a grin. Ed shrugs. "David used to say it was-" He snaps his mouth shut and looks away. There's a pregnant pause.

Then a hand brushes his own. He looks and sees Cameron's fingers wrapping around his wrist.

Cameron's hand is warm around Ed's. Ed looks down to get a confused impression of Cameron's fingers before Cameron lifts his hand, guiding it up. "Here-"

Ed can't speak for some reason and Cameron's finger lies along the back of Ed's hand, tracing a shape across the sky. Their swings are very close together. Ed's arm brushes Cameron's and Cameron leans closer, lifting Ed's hand higher.

"A little like this-"

Ed's hand shakes a little and Cameron catches it, steadies it. "Here-"

Cameron guides his hand back and forth. "I used to want to do Art" he confides, after a moment, and Ed glances at him. "Really?"

"Mm." Cameron gives him another, smaller grin. "Did it for A Level, originally-" His thumb brushes Ed's wristbone and it's a tiny stripe of sensation that sends a little jolt through Ed.

Cameron traces the shape in the sky, gently. "Could do a Labour rose-"

"Hilariouth-" Ed's voice trembles a little. Cameron doesn't look at him but for a moment, it's almost as though his hand tightens a little around Ed's.

Cameron traces a star shape gently. Ed swallows and then takes hold of Cameron's wrist.

"Here-"

He traces another star shape a little clumsily, between another set of stars. And Cameron lets him, that slight smile still hovering there.

Something about Cameron letting him quickens Ed's pulse and he speaks a little too fast. "An actor."

"Pardon?"

"An actor." Ed's cheeks are a little too warm and he's beginning to regret opening his mouth already. But he keeps hold of Cameron's wrist, tracing another star a little too quickly. "I used to want to be an actor."

Cameron doesn't say anything. Ed feels the heat creep up his cheeks and he draws a little too quickly. "Stupid-" he says. "I mean, given what-"

He stops. It's the closest he's come to mentioning those headlines.

But Cameron's watching him. He can feel, even as he keeps his gaze carefully averted and then Cameron says "Not really."

Ed feels the heat tickle his cheeks again, but he keeps his eyes on the sky. It's a few moments before he realises that he hasn't helped Cameron to trace any more stars. Instead, he's just holding his hand.

He clears his throat quickly. Cameron coughs and Ed lifts his hand a little too quickly, tracing another shape.

"You could try to make your answerth a little more convincing, Prime Minister" he says a little too brightly.

There's a moment of strained silence before Cameron says "Try to infer the correct response, then."

Ed doesn't look at him but he can feel the grin twisting his mouth and he knows without looking that Cameron's smiling too. His heart's thumping a little too fast.

He raises Cameron's hand a little too quickly, his wedding ring glinting in the moonlight, Cameron's fingers fluttering against his for a second, before they break apart, swinging slowly back and forth in the dark, under the stars and Ed vaguely wonders at how strange it is that the same stars Cameron's been drawing out since he was a little boy, all those years ago, are the same ones they're tracing now, and whether their children will do the same thing.

So he swings back and forth under the sky, and pretends he doesn't notice Cameron's hand brushing his under the stars.

* * *

 

_ Playlist _

_Boxelder-Motion City Soundtrack -this seemed oddly suitable for Ed in his rehearsal debates, trying to convince him and everyone else that it's fine, and Alastair's warnings about whatever bond he and David might have needing to be forgotten_

_"Caught me talking to myself again/One by one, we all go marching in/I hate myself and no-one else/But I lie so well that you'd never tell/If I let you in it would end us both"_

_Father And Mother-Broods \- this suits Ed and Justine._

_"The nights are getting shorter/I don't know where they go/And I am getting older/And it's starting to show...I remember a time when a kiss on the hand was enough/Cause we knew we were free/And we knew what it meant to be loved..I don't want to wake up lonely/I don't want to be just fine/I don't want to keep on hoping..."_

_Lose It-Oh Wonder- this kinda suits the one little bit of respite all of them have at parties, when their alliances are set aside and also David and Ed's little bit of respite in the park._

_"Blood rush in the hazy glow/My hands, your bones...You gotta give yourself a moment, let your body be/We gotta lose it/We gotta lose it"_

_Blacking Out The Friction-Death Cab for Cutie- this seems astonishingly suitable for both Ed B's view on the whole thing and also everyone trying to ignore the fact they've got a campaign coming up where they'll do their best to tear each other to pieces._

_"I don't mind restrictions or if you're blacking out the friction/It's just an escape (it's overrated anyways/The hardest part is yet to come/When you will cross the country alone"_

_What's It Gonna Be?-Shura \- this song just reminds me, with its' weirdly sweet, upbeat sound and some of the sadder lyrics of David and Ed's little sojourn into the night and also Ed's pondering the idea they won't be each other's opponents in a few months._

_"I don't wanna give you up/I don't wanna let you love somebody else but me/So what's it gonna be/What's it gonna be?...I'm praying you don't see the signs/Praying for you to be mine/If you let me down, let me down slow/If you let me down, let me down slow/And I don't believe in forever/I still wanna give it a try..."_

_Calling Occupants Of Interplanetary Craft-The Carpenters -this just reminds me of the whole scene at the end, just staring up at the stars together._

_"And please come in pace we beseech you/(Only of love we will teach you)/Our earth may never survive (So don't come we beg you)/Please interstellar policemen/Won't you give us a sign give us a sign that we've reached you"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Torsten=Torsten Bell, Ed's Head Of Policy. Rachel=Rachel Kinnock, daughter of former Labour leader Neil, Ed's Director Of Events. Greg=Greg Beales, Ed's Director Of Strategy.  
> Alastair held a brutal debate rehearsal before the Christmas of 2014, during which he apparently completely took Ed apart, which prompted Ed to tell him Cameron wasn't that cruel: https://totalpolitics.com/articles/news/how-alastair-campbell-went-malcolm-tucker-ed-miliband-plus-eds-bacon-sandwich-warning  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/labour-in-crisis-from-the-bacon-sandwich-to-the-ed-stone-8k6rxrxzsfx  
> Ed neglected to add his name to Daniel's birth certificate and only remembered to do it when Sam was born, by which time Daniel was 18 months old. This was considered as a line of attack by the Tories during the election campaign, but was overruled by David, though it was made much of by the press: https://www.pressreader.com/uk/daily-mail/20100928/284975376135152  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/news/god-and-a-birth-certificate-lapse-ed-miliband-tackles-the-difficult-questions-6518853.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/identifying-yourself-as-the-father-is-a-key-moment-66sqfx89pgp  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/news/anguish-of-the-miliband-women-6518492.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/8127308/Ed-Miliband-registers-the-birth-of-his-baby-and-older-brother.html  
> Stewart played Clegg in Ed's rehearsal debates, Alastair sometimes played Cameron. Axelrod is David Axelrod, one of Ed Miliband's advisors, who drew ire by mostly directing the campaign from the US.  
> The party David throws is a "rave party" they did throw at Chequers-the Prime Ministerial country home-near Christmas 2014, as a belated 40th birthday present for Samantha, which George & Michael did attend:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11300784/Samantha-Camerons-Ibiza-style-rave-at-Prime-Ministers-retreat-of-Chequers.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2878467/SEBASTIAN-SHAKESPEARE-Dave-threw-Ibiza-rave-Sam-Cam-Chequers.html  
> Auntie Helena=Helena Bonham Carter, who's a good friend of the Camerons: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1343971/David-Cameron-Helena-Bonham-Carter-New-Year-Hill-climb.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/10897203/Helena-Bonham-Carter-David-Cameron-is-incredibly-witty.html  
> Eliza is the daughter of Allie, one of Sam's best friends:https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/sam-cam-a-wife-less-ordinary-pnz2pw7m86d  
> This is Chequers: https://goo.gl/images/M3KVY7  
> https://goo.gl/images/QUKXQU  
> https://goo.gl/images/m644mp  
> The swimming pool is visible here: https://goo.gl/images/M3KVY7  
> Alex, Tania and Clare are David's brother and sisters-Alex is a QC with whom David has a friendly rivalry: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2020044/Dave-popular-brother-rivalry-drove-No-10.html Tania is a Labour voter & Emily is Sam's sister-Clare was Sam's best friend at school, which is how she and David met: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/cameron-and-his-women-the-ladies-man-518998.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/conservative/3080460/David-Cameron-Thoroughly-modern-Dave-or-the-most-traditional-Tory-leader-ever.html  
> Sarah is Sarah Vine, journalist and Michael's wife. Nancy is a Bruno Mars fan:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/9000253/David-Cameron-interview-those-who-work-hard-will-be-rewarded.html   
> David was caught nearly expelled from Eton: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/1542289/Cameron-the-bad-boy-of-Eton-who-wouldnt-split-on-druggy-friend.html  
> The cross-party Christmas party is something that apparently happens each year-there was a conga at the 2014 one, involving One Direction songs. The "Justine" at the Christmas party is Justine Greening. Sadiq and Zac were reportedly good friends, prior to their Mayoral bids: http://www.politics.co.uk/comment-analysis/2016/05/04/sadiq-khan-on-islamophobia-zac-goldsmith-and-their-vicious-b  
> Sadiq is a friend of Ed, running his leadership campaign: https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/sadiq-khan-secret-victory-signal-250018  
> Andy and Yvette did offer to buy drinks at the bar at the 2014 Labour Christmas party, in case they were needed for a leadership bid, according to the book "Election Notebook". David did think of doing Art. Ed wanted to be an actor as a child: https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/labour-leadership-candidates-secret-lives-244705  
> David's father did have a mild interest in astronomy. The playground they visit is Parliament Hill Playground:  
> https://goo.gl/images/Ck6Ozg  
> https://goo.gl/images/3HbjYt  
> So-hope you enjoyed that. Apologies for the absurd length of time it took-and leave a comment if you enjoyed it. :)


	12. Hypothetical Hassles, Preparatory Pondering And The Precise Art Of Not-Wrestling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which the Loch Ness Monster is not in London, Lego is a good material for house-building, and not-wrestling is an art that must be practiced carefully. And one's opponent's shirt should not be distracting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE YOU READ:  
> FIRST: Impossibilies now has fanart! The awesome [baepper](http://baepper.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr did a lovely picture of that scene in the playground at the end of the last chapter! [Here](http://baepper.tumblr.com/post/147241985288/mm-miliband-swings-a-little-higher-now-my) is the link! (Also, [pennyforthebutchukoy](http://pennyforthebutchukoy.tumblr.com/) has also done some great Camerband art, including for some of my other fanfics!)  
> So, here is the next chapter, and boy do I need this nostalgia more than ever. If you want to read any of the articles linked and can't or just want to chat about the fic, send me an [ask](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr!  
> And as always, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for every comment and kudos. Leave them if you like it :)

_"If that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions."- Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen_

_"There's a line that you cross when forming relationships with people. Crossing this line occurs when you transfer from knowing someone to knowing about someone."-Solitaire, Alice Oseman_

_"And they laughed so that in the end they were making as much noise as if they had been two ordinary healthy natural ten-year-old creatures-instead of a hard, little, unloving girl and a sickly boy who believed he was going to die."- The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett_

* * *

 

 

"It's true, though, you can't deny it."

"I didn't try to deny it-"

"If you're Prime Minister, you'll have to make cuts. Anyone will. And then you'll understand why we had to do it."

"I'm not a _child,_ Cameron-and thanks for the admission you think I'll be Prime Minister-"

"I didn't say I _think_ you'll be Prime Minister. I said _if_ you're Prime Minister. I could say _if_ about a lot of things. I could say _if_ we encounter the Loch Ness Monster-"

"We're in _London-"_

"Hypothetically-"

"If we encounter _the Loch Ness Monster-"_

"Well, it's about the same probability, really-"

"Did someone tell you you were funny, once?"

"Yes, you. On countless occasions."

"When have I _once_ told you you were amusing?"

"Well, you can never seem to stop laughing."

".....That's out of pity."

"Of course it is, Miliband. And we were just hit by a _little_ dent in the economy in 2008-"

"Oh, shut up-"

"Fantastic practice for PMQs, this-"

_"Shut up, Cameron."_

* * *

 

"...him crowing everything is _fixed-"_

David's thankful it's only two days until the Christmas recess and not just because this PMQs session has succeeded in stabbing the word _irritating_ through Miliband's name in his thoughts once again. So much for the Parliament Hill playground.

"It may be fixed for his Christmas card list-" Miliband's gesturing a little too wildly now, his eyes wide with that _look_ -that self-righteous look that never fails to positively _ram_ David's back up-

"But it isn't fixed-for far many-far too many people in this country-"

"Bit rich" George mutters, an inch away from David's ear. "Isn't he on your Christmas card list?"

"Now-now he didn't really answer the question about VAT, did he?"

David snorts and gives George a dig in the side before Miliband can start whining about how _The Prime Minister has no compassion, The Prime Minister finds this amusing, Why is the Prime Minister so cold-hearted,_ in the same bleating tone, as though David's some kind of monster constructed solely out of avarice and the broken dreams of children.

He glances automatically at Nick, even as he reaches for the booklet in front of him-Miliband's question washes over him, the way he's learnt to let them do.

A brief smile appears at the corner of Nick's mouth. David watches a second longer than he should, and then Nick glances at him.

He smiles a little wider but that's all and his eyes skate over George like he's just an empty seat. David turns back to Miliband's question and tells himself he just wants to pay attention.

"Will he now categorically rule out a rise in VAT?" Miliband gives him the wide-eyed look that makes David simultaneously want to laugh and hit him.

They were sitting on swings last night, he can't quite forget, even as he stands up and leans on the dispatch box.

"We don't need to raise taxes because we've _got_ a plan-" He weathers the expected tidal wave of noise from the benches opposite and keeps his eyes away from Miliband's. He's learnt to do that on the days he's finding Miliband especially irritating.

It occurs to him that it could probably be unhealthy to go from sitting on a swing with someone one night to wanting to spit their own words back at them the next day.

"We've got a plan for efficiencies in spending-"

But then it's politics. One hardly goes into it to be healthy.

"It's the party opposite that doesn't have a plan-" He doesn't let his gaze wander near Miliband. He doesn't let his mind wander back to the smile Miliband gave him last night-"What are you _doing_ , Cameron?"

"He asks what has changed for real people over the last year-I'll tell him-"

Lynton's words echo in his ears. _The economy. The economy breakdown-it was them. It was fucking them. _The light glinting sharply off his glasses. _Don't let anyone forget it._

"50, 000 people have a job this year who-didn't have a job last year-"

The cheers make it easy to ride the wave of facts that spills out of his mouth easily, drowning Miliband's question under them.

"You'd think the Labour Party would welcome those things-"

Because they don't-Miliband might say David dodges questions, that they dodge the concerns, that they, that they, that they-

But Labour don't want to see themselves do the same thing. Then, they're happy to creep back, huddle under a blanket, and pat each other's shoulders reassuring each other of their morality. The whining edge of Miliband's questions grate at David's nerves and so he goes on, a little louder.

"But, Mr. Speaker-it _is_ Christmas-we should _all_ be entering the Christmas spirit-and I have to say, Mr. Speaker, I've had _my_ Christmas present a little bit early-"

The cheers drown out his next words. He doesn't mind. It's easier to just look at Miliband now, document clutched between his fingers like a weapon.

"This is the document that has been sent to every Labour MP-and in case they haven't had the time to read it-" He spares Miliband the briefest of glances under his eyelashes. It's a confused impression of Miliband's eyebrow arching, but it brings back the words he spun out earlier, his voice high and irritating-

"Let me advise them, if they go to page 16-" A glance at Miliband now, the jeers rising from the Labour benches, a look snatched quickly, triumphantly. "Be _patient-"_

He deliberately waits a little longer, letting the fury on the other side of the House build, before he continues. "If they go to page 16, it's there in black and white-" He yanks it up. "Managing the economy, it says-"

_Don't let anyone forget it._

"The Conservatives-"

_Hammer it home._

"Have a 17 point lead! Thank you!"

A last glance at Miliband and he's sitting down again, cheers lifting his words higher and hopefully pushing them black and bold into a headline.

Nick still isn't laughing. David chooses not to look at him.

Miliband's yelling something now about "to reflect on _his_ year" and David knows then he can relax. If Miliband's reduced to grasping at events in the past year, then David's won.

"And he gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "conviction politician" when Andy Coulson went to jail-"

 _"Coulthon"_ George mutters right on cue, and David convulses in laughter, the memory smacking him instead of George yesterday in PMQs prep, waving a finger around wildly, his voice whined through his nose in an exaggeration of Miliband's nasal speech- _"Mth-r Th-speaker, I need the Prime Minithter to thpethify-"_

Which is probably George's intention and one David's grateful for.

"He's given up on Compassionate Conservatism-" David can't stop laughing, even now that George has resumed the blank, almost glazed stare he's mastered wearing at PMQs.

"They've been exposed for who they _really are-"_ Miliband's voice is higher, more wavering, and David feels a grim stab of satisfaction at the indignation rearing its' head there.

"Their plan for the 2020s is to go back to the 1930s-" Miliband's finger stabs down and the sight catches David's eye.

"It isn't about balancing the books, it's about slashing the state-" Miliband's leaning further over the dispatch box, the badger-like patch in his hair catching the light.

(He sees Miliband's finger tracing the sky, his own hand caught around Miliband's wrist.)

(His hand was softer than David expected and his fingers were long and holding on was easy because it was warm-)

"And in just four months' time-" Miliband's leaning forward even further now, as if that might make his words stronger. "That _is_ the election choice."

It's too easy to answer. Too easy to ride the waves _-unemployment down, inflation down, economy growing faster,_ spilling out like a nursery rhyme.

It's too easy and that look of Miliband's is what sends the words jabbing sharper and cold out of David's chest into the room.

"I have to say, Mr. Speaker, I almost feel _sorry_ for Labour MPs-" He lets his gaze sweep round, his fingers striking the words out one by one.

"They can't talk about the deficit, because it's _fallen-"_

Miliband's watching him, too bloody close, it feels like-

"They can't talk about _growth_ because it's _rising-"_

Miliband's hand, wrapping a little clumsily around his own.

"They can't talk about _jobs_ , because we're increasing them-"

_They've been exposed for who they really are-_

The next words stab harder. "They can't talk about _immigration_ because they've been told _not_ to talk about immigration-"

The laughter breaks out. David turns away, his heart pounding.

The words are tossed out, a little casually. "They can't talk about their _leader_ because _he's_ a complete waste of space-"

He doesn't look at Miliband.

William laughs. Theresa smiles a little. He hears the _"Ooh"_ rise behind him, predictable as a classroom. George laughs but his eyes have widened a little and they stay that way.

David still doesn't look at Miliband.

(Miliband's grin, swinging next to him in the dark.)

"No wonder this year-" The words are almost shouted, rounded with the laughter that will be a punchline in itself. "For Labour MPs, it's a _silent night!"_

The cheers break out as he sinks down, the laughter leaving him a little breathless, chest aching. He gives George a nudge, keeps his eyes on his papers. He doesn't look up.

He doesn't look across the chamber once.

* * *

 

Ed bites his lip when he hears the words "Only Ed's smiling!" but he keeps his head tilted to the side, even as Cameron avoids his gaze, peering over his glasses at a piece of paper.

"He's laughing-the rest of them look _sad!"_

"Look behind you, Ed-"

Ed carefully avoids taking in the Tory front bench, and is in fact rather grateful that he's smiling. In fact, smiling seems rather the safer option right now.

He'd tensed when Cameron's eyes had met his during the question on benefit cuts, but all Cameron had said was "As I was discussing-calmly-with the Leader of the Opposition earlier-" and Ed had quickly dropped his own gaze.

It had made it easier when Cameron had said a few moments later "I imagine they're trying _not_ to focus on leadership qualities-"

It had made it harder when Cameron had answered a question on climate change-

(and that always meant he could see Cameron again as he had back in 2009, discussing this act together, the Conservative, Eton-educated, too-polished Leader of the Opposition he'd been then, who'd shaken Ed's hand with a tilt of the head and a grin that had left Ed simultaneously a little taken aback and strangely riled, especially when Cameron had tilted his head and looked amused whenever Ed had tried to point out something the Conservatives needed to brush up on, because they were meant to be working _together-)_

(it had stuck in his head, as had some of Cameron's more teasing little lines, and it had left him a strange mixture of annoyed and amused whenever he thought of Cameron for days afterwards)

-and Cameron had said, voice louder, eyes meeting Ed's across the chamber, "I think the Act we've got in place now is delivering."

He's starting to wonder if everything makes it harder these days-

( _Because he's a complete waste of space_ , is louder and louder and louder in his head-)

But then Baldry is speaking and when he says "Can I commend my Right Honourable Friend to some works from Karl Marx?", Cameron's eyes immediately flicker to Ed's over his glasses, that grin peeking out again.

Baldry goes on with the question, to do with Europe and Russia and democracy, and then Cameron's standing up, a grin playing around his mouth.

"Well, I-I very much agree with my Honourable Friend-"

Ed tilts his head, watching Cameron and finding himself noticing quickly the lean of Cameron's body on the dispatch box.

"I-I perhaps haven't spent as much of my time studying Marx as he has-" Cameron looks up from under his eyelashes. He gives Ed a grin. "Or as perhaps the Leader of the Opposition has-"

Ed feels his face split in an answering grin even as Cameron finishes his answer, unable to help it even as Cameron says "I don't know what-um-goes on in Camden these days-"

Ed bites his lip as Cameron goes on with the answer, because grinning is one thing; he does not need to be seen sniggering like a school child at Cameron's answers.

To help himself, he sweeps his gaze round to the frontbench. This is a mistake, as while most of his Shadow Cabinet are wearing various expressions of reluctant amusement, Balls is watching Cameron with narrowed eyes and immediately Ed is brought back to that morning.

_What the hell were you doing-_

_This is fucking naive even for you-_

_It was a fucking party-_

_Yeah, the Labour fucking party and he's a fucking Tory-_

Bercow's voice brings Ed out of his reverie to find the next question being asked and Cameron's gaze-

Cameron's gaze resting on him-

It's only then that Ed becomes aware that his face is burning and his cheeks are aching with what he realises must be a ridiculous grin.

Cameron's eyes are still on his and Ed looks away, an odd squirming sensation in his chest, that isn't unpleasant at all.

He looks back as Bercow calls the next MP and Cameron's still watching him. There's a grin still hovering at his mouth and Ed can't help but return it, even as he's conscious of Balls' gaze, still resting on him.

* * *

 

It's after PMQs that Ed heads for Cameron before he can disappear to his usual team briefing and it's only when he reaches him that he realises Cameron has turned towards him automatically, and that Baldry's talking at his side.

Ed shakes his head, indicating for Baldry to finish whatever he was saying but Baldry's already beaming, as is Osborne.

"Of course-given the amount of time he's been spending with someone who might find the works of Marx rather more insightful than others-"

Ed feels the grin creep back to his mouth and quickly ducks his head

(though it's better than _He's a complete waste of space)_

"Though maybe Marx isn't a frequently discussed topic at Christmas parties, though if either of you would care to enlighten me-"

George snorts with laughter. Ed keeps the smile hovering at his mouth because for some reason he can't quite bring himself to look at Cameron.

"Well-" Cameron's eyes are a little brighter than usual. "I think my Leader of the Opposition and I have plenty of topics of conversation-"

Ed's heart has picked up for some reason, and he still can't quite meet Cameron's gaze.

"But if he wants to add Marx to the catalogue, he'd be very welcome-"

Baldry laughs and claps Cameron on the arm. With a nod at Ed, he tugs at Osborne's arm, tilting his head for a quick word.

Cameron and Ed are left, in amongst a crowd of people, temporarily alone. Cameron's eyes are dancing, his mouth twitching in a grin.

"Though I'm sure" he says a little more quietly, so that only Ed can hear. "Should my own knowledge prove in any way lacking-he'd be more than happy to enlighten me."

The words are only a little quieter than usual, but something about them makes Ed's breath catch in his throat. Cameron blinks, as if a little surprised at himself, but he doesn't look away.

It's only when a few moments have passed that Ed realises that neither of them has spoken or looked away.

He bites his lip. Cameron blinks again and they both look away a little quickly.

"I-" Ed laughs, a little shakily. "I wasn't aware our discussion earlier was your definition of "calmly", Cameron-"

"Well, then, what you're not aware of might fill several books-"

But Cameron's voice is softer and something about that sends a swooping sensation through Ed's stomach.

_(He's a complete waste of space-)_

Cameron gives him a small smile. Ed's heart quickens. He's not sure if he likes it or not.

* * *

 

 "Well, then, what you're not aware of might fill several books-"

Miliband's eyebrows arch. "Is that better than you, Prime Minister?"

David feels himself grin. "A website. An Internet."

"Shut up-" The laughter breaks out of Miliband's throat and he looks almost surprised, his eyes widening a little at himself.

David just grins at him and when the laughter quietens, Miliband grins uncertainly back. David waits for one of them to say something.

Neither of them does and David's about to open his mouth, but something stops him. Miliband's eyes are bright. Something about his smile is bigger than usual-almost goofy. His cheeks are flushed.

David steps closer to him without really being sure why and he sees Miliband's eyes widen a little, when he feels a tap on his shoulder and looks round to see Chris at his side.

"The Speaker would like to see you, Prime Minister" he says with a grin and then a nod at Ed. "Lucky to run into you, Mr. Miliband-"

"Ed" says Miliband automatically and David feels a stab of something-he isn't sure what. Something that aches a little. That makes him smile.

He blinks. "Sorry?"

Chris glances between them and for a moment, David thinks he sees a grin hover at his mouth. But then he says "The Speaker would like to see you. Mr. Miliband too, I believe."

* * *

 

David has always tried to like Bercow. Sometimes, he's succeeded.

Now, he's coming a little closer to succeeding. Though not much.

"Well-" Bercow glances between them, making David feel annoyingly like a schoolboy. "Things have been rather better the last few weeks."

David can't help but glance at Miliband then, because to his knowledge, the last few PMQs have not been entirely "civil".

"Oh, I don't mean at PMQs" Bercow tells them, destroying David's vague hope that Bercow might have finally snapped and they could get rid of him.

"I know enough not to expect miracles there" Bercow adds with a grin at Ed. Ed returns the smile and David feels a sharp jab of annoyance or something like it.

 _Bercow's Labour wife_ mutters the voice in the back of his head before David can quieten it.

But it is rather irking.

"But some of the outside work-that negates the effect" Bercow goes on and David listens, that annoyance niggling at the back of his brain.

* * *

 

"Doesn't he annoy you?" he mutters to Miliband, a few minutes later, as they both make their way down the corridor.

"John? Not particularly." Ed glances at him, a flicker of confusion dawning in his eyes.

David looks away and thinks quickly of George rolling his eyes after the last time he was reprimanded by Bercow ("Can't we just get rid of him?" he'd muttered to David afterwards. "He's small enough, he could just sink down in that throne of his and never be seen again.")

"Next Christmas, we should get him a cane" David mutters and it might be his imagination but a blush seems to darken Miliband's cheeks for a moment.

Next Christmas-and then David remembers.

There's very few "Nexts" now. Apart from next May.

They stop at the end of the corridor, both of them glancing at the other.

"You got our Christmas card?"

"Yes." Miliband gives him a smile and then says "Did you get-"

David debates whether or not to lie. But Miliband's looking at him, eyes wide and dark, and he settles for "It must be on my desk, I haven't got it yet."

Miliband frowns. "We sent them all out last week."

David blinks. "Oh. Really? We must have-"

Miliband chews his lip. "Oh. Sorry, I-must have-it must be on my desk or something, I'll give it to you, if you-"

David hates having to refuse more than he should.

"I've got-um. An interview. With Robinson, as it happens."

"Oh-of course, we had one last month-"

David notes that they've still got to scour that for anything they can use to hammer Labour. He tries for a grin. "Probably going through my office right now-"

"Th-suggesting there's something to be found there, Prime Minister-"

David beams at him. "Of course. Plans to privatise the NHS, top drawer-"

"Hilarious." Miliband's voice is a little quieter than usual and he glances quickly at David, then away. "What?"

Miliband opens his mouth and then shakes his head "Nothing. Just-"

David watches him, taking in the flutter of Miliband's eyelashes. He catches himself watching a second longer than he needs to and frowns.

"I can give it to you later" Miliband says a little too quickly. "After the interview-"

"Yeah. I mean-yes. That would be-"

He doesn't know why he feels so flummoxed about getting a card.

Miliband nods, his own cheeks rather flushed, and then says "Well-I-I'd best be-"

"Oh. Oh yes, of course-"

"I'll find you-"

"Yes. Yes, that would be-"

"You looked nice on your card."

"I'll-what?"

Ed's blushing. David notices this in a vague, distracted way because that's the only way he can afford to let himself notice it. It's something that sends colour to his own cheeks for some reason.

"You-I mean-you and Sam. Looked-very nice. On your card."

Ed's eyes flicker away. David stares at him but when Ed looks back at him, finds he can't quite meet his gaze, either.

"Oh. Well." He swallows. "That's-um-thank you."

Ed nods and David clears his throat. "I'm sure-well-I'm sure you and Justine do too."

He immediately winces. But Ed nods, a little uncertainly now. "Oh. Um-well-thanks."

David tries not to notice they're both blushing.

Another silence lingers, then.

"Well."

"Well, I'd better-"

"Oh. Oh yes, me too-"

Maybe it's the Christmas cards. That's the only thing David can think of.

But for some reason, his hand moves and-well-

Touches-

Miliband's arm.

 _Touches_ Miliband's arm-

"Well-see you later."

Miliband's blushing. David notices this vaguely as he tries to ignore the-rather too obvious-fact that he himself is blushing. Which is obviously ridiculous.

"Y-yes. Yes. See you later."

Miliband pats his arm-or seems to aim for his arm but misses, patting David's wrist instead. Their hands linger together for a few moments too long, and then they both pull away a little too fast.

* * *

 

"I've got to admire your optimism, Prime Minister."

David sometimes wonders if he will ever coax from Nick Robinson's mouth an admission that he votes Tory but he has to admit that today might not be that day.

"Any particular reason?" He takes a seat next to Robinson, clinks their Nespresso mugs together.

Nick gives him a grin. David's reminded rather strongly for a moment of their university days.

"I'd make a remark about the tracksuit" Nick says, with a grin, and David arches an eyebrow-he hadn't bothered to change after his run and he's just hoping he'll have time after Nick's gone.

He'd needed a run. He's always liked running. It's one of the few times he's not required to answer phones or make decisions or be in charge. All he has to focus on is his breathing and the rhythmic thud of his feet and his heart, constant and rapid in his ears-

Now, Nick gives him a grin. "Mainly about your election prospects, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yep." Nick takes a gulp from his mug, smile never wavering. "Fact is, you seem rather confident, Prime Minister."

"I do?"

"The whistling while you made the coffee was rather indicative, Prime Minister."

David grins. "Aren't you going to accuse me of overconfidence?"

Nick arches a brow. "Is that a headline I should use?"

David laughs and takes a sip of his own coffee."I like to think it's not out of hand."

"But honestly-" Nick isn't so indiscreet as to lean forward but David can tell from the push of the glasses to the quick squeeze of the lips that Nick's reached the question he really wants to ask.

"Whenever I speak to you-or any of the Conservatives-you all seem to be in an astonishingly positive frame of mind-"

David has a momentary flash back to George and Nick, ostentatiously avoiding each other's eyes at the last Cabinet meeting.

"That's because we're planning to run a positive campaign" he says mildly.

"But all the same-" Nick spreads one hand. "You're not an idealist. You know the most likely outcome of this election. The overwhelming likelihood is that you end up in a coalition of some sort."

David just grins and takes another sip of coffee.

"Or-" says Nick, with deliberate casualness. "That you could end up the head of a small minority government." He raises an eyebrow. "Surely you're concerned by that?"

This train of thought isn't entirely new to David.

"You know what the polls are saying" he's fretted to Lynton too many times. "We need to have contingency plans in place."

"And we will." Lynton had leant in, pushed David down rather firmly into a chair. "We will. But right now isn't when we're going to-"

"Lynton." David had looked up at him then and maybe something in his expression had brooked no argument because Lynton had actually let him finish the sentence. "What if we lose?"

Lynton had smiled.

That alone, reflects David, had been rather unnerving.

"David" Lynton had said, fairly peaceably. "I am running this campaign. I know what is going on in this campaign. And do you honestly imagine that if those polls were the only indications of the results this campaign will yield, that I would be sitting here-" Lynton had glanced at David's desk. "Listening to your polling terrors next to a koala." He glanced at it again. "One of mine, isn't it?"

David had blinked, momentarily wrong-footed. "Oh. Yeah."

Lynton had promptly patted the koala's head and grinned at David, who had stared back, mind ticking.

"Wait." He'd met Lynton's eyes then, feeling his brow furrow. "Are you saying you've got other polls? Polls that show-"

Lynton had tapped the side of his nose.

David had rolled his eyes. "Lynton, that's annoying enough when Nancy does it."

Lynton had sighed. "Take it as a yes. And no-" as David had opened his mouth to protest. "You can't see them."

David had opened his mouth again.

"No."

David had closed his mouth, then, suddenly thinking of something, opened it again.

"David, how many-"

"I was going to ask" David had said, blinking up at him."Where the hell do you get all those koalas?"

Now, looking at Nick, David can't help but smile a little. "Let's just say-" he says, taking another sip of his coffee. "We're waiting to see what the outcome is."

* * *

 

Ed snatches a glance around the office under his eyelashes, after the door closes behind him. It feels oddly furtive, as though he's doing something he shouldn't be, the knowledge prickling in the back of his mind that he's not just one of the few people in the country who'd be allowed in here, but one of the few who's allowed in here alone.

It's just a little strange, he thinks as he glances around Cameron's private office once again, smoothing the envelope carefully, to think that this could be his office in less than a year's time.

Will be, Alastair would say, but Ed can't quite grasp the word yet. He tries, but he always lets it go at the last minute. He can't quite hold onto it yet, really.

But right now, this is Cameron's office and it feels almost too strange to be in here alone.

Ed glances down at the card, then back at the desk and swallows. Maybe he should just leave the card here. After all-

That's when the door opens and Cameron steps in. Ed's mouth suddenly feels uncomfortably dry.

Maybe it's just the way they said goodbye to each other but somehow the first thing he notices is that Cameron's _changed._

Which shouldn't really mean anything.

It's just- _unusual_ to see Cameron out of a suit.

At Sam's party and Bonfire Night-

But that was before-well.

Before trains and apologies and Cameron's head on his shoulder-

_(Not masosadism, don't think of-)_

(He shouldn't be blushing.)

But-it shouldn't even-

But this is Cameron's office and-well.

He's in a shirt with long sleeves and his hair's wet. Ed notices this vaguely, droplets falling from his hair onto his shirt.

He notices as Cameron spins and then claps a hand over his chest. "Jesus, Miliband-"

Ed jumps. "Th-sorry-"

Cameron's grinning, even as he makes his way to his desk. "This a new Labour tactic, Miliband?" he remarks with a grin as he leans against the desk. "Send the incumbent Prime Minister into cardiac arrest?"

"Hilarious-" Ed manages before his eyes drift down and he sees that Cameron's shirt-

Well-

Cameron's shirt-

It's unbuttoned.

Well, the first two buttons are-

And that doesn't mean anything. Of course it doesn't mean-Cameron's perfectly-it's completely _normal_ that Cameron would-

But his eyes are hovering on that strip of skin peeking through the buttons and that's-

That's-

Ed's staring. He's staring and-he quickly drags his eyes up.

Cameron's eyes find his and Ed feels the blush rise to his cheeks. Which is ridiculous because-because-he wasn't _staring-_

He was just _surprised-_

He finds himself meeting Cameron's eyes again and then wonders when he first looked away.

"Oh-" He wonders when Cameron stopped speaking and then wonders if he himself has been speaking. And then wonders what precisely he was about to say.

"Oh" he manages again and then his eyes snap to Cameron's. "Oh. Oh. Sorry. I, um-I-"

Cameron blinks. "Oh-um. Thank you. I'm not sure what _for-"_

"Oh-" and don't look, don't _look, don't look at him, don't_ -his eyes are drifting a little lower and for some reason his breath is catching in his throat, his hands curling at his sides. "I-um-just-I-"

He snatches another glimpse of Cameron's skin, just peeking through, and Ed suddenly feels light-headed.

"Oh-" Cameron's laughing suddenly and adjusting his collar. Ed blinks, again, feeling-

Well-

Almost-

"Christ, my hair's dripping-" Cameron's shaking his head a little, before he pulls a towel from within his desk and tousles his hair with it. He grins at Ed as he lets the towel fall and Ed feels an odd shiver that seems to start in his chest and leave a strangely pleasant squirming sensation in his ribs. There are goosebumps on the back of his neck.

"Anyway-" Cameron tilts his head and that's when Ed realises he's standing there, doing something horribly close to _staring._

At _Cameron_.

Bloody _Cameron-_

"Oh-oh." He blinks. "Oh. God-sorry. Oh-sorry-"

He's tongue-tied and he can feel the heat in his cheeks and he doesn't even know _why-_

He follows Cameron's gaze to his hand and it takes him a moment too long to realise he's holding a card.

Which Cameron has somehow managed to make him forget.

It's Cameron with that _grin_ and that-that-

"Oh. Yes. Yes. Your card." It comes out a little sharper, rapid, but-

This is Cameron, who makes laws that just makes things worse and increases inequality and just won't see-

And whose eyes have just creased with that grin, those dimples deepening and Ed realises belatedly, that he's just standing there, clutching his card and staring at Cameron, who's so bloody _confusing-_

"Oh-" He's cut off by the sharp wave of confusion and something that's almost irritated rising in his throat and he has to blink and shake his head a little-"Oh. Sorry. Um-here-"

"Merry Christmas" he adds a second later, as Cameron takes the card, confusion furrowing his brow alongside amusement. "I hope-well-th-sorry it's late-"

Cameron's already opening the card and his eyes are creased and something about the look is so-

So much-

Younger.

Almost _boyish-_

It's then he realises that Cameron's opening the card.

No, Cameron's opening the-

_Now-_

Ed's never known quite where to look when people are opening presents. And cards are worse because they contain writing. Actual, scribbled-out ink, thoughts and feelings carved into a page.

Words are too easy to hurt.

Ed can't look at him as Cameron grins at the picture on the front

(Ed flinches every time he sees that picture, because the laughter that's twisting itself out of Justine's mouth in strange shapes is bent and tied around the knot of Daniel's brows and the emptiness between his own hands when he'd reached for one of their sons a second too late.)

Cameron just smiles at it and Ed wonders, not for the first time, if pictures are really that important to everyone else.

Then Cameron opens the card and Ed's hand immediately fastens around his own sleeve. He tugs at it for a few moments, before his hand jumps to his neck, rubbing the skin nervously. He can't look at Cameron.

He glances around the room, but that just makes it worse because it brings his thoughts back to who could own this office in six months' time

(Six months, how on earth is it _six months-)_

He tries not to but his eyes dart up every few seconds to snatch another glimpse of Cameron. Each time he sees Cameron with that small smile playing at his mouth and his brow furrowed a little and anxiety pulls tight in his stomach because-

 _Don't laugh_ is all he thinks stupidly. And then all at once, berates himself for being so concerned with Cameron's opinion, and he can feel a frown creeping to his mouth and eyes and he chews his lip a little awkwardly.

It seems to take an age for Cameron to look up with that smile at his mouth and Ed feels himself stiffen all over, his heart much too fast. "W-what?"

Cameron takes a step closer, then. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then he just tilts his head to the side, watching Ed with a smile.

(A smile.)

(Not a grin.)

"What?" Ed knows the word is snapped a little, and tries to soften his tone. "I mean-I hope that's-ah-"

There's a strange nervousness creeping under his ribs-a feeling of not quite being able to fit in his own skin, and the longer Cameron looks at him like _that_ -the more wary Ed feels-

"C-Cameron-"

Cameron blinks, then gives his head a quick jerk. "Sorry."

He doesn't sound sorry. There's a quiet amusement there, but it doesn't sound like he's laughing, either.

Ed shouldn't feel this nervous over a bloody _card._

He shouldn't feel this bloody _nervous_ in front of _Cameron_ for _any_ reason-

"I just-" Cameron clears his throat and the hint of something too quick for Ed to catch flits across his face. "Well. Thank you."

That little smile's still there and something about that and the strip of skin he can still see peeking through Cameron's buttons leaves Ed fumbling for words.

"You're-um-"

"It's-ah-" Cameron's grin deepens again and he steps closer, his elbow brushing Ed's. "I do like the fact you point out that _"neither of us know what will have happened in six months.""_ Cameron gives him a grin. "Very subtle, Miliband."

Ed laughs, though it comes out a little higher than usual. Cameron winks and something about it sends an excitement prickling through his bones and he has to drag his eyes away from Cameron's before that smile can appear at his mouth again.

Somehow, he's moved a step closer to Cameron without noticing, so they're standing still, almost-

Almost leaning-

Leaning against each other-

They both look up at the same time and Ed stumbles over his words. "Oh. Oh-um-I like yours'-your card. Your-well-"

Cameron's smirking. Ed curses himself. "I liked it" is all he can manage, and then he snaps his mouth shut, wishing he'd never opened it in the first place.

"Good." Cameron's voice curls, as though he might be about to break into a laugh. He looks at Ed quickly, then away, then back. "The boys look sweet-"

"Yes. They-um-" Ed wishes he hadn't started the sentence. "They-well-they-we couldn't get them to smile, really."

Cameron shrugs. "Yes, sometimes, ours' don't-better not to make them, really. Always end up with sort of-" He flashes an imitation of a smile. "Rictus grins, you know-"

Ed thinks he would have settled for a rictus grin. "Yeah-yes-I mean, we thought they'd get used to it you know-"

He winces because there'd been a moment-a moment when the boys had been wriggling and Daniel's brow had been knotted and Justine had been trying to straighten them up with a grin and "Now smile for Daddy-" and Daniel had just _glowered_ at her, and a thought had stabbed Ed sharply, an angry jab that had cut before he could stop it, leaking little whispers, _Why can't you just do it for me? Just smile for a bloody picture and make it a bit easier, for God's sake._

He'd shaken it away a moment later, forced his voice to soften, to coax, but the words had still lingered.

Now, he glances at Cameron, who's still smiling down at the card and then realises he's moved closer again without meaning to.

Cameron glances at him and smiles again-just smiles. Ed's arm's brushing his. He can smell the other man's shampoo, he realises vaguely, and then that he's not moving away.

Cameron tracks Ed's gaze which he realises a second too late has been roaming to Cameron's hairline, and then Cameron rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Just been for a run. That's why-" He points to his hair unnecessarily. "Got showered."

Ed nods and then blurts out before he can do anything stupid, "I used to run."

He immediately wishes he'd done something stupid.

"Oh." Cameron's grin is mischievous now. "I remember."

Ed winces at the memory of the picture that had graced the headlines, of himself in that stupid shirt, with that stupid run, with that stupid-

"Yes" he manages, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. "Yes. It was-um-" He tries for a laugh but doesn't quite manage it.

Cameron's laughing, he realises, but there's something softer in his eyes and he steps closer. "It wasn't that bad" he offers, though his eyes are dancing. They're bluer than he realised, he notes vaguely.

"Thanks very much" he manages, with a laugh that's too high-pitched. Cameron's just watching him and the scent of his shampoo is stronger now and a faint soapy smell underneath. Ed fidgets, heat creeping higher and higher up his neck-

_God, you smell good-_

The thought is like a smack in the face. Ed almost jumps.

Where the-where on _earth-_

"I mean it-" Cameron's voice is a little lower now and Ed looks up to find Cameron's eyes only an inch from his own. He takes in a breath, blinks, chews his lip. "You-um. You didn't look bad."

"Oh." Ed's voice is a little shaky. He doesn't know what to do with his hands suddenly. "Oh. Well. Thank you-"

Cameron smells good, and he can't stop thinking it, can't stop noticing-

"You-I never thought-you-um-" He's stumbling and somehow Cameron's cheeks look a little flushed in the light.

"You didn't look bad. Either. I mean-I didn't think you looked bad, either. You-um-I-"

He's blushing. He knows and that makes it worse.

Cameron isn't smiling now, but somehow that makes his eyes softer, his voice lower. "Thank you."

Cameron's fingers graze his hand and their eyes meet for a breath, before they both look down at the same moment. Ed has a brief impression of warmth and soap before they both step back at once.

"I-um-" He feels a little dazed and he's suddenly a little too aware that he's standing close to Cameron-

And that they're alone. In Cameron's office.

Though that shouldn't mean anything.

"Yes-well-"

"I-I'd better go soon-" Ed blurts out, a little too fast. "I mean, it's, um-"

"Oh-oh yes, of course-" Cameron nods and then says, as though he's been meaning to all along, "I-I don't know if I'll be able to see you tomorrow so I-I might send your present over-it's not huge-" he says, perhaps sensing Ed's immediate prickle of worry. "It's just a-a token, you know-"

"Oh. Oh, yeah, of course-I-I mean, thankth-s-" Ed bites his lip and then blurts it out in a rush. "I've-um-got something for you, too."

He immediately blushes at how the words sound. "I mean-I mean, it's not like-you know-it's the same sort of thing-"

He clears his throat. "Well. You-um-you understand-"

Cameron nods slowly. "I know." He gives him the Cameron grin again and suddenly Ed wants the smile back, not the grin.

"Thanks" Cameron says and Ed swallows. But Cameron's eyes dart away and then back and then there's something there like that smile.

"I like the wreath" Ed volunteers, after a moment, eyes drifting to the Christmas wreath he's only just noticed on the wall. Cameron follows his gaze.

"Christmas" he says and then somehow he's standing next to Ed again. "Do you remember one of the first times I asked you up here?"

Ed almost jumps at the words. Cameron glances at him and this time it's the smile. Not the grin.

"I mean-after that-ah-encounter with Angela Eagle-"

"Oh-when you-with your characteristic charm-advised her to calm down-"

"No, I was actually thinking of an entirely different Angela Eagle. There are a surprising number of Angela Eagl-"

Ed touches his arm and Cameron stops. He does this before he actually realises he's doing it.

But Cameron stops and they both smile.

They both do this before they realise that the reason Cameron's stopped is that Ed's put his hand on his arm.

They both stare at each other and Ed's hand doesn't move fast enough.

When it does, Cameron says a little more quickly than usual, "Anyway, do you remember?"

Ed does.

"You asked me if I thought Sam or Justine would have the bigger hat and whether Bercow would call "Order, order" when William and Kate lined up in front of the altar."

"Yes."

"I pretended to laugh."

Cameron's mouth twitches. "Also yes."

Ed's mouth twitches, too. He feels it at the same moment he feels something shift, the same way he did on the swings and at the bonfire. He and Cameron are watching each other.

Ed laughs, then, and it's easier. It's easier and Cameron's laughing, too. They stand there together, laughing and almost touching each other's arms a few times but not quite.

"I thought you were pretending" Cameron tells him, when they can breathe again, and Ed just shakes his head and says, laughter still cracking his voice, "I knew you knew I was."

"Well-" and Cameron's voice is quieter. "I know what it sounds like. When you laugh."

Ed swallows hard. "Yeah" is all he can say and then "Yes" because it's true.

Cameron has always been able to make him laugh.

It's annoying, he tells himself.

His eyes drop to Cameron's shirt again and then back up and maybe it's this, that and the sight of Cameron in a loose shirt with his hair dripping that, maybe-

"It's weird" is what he blurts out and then, even as Cameron's brow furrows, "That you can be like this?"

It comes out as a question.

"Like-"

"Like-" Ed doesn't mean it to come out. "You-I mean, obviously _you_ -but-but- _this_ you-I mean-"

He almost can't look at Cameron.

"You're-you're not always like this. Sometimes, you-sometimes, you're-you _can_ be-like this-"

He avoids Cameron's eyes.

Cameron looks back at him. Ed waits to be asked what he means.

Cameron keeps looking. Eventually, Ed looks back at him.

Cameron's not grinning. He's not smiling, either. But-it's a look not unlike the smile. It's a softer look. A quieter look.

"I don't know " is what he says and Ed meets his eyes again.

"It's-" and Cameron tilts his head to the side. "It's like-well-"

Cameron never fumbles for words.

"It's as though" and he looks a little past Ed as he says it, "You can't understand why anyone _would-_ be different."

"Different-"

"Out there-and in here-different."

Ed blinks. "Well-"

He can't, is the first answer he comes up with. He's never thought of being any different because-

It's dishonest, is what his brain clings to. It's insincere.

But then Cameron watches him, head on one side and says "I suppose that makes _you-"_ and something about the words are almost-

A little-

Ed isn't sure whether or not he wants Cameron to finish the sentence.

Cameron looks at him again and then says quickly "I don't think that you're a waste of space."

The words sting again.

"I didn't think you did."

"I know. But-I just wanted to clarify."

Ed looks back and for a moment, he wants to ask again.

But then Cameron says "I suppose I don't understand how you couldn't" and Ed looks at him and says "That's not an answer."

Cameron looks back and the tiniest smile creeps out. "No, it isn't."

Ed waits for the easy line to creep out too and it doesn't.

Instead, he says "I think that's the first time you've said you don't know something."

Cameron's mouth twitches. "I know."

They both laugh again, a little sadder. But they stand there a while longer.

Ed supposes he should say something.

Something about how this-

The smile behind the grin-

The David behind the Cameron-

He-

He thinks he might like this-

But he doesn't.

"Merry Christmas, Cameron" is what comes out, staring at the wreath, and it comes out breathy, almost a whisper.

There's a moment of silence and then Cameron's voice, lower, almost husky. "Merry Christmas Miliband."

Ed sneaks a quick look at him and Cameron hastily looks away. Ed feels his breath catch in his throat. And he stands, quiet in the dim light and listens to him and Cameron listen to each other breathing.

* * *

 

"Nice, isn't it?" Kate holds up the box of Ferrero Rocher and Gavin grins, holding up his own Celebrations. "Didn't even know you could get a box this size."

Gavin pats his box quite affectionately. "Perils of the job, isn't it?" He gives Kate a wink. "Though whether we get anything nicer from the Chancellor-"

"Fuck off." Kate throws up a finger and a grin. "We dated for five months-"

"You'd think you'd get the best chocolates out of it, then-"

"Oh, shut up."

"Pretty much what Dave said when I delivered Miliband's chocolates to him this morning."

"And those are words I never thought would cross your lips."

"Well, neither did I." Gavin pulls a pile of documents closer. "And possibly, neither did Lynton, so I'd keep quiet about it if I were you. Dave's kids will be pleased with their lot, though. As will Miliband's."

"How did Dave react?"

"The usual." Gavin leans back in his chair. "Grinned, shook his head, stared at the card, muttered something about "bloody Miliband" and grinned again. And let's all just note that _that_ has now become the new normal."

Kate winks. "Miliband probably did something similar when he opened his chocolates. Which Dave insisted on buying himself, by the way."

"Bit odd, isn't it?" Gavin glances at the clock, then, deciding that Christmas spirit will probably prevail, rips open the box of chocolates. "The whole Three Musketeers thing-"

"Two Musketeers-"

"What?"

"Two Musketeers-unless you're counting Clegg-"

"You're focusing way too much on the Musketeers thing-" Gavin holds up a hand.

"I know what you mean." Kate follows suit with her own chocolates, popping one in her mouth. "Then again, I'm used to him being up against Brown."

"Not Blair, though."

"Oh God, no. Wouldn't have been shocked if he was best friends with _Blair-"_

"Don't let Dave hear you say that" Gavin warns her with a wink. "But it is-" He searches for another word but only comes up with "Odd."

"True. Maybe it's Christmas spirit." Kate pops another chocolate into her mouth. "Though I don't know if Jaffa Cakes are particularly Christmassy-"

"Jaffa Cakes?"

"What he got Miliband. Along with some Celebrations."

Gavin grins. "Christmas spirit prevailing, then?"

"He likes Jaffa Cakes, apparently. Though I suppose Dave knows what he likes."

Gavin snorts. "Please don't say that."

Kate grins at him. "True. I could always remind you of what George likes-"

Gavin throws a Celebration at her. Kate bursts out laughing and catches it in her hands, unwrapping it and popping it in her mouth triumphantly.

* * *

 

Andy looks up and grins as Balls holds up the gift Andy wrapped for him last night with a raised eyebrow.

"Really, Burnham?"

"Not the typical response when you're thanking someone for a gift."

"A Sound of Music tea towel?"

"Don't say I don't know you."

Ed shoves his shoulder gently. "Thanks, mate."

Andy grins. "And thanks for the Everton cushion-throw."

Ed positions himself on a chair, legs spread round the back of it. "Don't say _I_ don't know _you."_

Andy grins, glances up at the fairy lights strung above the desk. "Off to Morley tomorrow?"

"Yep. You off to Leigh?"

"Yep."

"And then it's the fucking holidays. Thank Christ for that." Ed sighs, resting his chin on his arms. "And of course Yvette will remind me that no matter how fucking exhausted I am, it's nothing compared to what she's-"

Andy aims a grin over his shoulder. Ed spins round, scrabbles for purchase, and nearly turns the chair over. Andy bursts out laughing. Balls glowers at him. "Fuck off, Burnham."

"What did Ed get you?"

"Terry's Chocolate Orange." Ed chucks it triumphantly in the air.

Andy grins, proffering his own. Balls rolls his eyes. "Don't ask what he got from Cameron."

"Oh?" Andy grins, debating the merits of opening his own now.

Balls informs Andy he doesn't want to talk about it and then proceeds to talk about it.

"A box of Celebrations. And Jaffa Cakes."

"Jaffa Cakes?""

"Yeah, he'd live on them if he could." Balls rolls his eyes. "Ed got him Ferrero Rocher. And oatcake biscuits."

"Oatcake biscuits?"

"Apparently, they're Cameron's favourites. And the fact I know that is something that should deeply fucking disturb you."

Andy grins at him. "How did he react to Cameron's?"

Ed's mouth twists in something close to disgust. "He _grinned"_ he says, as if alluring to catching Miliband in _flagrante delicto_ with that koala of Cameron's.

He stares at Andy, as if waiting for something. "He _grinned"_ he says again, as if Andy might not have heard him the first time.

Andy stares back at him for a moment. Then, "Oh." Andy sits up, shaking his head. "My apologies-so sorry-" He shakes his head, pushing his papers aside-"Sorry-" Andy reaches for his phone. "Sorry, I've _just_ got to call my cardiologist-I think my heart _might_ have just given out from that information-"

"Shut up, Burnham."

* * *

 

"Thank you for the presents" is what David deems it appropriate to begin with.

He tries for a smile and so does Nick, a second too late.

"Flo will be thrilled with that Frozen chocolate box" David tries to joke, but Nick draws in a breath and then stops, censoring himself quickly with a small shake to the head.

"No." The word comes out before David can stop it.

Nick looks up. David curses himself.

"Tell me" he manages and then, grimacing a little at how the words sound, "I mean-whatever you were going to say."

Nick gives him something that's almost a smile, then-a smile and a strange jerk of the head. "You know-" he manages, and then the smile-or something like a smile-deepens a little and he shakes his head a little harder this time. "Doesn't matter."

"No, it-"

"Thanks." Nick looks up at him rather abruptly. "I mean, for the kids' presents. And mine and Miriam's, too-" He clears his throat, then swallows.

David opens his mouth but Nick speaks before he can. "I suppose this might be the last Christmas, mightn't it?"

He laughs. It almost sounds like a laugh.

"'Course, it might be easier to put the lights up then-a little less negotiation-"

The silence hovers for a moment. David chooses his words carefully.

"Well. Once your lot throw us onto the streets-"

There's another moment of silence and then they both laugh a little too loudly.

It's a little too quiet when they stop. David looks at Nick and then says, Lynton's voice already whispering warningly in the back of his head, "Are you all right?"

Nick's head snaps up then and for a moment, they just look at each other. Then Nick shrugs. "I suppose."

The words linger there, between them. Lynton's voice yells, throwing itself against David's skull, and when he opens his mouth, the words have polished themselves without him noticing.

"I suppose we'd better prepare, then."

Nick meets his eyes too and then his voice is a little crisper, a little sharper. "Perhaps you'd better."

They smile at each other. It doesn't quite reach either of their eyes.

"Well." Nick's voice is low. "I hope you have a good Christmas."

David returns the sentiment, and tries to think it's more than that.

They look at each other as Nick heads for the door and Nick's voice is softer as he says "Happy Christmas, David."

David's voice is a little louder than it should be. "Happy Christmas, Nick."

They watch each other, with small inclines of the heads that are almost nods. Then, Nick turns and lets the door click closed softly behind him, and David is alone in the heart of Downing Street.

* * *

 

George is all too aware of how demanding his job can be, but he did rather suppose Christmas Eve might be his own.

"Country collapsed, Prime Minister?"

"Merry Christmas to you too, George." George glances at the clock with one eye open, and winces-it's not even eight. Next to him, Frances kicks him lazily with a groan and pulls the pillow over her head.

"Didn't realise I'd slept through two days already" he mutters, propping himself up on the elbow. "Frances is going to kill you, by the way."

"Tell her good morning." George winces at the sheer volume of David's voice, which is, as usual, unreasonably cheerful for this hour of the morning.

Frances mutters something that sounds nothing like a return of the sentiment.

"Well?" George mutters, rolling over and wondering if he can get away with falling asleep over the phone. "Has the economy crumbled? Eric eaten your last sandwich? Boris fallen off his bike-"

"Nah." David sounds supremely unconcerned. "I wanted to ask Frances something, actually."

George says something remarkably unfestive. Frances kicks him again.

"Charming."

George buries his face in the pillow. "What is it?"

"Can't I have Frances-"

"If you have Frances, you won't have your hearing."

"Or some other things" mutters Frances darkly into the pillow.

"Can you ask her something, then?"

"If this is about losing your hair, again-"

Frances snorts into the pillow.

"I _told_ you that was the _angle of the picture-"_

 _"Dave."_ George nestles back into the pillow. _"Please_ tell me what it is you wanted before I drive down there and strangle you with your own Christmas lights."

"Is it technically treason to make a threat against the Prime Minister's life-"

"You really need to brush up on what _treason_ means-"

Frances says something unintelligible but which George would take a wild guess is not full of the joys of Christmas.

"What is it, Dave?"

"Do you think Miliband will be up yet?"

George is half-dozing into the pillow, the phone pressing into his cheek when David says this.

A second later, he's sitting up right, his hair wild and the phone almost dropping out of his hand. "Are you fucking _joking?"_

"You might want to keep your temper-" The smile creeping back into David's voice doesn't help much. "If you're planning to be Prime Minister-"

"If you just woke me up at 7:30 to ask me what time Miliband _gets up-"_

"Of course I haven't." David sounds a little insulted. "I've woken you up at _7:50_ to ask you what time Miliband gets up."

George's prompt reply is to thump the pillow, which results in Frances doing the same but with the pillow rather than a fist, which is aimed at George's head.

"Are you _serious?"_

"Perfectly."

"Why the hell do you need to know?"

"Well." For the first time, David sounds a touch uncomfortable. "It's his birthday-"

George, who's still contemplating just how easy David's Christmas lights are to tie into knots, feels his brow furrow. "So?"

David clears his throat, but George is already rolling his eyes. "Oh God. You got him a present, didn't you?"

There's a short silence and then "You could say that."

George lets his head fall into his hands. "What did you get him?"

There's another pause and then "Just a book."

It's at this point that Frances sits up, with the remark "And no, he doesn't already have it."

George blinks and then turns to stare at her. "You knew?"

"I asked her" says David at exactly the same moment that Frances says "He asked me."

George rolls his eyes. "And neither of you thought to tell me?"

He hears David take in a breath, but he's cut off by Frances sitting up, her hair rumpled, one finger held out warningly. "George. You have just woken me up at 7:50 am on Christmas Eve. For the sake of our marriage, I would shut up." With that, she lies down again.

George is still judging whether to heed this warning or not, when Frances abruptly sits up again. "And it's far too early. He sleeps late, so you're better off going later."

She lies down once again. George turns back to the phone. "Did you hear my wife's dulcet tones?"

This earns him another kick. George thanks God Frances isn't more awake.

"Yes." David sounds almost a little subdued for a moment and then, suddenly, sounding a little brighter, "She still your wife, then?"

"Not for long." Frances' voice is muffled and when George turns, he can see she's buried her face in her pillow again.

"No thanks to you" he mutters and David laughs, voice a little lighter then. "Merry Christmas, George."

"Again, no thanks to you."

David laughs louder and George relents a little. "Merry Christmas" he says a little softer, and after a few moments of bidding each other goodbye, George rolls over to look at his wife.

"Sorry" he mutters, already settling onto his pillow again.

"You will be" is all he gets in reply, and then his eyes fall closed, cursing David's penchant for five am wake-ups.

He's cursing it more a few seconds later when the phone rings again.

Frances spins round so fast that George is almost knocked off the bed. "You must be joking."

George rather echoes this sentiment, but he shakes his head. "No, it's a text-" He takes a glance at the screen and grins. "Danny-just a Merry Christmas thing-"

"Fantastic." Frances already has her face buried in the pillow again. "Tell him you'll get back to him later."

George scans the message quickly. "He's already told me to. _I know this is ridiculously early-"_

"Fantastic." Frances lies down again, pulling the duvet up to her chin. George nestles the phone back on his bedside cabinet, lies down and closes his eyes.

The phone rings again.

George's eyes fly open, which is when Frances almost bounces upright and declares "That's it."

Before George can move, he's pinned down by Frances throwing her weight across him. Her hand scrabbles for his phone, yanks it to his ear and says, without preamble, "Whoever you are, if you're not calling with the news the country is crumbling around us, then I promise, I'm begging you, _piss off."_

The phone rings again. Frances yell something inarticulately unintelligible.

George watches her for another moment, and then reaches for the phone. "Ah."

Frances stares at him.

George winces. "It's the alarm."

Frances stares for another moment, before her eyes narrow.

George holds up a hand. "I _may_ have forgotten to reset it-"

He doesn't finish the sentence, mainly because it's punctuated rather abruptly by Frances' pillow crashing down over his head.

* * *

 

"Do miss-Mummy when she at work?"

Sam is nestled against Ed's side, eyes trained on the Octonauts. Ed lets his hand nestle in his son's curls and feels a strange jab of relief when Sam doesn't pull away.

"Well-" Ed tries to keep his voice even, his eyes on the screen. "Of course I do. But-Mummy's work is very important." The words don't come out as easily as they should.

"It's your _birthday"_ Sam says, words coming out a little garbled.

Ed nods, and he bites his lip for a fraction of a second, before he says "Well-Mummy couldn't help it."

Technically, "Mummy" could have helped it, Ed thinks but doesn't say.

It hadn't been much of a surprise that Justine had to work. Ed had still had scrambled eggs and a quick kiss on the cheek and the boys singing "Happy Birthday" lackadaisically.

(And he'd also had Daniel's knees thumping into his chest at the crack of dawn and his own voice, cracking with sleep, louder than he'd realised, "Daniel, I've _told_ you not to do that" and Daniel's tremble of the lips and his slipping away before Ed could drag himself out of sleep to wrap his arms around him and Justine's furrow of the brow and "That could have been less harsh" and his own voice, sharpening as he watched her get dressed for work, "Well, I don't see you going to cuddle him.")

And now he has Daniel upstairs and Sam letting him hug him and being too quiet when he speaks to him.

Ed nestles back into the couch because he's not-

Well. He's not-

It's almost as though he's _pretending_ to feel bad-

Or at least trying to feel bad. That Justine thinks work's more important. Trying, but not quite able to grasp the feeling-

It's then that his phone rings.

Ed sighs and is already playing the guessing game as to who it will be-Balls, Tom, Bob, Tom, Greg, or Tom-when Sam says "Phone always _rings._

Ed winces. "I know, sweetie, but I-ah-"

But Sam's attention is already back on the TV screen and the phone's still ringing, so Ed, with one hand awkwardly ruffling his son's curls, reaches for the phone.

Cameron's name is on the screen and Ed feels himself jump a little.

He scrabbles at the phone quickly, lifting it to his ear and almost dropping it as he reaches for the remote control.

"Thought you appreciated holidays, Prime-here, sweetie-" This to Sam, adjusting the volume carefully. "I'll be back in in a second-"

"Friendly greeting, Miliband-"

Ed feels the same jumping sensation, but this time it comes with a grin that he can't seem to stop from making its' way to his mouth.

"I didn't-" The words trip over one another as he realises. "Oh-God-I was talking to, to Sam-"

Cameron's laughing. Ed can't stop grinning.

(He hates that Cameron's laughter makes him grin.)

"Rather an excess of Christmas spirits, Miliband-"

Ed rolls his eyes. "I thought you'd be making the most of the time off-"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Chillaxed Prime Minister-" Ed catches himself making air quotes in the mirror, winces, stops, then winces again at the words. "That-um-that came out-" _Wrong, God, why does it always-_

Cameron's laughing, though-laughing harder. "Well, I _was_ going to interrupt my schedule to wish you a Happy Birthday, but-"

Ed grips the phone a little tighter and notices vaguely that his cheeks seem to be warm. "Oh. You-you remember that-" is what comes out, with a strange, leaping sensation somewhere in his midriff.

"Contrary to what you may think-" He can hear the grin in Cameron's voice now. "I do pay attention to _some_ things you tell me."

"That's a birthday present."

"Well. It's-ah-not your only one-"

Ed frowns. Cameron clears his throat.

"I may have-um-got you a present."

Ed feels a smile spread over his mouth and he turns away quickly to hide from whoever might be watching. But only Sam's there and his eyes are fixed on the TV, as Ed's hand covers his mouth automatically, then crawls up into his hair, rubbing over the back of his neck, the stupid grin not wanting to recede.

"Really?"

"Ah-yes." Cameron clears his throat again. "I was actually going to drop it off. If you'd like-"

"What, here?"

Ed winces the moment the words are out of his mouth.

"If here is your house, then-well, yes."

Ed swallows and then suddenly realises the onus is on him to say something. "Oh. Um. Yes. Well-yeah. That would be-great."

There's a brief pause, then "If it puts you out, I could drop it off over the holidays. I mean, I appreciate it's rather short notice-"

It may be Ed's imagination but he thinks he hears Cameron's voice become smoother, the words polishing themselves a little, as if testing their own strength. For some reason, that sends a pang through him.

"No-no-I mean-you could come by-" He winces again. "I mean-I'm not doing anything-you could-unless it's too much trouble-"

Ed catches sight of his reflection and winces.

"Fantastic." Ed has to bite his lip at the smoothness of the word and at the slight breath of relief he detects underneath it.

"Right. Well. Ah-what time do you want to-"

"I could be there soon. If you like?"

"Yes" Ed manages a little too quickly. "Yes, that would be-yeah."

There's a moment of silence before he hears a breath of a laugh. "Ah-all right. I'll-well. I suppose we'll see each other soon."

"Yes. I suppose-"

"See you soon then, Miliband."

For some reason, the name makes Ed smile a little harder.

"See you soon, Cameron." The words come out softer than they should.

Even once he's hung up the phone, he stands still for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror. There's a slight smile hovering at his mouth he can't quite seem to get rid of.

* * *

 

"You keep _walking_ , Daddy" Sam tells him, a few minutes later.

"Do I?"

Ed doesn't need to ask this. He knows he's walking, but for some reason, he can't stop.

"I can't _see,_ Daddy" is all Sam says quietly, curling back into his seat.

"Sorry." Ed steps back, then resumes pacing before he can stop himself. He forces himself to stop, then moves to the mirror.

For some reason, he's almost....nervous. It's a strange feeling-an excitement but with a nervousness that undercuts everything, and leaves his heartbeat a little too rapid, his smile hovering constantly but his feet unable to stay still. He finds himself squinting anxiously at his reflection.

Ed blinks as he realises what he's doing, but-

He can't make sense of it. But he examines his hair and then somehow ends up pacing again.

It's strange. He can't quite seem to _settle_ for some reason, and every time he thinks about the fact Cameron's coming, the sensation intensifies in a way that leaves his heart beating almost painfully fast. He bites his lip, then threads his fingers together, then bites his lip again.

It's ridiculous but for some reason, he can't bring himself to sit still even when he does take a seat in the armchair, and he's not entirely sure why. It feels like a grin fighting its' way out of his chest and at the same time he feels a strange nervousness that's leaving him a little too breathless.

The doorbell rings and Ed jumps before he can stop himself. Sam looks round from the TV slowly, eyes big and dark, while Ed feels the heat rise to his cheeks slowly.

"That's-um-"

"Mr. David _Cameron"_ Sam says quietly.

Ed nods, before it occurs to him that he really should get up and actually open the door. As a result, he scrambles upright so quickly he nearly loses his balance.

He resists the strange urge to look in the mirror again and heads for the hallway. He tugs at his jumper sleeves and then pulls the door open, to be greeted by-

"Happy Birthday." Cameron gives him a grin over his scarf and Ed notices vaguely that its' navy colour makes his eyes look bluer than ever.

He then notices another pair of big, blue eyes, fixed very solemnly on his own, peering out from under Cameron's chin.

"Ah-" Cameron unbuttons the top of his coat to unveil a solemn, chubby-cheeked little face under the solemn big blue eyes and Ed blinks. "Oh. Hello-"

Florence curls back into Cameron's chest a little and Cameron juggles her gently. "Flo?"

Florence puffs out her cheeks and then blurts out almost in one breath "Happy-birthday-Mr-Ed-Miliband-I-hope-you-like-your-present-very-very-much-is-Sam-here-ple-please?"

Cameron meets Ed's eyes sheepishly. Ed looks from one pair of appealing big blue eyes to another and feels a grin spread over his own mouth.

"Thank you very much, Florence." He holds the door open, eyes finding Cameron's again. Both of them grin at the same time and Ed feels that strange leaping sensation again, as Cameron carefully extricates his little daughter from his coat and lowers her to the floor, as Ed pushes the door shut behind them.

"Sorry" Cameron says, in an undertone as Florence glances about the hallway, thumb travelling to her mouth. "Sam's just taken over making mince pies with Nancy and Elwen's offering some help, so Flo was a little underfoot-"

"It's fine-" Ed glances at the door. "You don't need-"

"No-security's fine, they're all outside-" Cameron gives him the quickest of winks and Ed feels something like a shiver. "They trust you not to resort to completely unscrupulous methods to win elections" Cameron adds, crouching down and carefully unbuttoning Florence's coat, which Ed immediately holds out his arms for, draping it over the bannister with Cameron's.

"So you admit that's a possibility?"

"You winning or using unscrupulous tactics?" Cameron gives him the smile, head on one side.

Ed opens his mouth, and then becomes distracted by a small hand tugging insistently at his sleeve.

He looks down to see Florence's big blue eyes fixed on his own. "Mr. Ed Miliband" she says quietly, still sucking at her thumb. "Where's, where's Sam?"

"Flo-"

Ed's already bent down to her, one hand on her shoulder. "He's just through there-"

Florence glances from one to the other a little nervously. Cameron meets Ed's eyes and then takes his daughter's hand. "Come on, then, darling-"

He gives Ed an apologetic look but Ed is distracted by a small hand slipping into his own and he and Cameron together lead Florence into the living room with one hand tucked in each of theirs'.

"Sam-" Ed sees Florence's face split in a smile, dimples denting her cheeks at the sight of his son, curled up on the couch. "You've got a visitor-"

Sam twists round and his eyes widen under his mess of dark curls. "Oh-" He scrambles down from the couch, and then scurrying round the furniture, holds his hand out very seriously. "Hi-hi-"

Cameron's eyes meet Ed's own and the smile that dimples his cheeks pulls one to Ed's own mouth. Flo's hand slides free as Sam's fingers wrap around her palm, tugging her towards the television.

"Do you watch _Octonauts?"_ he asks her, big dark eyes fixed on Florence's, and Ed can't help but grin as Sam stands back so that Florence can scramble up onto the couch first.

"Well-" Cameron turns to Ed with a grin. "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks-" Ed trails off as Cameron reaches into his jacket and pulls out a rectangular parcel. "Oh-"

Even though he'd known Cameron was bringing him a gift, actually being _presented_ with one-

"Oh-you-you didn't have to-"

"I know." Cameron's hand hovers for a moment, as if he's about to reach out or touch his sleeve or-

Ed blinks, but before his thoughts can hover anymore, Cameron's saying, with a grin, "I can always send it back if you don't want it-"

The tone' s light but something in the blue eyes dims a little. Ed feels a sharp pang of- _something_ that makes him reach out and take the present quickly and Cameron's eyes brighten again.

"Thanks." He should say more-God, he should be _able_ to say more, but for some reason, he's not quite sure what to do with his hands and Cameron's somehow stepped a little closer to him-

"Oh-" Ed blinks. "Sorry-oh God, do you want-um-would you like a cup of tea or anything-"

"Oh-yes-yes, thanks, if it's not too much trouble-"

"Right-" Ed turns to put the parcel back down on the table, then considers that that might be rather rude. For a moment, he hovers awkwardly and then Cameron touches his arm. "You can open it if you-I mean, you don't _have_ to-"

It occurs to Ed vaguely through the haze of something like embarrassment that this is one of the few times he's ever seen Cameron look uncomfortable.

"Oh. Thanks. Well-yeth-yes-I-" He hastens to explain, tripping over the syllables a little. "I do want to-just-didn't want to be rude-" He's blushing and then Cameron laughs and says "You could try that at PMQs."

Ed manages to roll his eyes. "Hilarious." But he picks up the parcel again and heads through the open French doors to their dining table, gesturing for Cameron to do the same, as he takes a seat.

Cameron does so, and Ed finds a strange fizzle of excitement as he pulls the parcel into his lap. It's a ghost of the feeling he used to have as a child, when he'd catch sight of his presents piled around his plate, Christmas Eve morning, even as the cold bit into his bare feet. It feels a little similar now, with the Christmas tree glittering in the corner.

He unwraps the present carefully, making use of his nails, bitten as they are, Cameron's knees brushing his as he does so.

"Sorry-" Cameron winces as the sellotape sticks itself to Ed's hands. "Sam's usually the one who does the wrapping. Here-I wanted-"

He carefully peels the Sellotape free of Ed's fingers and Ed can't help but laugh. It tickles and it's something about the way Cameron's grinning at him-not the typical polished grin, designed to smooth and charm and cajole. This grin's different, one that crinkles Cameron's eyes and dents his cheeks.

Ed's hands feel strangely clumsy as he opens his present, carefully doing his best not to crumple the wrapping paper-which, he notes with some amusement, Cameron has clearly not wanted to risk damaging, given the several protective layers of sellotape he now finds himself fighting his way through.

Finally, he succeeds, peeling the paper back to find himself holding a book. He turns it over, unsure what he should expect, and then stops dead, staring at the cover.

 _Red Sox Century: The Definitive History of Baseball's Most Storied Franchise_ is what stares back up at him.

There are certain books that Ed has consistently reminded himself that he'll have to buy one day, if he has time. When things are less busy. When the kids are older.

(There's never been time.)

This, though, is not just _one_ of them-

Ed touches the book reverently. He's already considering buying a glass-fronted cabinet simply for its' storage and-

"Is it-ah-" Any other time, Ed would be paying more attention to the fact Cameron seems to be struggling a little with his speech. "I'd heard you were a fan of baseball, so-"

Ed swallows hard and then bites his lip, realising he hasn't even thought about this book in months. But somehow, Cameron-

He lifts his head to meet the other man's gaze.

Cameron's grinning back but there's something-uncertainty? tension?-something that-

"I can send it back if you like." Cameron's grinning but it's a little too bright now, the charm creeping back in. "I mean-it only goes up to 2004-I tried to find a later one, but Frances was positive you didn't have this-"

Ed blinks.

"I mean, I'm sure you think Tories can't admit when we've made mistakes-"

Ed opens his mouth and then closes it and all he can manage is a "No-" because suddenly, his arms, they-

Well.

They seem to-almost want to-reach out and-

Almost _hug-_

"I can, honestly-"

Cameron is reaching for the book and-

"No, no, no-" Ed holds on tightly, even as he blurts out "No, I _love_ it-it'th-"

He stops dead and feels the blush rush to his cheeks.

Cameron's eyes find his again and-Ed swallows. It's only now that Cameron's grinning again, eyes suddenly brighter, that Ed realises how much his face had fallen before.

Something about that is a wrench under Ed's ribs, but now Cameron is beaming at him-not the typical Etonian grin, not the one that's polished with charm and practiced ease-but one that's crinkled his eyes and lifted his cheeks so his whole face is grinning.

Ed grins back and he can't stop. Couldn't stop, even if he wanted to. Something about that look of Cameron's-

"I-ah-heard you were quite a fan of the Red Sox-" and even Cameron's attempts to sound diffident leave Ed grinning for some reason. "And I thought-well-Frances said you didn't have it-"

"Frances?"

Cameron beams. "I enlisted help."

Ed's about to ask if Justine knows about it when his eyes fall back on the book cover, and he traces the letters. "You-ah-"

His words have deserted him.

Cameron beams. "Rather like PMQs, this-"

"Don't ruin it, Cameron-"

Cameron laughs and his hand brushes Ed's sleeve. "Happy birthday, Miliband."

"Thank you." Ed's fingers brush Cameron's wrist accidentally and he hears his own voice soften. "But-honeth-stly. Thank you."

Cameron leans forward, a little grin still there, but smaller now, softer. His eyes are softer too and so is his voice when he says "Glad you like it."

Ed becomes aware, after a moment of listening to his heart thudding more loudly than usual, that his and Cameron's knees are pressed against each other. It occurs to him then that they've moved closer to one another without realising it.

And then that neither of them has moved back.

Ed's eyes flicker up to find Cameron's doing exactly the same, and for a breath, they watch each other.

There's a ring or a shriek or a call from the TV and Ed jumps. His eyes snap to where his son and Florence are currently sitting, engrossed in the Octonauts, even as Ed feels a jolt of something like relief.

He glances up at Cameron a little too quickly. "You-I-would you like a cup of tea?"

Cameron blinks, hesitating for the briefest moment-only Ed would have noticed-but then says "Yes-thank you very much-"

The grin's back but so's that softer look and somehow Ed finds it a little difficult to look away. He glances at the book-which he now places carefully on the table-and has to bite his lip at the surge of feeling it sends through him.

It wouldn't do to start reading now, as it wouldn't do for Ed to let his arms do-

Whatever they want to-

Reach out perhaps-

Reach out and-

Well, anyway, it wouldn't do.

Ed doesn't wonder about this, or at least, not any more than he should.

* * *

 

David watches Ed fuss over the kettle, leaning against the counter. Ed's in a jumper, he'd noticed when the door opened, and socks, and he takes them in again quickly.

Ed gives him a quick glance over one shoulder, colour still in his cheeks. "Milk?"

"Yes, please."

He steps forward to help automatically and his hand brushes Ed's as he reaches forward for a cup. "Where's Daniel?" he asks, having suddenly noticed the absence of Ed's elder son. "And Justine?"

He thinks Ed stills for a moment but then he just carries on making the tea and David thinks he must have imagined it.

"Justine's at work and Daniel's-ah-upstairs, last time I checked." Ed turns to hand David the mug and David takes a sip gratefully. "Thanks."

"He's-ah-" Ed's eyes flicker to David's and then away and for a moment David isn't sure Ed's going to continue. But then Ed takes a sip of his own tea and says a little too quickly "I don't think he's too thrilled with either of us right now, to be honest."

David takes a sip out of his own mug and then pauses, eyes catching sight of a little movement at the doorway.

Daniel's little face pokes itself out from behind the door frame, withdraws, then reappears.

"Hello" David says with a grin and Ed turns a little too fast to see his young son watching him quietly.

Daniel doesn't say anything, but just stares up out of big blue eyes, thumb at his mouth.

"Did you see Sam and Florence, sweetie?" Ed asks and Daniel just nods quietly.

"Are you hungry?"

Daniel just looks. David watches the movement of Ed's throat as he swallows.

"I was going to make some toast-"

Daniel is spinning a toy penguin between his fingers and it's then that David says, on a whim, "What's that, then?"

He ducks down, and Daniel meets his eyes a little warily, chewing at his thumbnail, still clutching the toy with his other hand.

David senses Ed draw in a breath and it's then that Daniel says, almost whispering, "Octonauts."

"Octonauts?" David crouches down to examine the toy and Daniel chews at his lip, eyes not moving from David's face. "Now, I've _heard_ about the Octonauts. Who's this, then?"

"Peso." Daniel's voice is hesitant, almost suspicious, but slowly he passes the toy penguin to David, lets him examine it a little more closely.

"Ah, I see. Is Peso your favourite?"

Daniel nods and then hiccups. "O-one of-"

"One of them?"

Daniel nods, eyes big and blue over his thumb.

"And who are the others?"

"Captain Barnacles." Daniel tilts his head, a little smile peeking out as David looks at the toy. "And Tweak and Professor Inkling-"

David lifts Daniel as he talks and Daniel keeps chatting, his voice louder now, his arms finding their way around David's neck.

"And Captain Baranacles and Professor Inkling are Sam's favourites too, and Peso, and-"

David shifts him round carefully, Daniel's head nestling in his shoulder. Daniel's chattering happily now and he holds onto David's hand, fingers wrapped around the toy penguin together.

David turns to look at Ed then, even as Daniel chatters, one hand scrabbling at the back of David's neck. One of David's hands rubs Daniel's back, and his eyes find Ed's.

Ed's watching them both-just watching. His head's tilted, a slight smile at his mouth. His eyes are a little softer than usual-and something else too. Something sadder.

David realises suddenly that he's smiling back, even as Daniel's chatter fills his ears. Ed's eyes meet his and then they seem to soften even more so there's a look that's almost-

"Toast" is what Daniel says and then "I'm hungry." He doesn't look at his father but he holds onto David.

"We can sort that out, sweetie." Ed's voice is a little quick and Daniel still doesn't turn to look at him, but he smiles a little.

* * *

 

Daniel still isn't speaking much when they return to the living room but when David sets him down, he scrambles onto the couch between Sam and Florence silently as Ed puts the plate of toast and jam on the table in front of them.

"Hungry, Florence?" David grins as Flo's eyes stretch comically wide at Ed's words, as she stares at the toast.

"Is it _jam?"_

"Yes, it's _jam."_ Ed repeats the word with exactly the same intonation and a slightly unpracticed ruffle to Florence's hair. David feels the grin grow a little and feels something else, too-something like warmth as he watches Ed fuss over his own daughter, something that makes his heart beat pleasantly fast.

"No peanut butter?" Florence looks at Ed questioningly and he shakes his head. "No, no peanut butter."

"Good." Florence takes a little bite of toast, having satisfied herself of the lack of peanut butter.

"Sam's allergic" Ed tells David in an undertone as he joins him at the dining table. "We found out when he was two."

"Poor mite."

"It wasn't pleasant, Zia said" Ed agrees and David is careful not to wince at the last two words as he takes a bite of his own toast. "I mean, when he first started having attacks-but once we knew what it was-"

"It's not. Pleasant."

Their eyes meet for a moment and something in Ed's softens. "I know."

They share a look for another moment and then David takes another bite of toast.

"How come Justine had to work?" he asks, eyes drifting round the room. Something about it strikes him as off, but he can't quite place his finger on it.

Ed's stilled a little but then he says "It's a difficult case. I th-suppose she needs to give it her full focu-th-s."

David chooses his words carefully, even as a flush rises to Ed's cheeks at the lisp. "That's a shame."

Ed smiles, but something about the look is smaller, tighter. "I don't mind."

"No, but-" David immediately regrets the "but"-"See-I suppose-well, it's your _birthday-and_ Christmas Eve-"

For some reason, he's stumbling a little which never happens and of course, it would be _Miliband_ who-

"I th-suppose" Miliband says a little more slowly, his fingers curling around a mug. "There have to be priorities."

"Yes, but-"

David has no idea why he's arguing the point.

"I just-it's _Christmas Eve._ And your birthday." It seems an almost stupidly obvious statement.

"Yeth-yes, but it's an important cath-case-"

"But-aren't-"

_Aren't you important?_

(He doesn't quite say that.)

Miliband looks at him a little more sharply this time. "Her work'th-s important" he says, fingers whitening around the mug. "She's always prioritised it."

"Yes, but-"

"It'th-s really fine, David."

It's the use of his first name, more than anything, that throws David off.

Ed isn't looking at him now, eyes on the plate. David waits a moment, before he says "All right, then."

Ed nods. A pause follows.

"Sorry" David offers, somewhat awkwardly. _(Awkwardly._ When was the last time he did anything _awkwardly?)_

There's a moment of silence and then Ed says "No, it'th-no, it'th-s fine, I-you didn't mean-"

He takes another gulp of tea and then says "It'ths juth-st-something you have to do."

"Why?"

David has no idea why he asks this question.

He's not used to having no idea why he asks a question-

Ed snorts. "Because that's something that happens when people have printh-principleth-s."

Ah.

He thinks he sees something like a wince pass over Miliband's face, but he takes a sip of his tea to hide his own expression.

Miliband opens his mouth, but David's already speaking. "Very commendable" he says, reaching for a slice of toast. "Especially when it leaves you unhappy."

The words bite more than they should. Miliband's eyes meet his with a jolt that feels like an electric shock.

"I'm not unhappy." Miliband's voice could, if one wasn't listening properly, sound exactly the same as it did a few minutes ago, but to David, it doesn't.

David's about to ask something else, but stops when he sees the tension in Ed's jaw.

"You're better than me, then" is all he says, but he's thinking as hard as he can _You must be more unhappy than me._

Ed's head jerks a little, then, and he says, voice a little too sharp, "Well, maybe I'm juth-st-"

They sit, looking at each other, the silence catching and dragging between them. Behind them, music shrieks from the TV, the room shattered with the too loud, too bright laughter of a cartoon world.

Ed's hand moves suddenly, one of those quick movements that makes David smile. "Sorry. It'th-s just-"

It's then that it suddenly clicks what's been lurking in the back of David's mind, what seems a little off about the room. No matter how many times he looks around it, he can't find a single photo of either Daniel or Sam.

"It's fine." David says it too quickly because something in Ed's voice is tight and little and uncertain. Something about the _It'th-s just-_ doesn't sound certain and David's not quite sure whether he wants to hear that.

So he does what he's learnt, what he's best at.

"I thought you were fairly certain of that, anyway" he offers, letting a smile flicker out. "That you're better than me."

Ed stares at him for a moment, and then an answering smile peeks out. "Oh. Yeah. Ha."

They look at each other for another moment and then laughter struggles out of David's mouth and a snort of mirth breaks from Ed's.

They both laugh a little too hard for a few moments and then David says "So what birthday plans have you got?"

As he says it, he thinks of his own birthday a couple of months ago-how the kids had crowded round him, piling onto his lap as they handed him his presents, with kisses on the cheek and Florence's arms around his neck and a poem Nancy had written for him, which he'd nodded his way through and hadn't even had to try to look impressed by, how Sam had taken him out for dinner and afterwards, both of them a little tipsy, his hands had braided themselves in Samantha's hair, her eyes fluttering closed as he moved into her, his mouth pressing into her shoulder afterwards, both of them hot, their skin slick, and Samantha's lipstick smearing his collarbone.

Somehow, thinking of that now, here, with Miliband, leaves him suddenly unable to meet the other man's eyes, because he suddenly imagines, almost without meaning to, Miliband spending a similar evening and the thought sends a rush of heat through his chest, a lurching sensation in his ribs, something like being on a roller-coaster-

It's stupid. It's Christmas Eve, for God's sake-if they're anything like him and Sam, the two of them will be spending their evening counting down the minutes until the kids are asleep, then trying to scatter about presents without summoning children, security or both, before collapsing into bed utterly exhausted by their attempts at subterfuge, only to be shaken awake at a crack of dawn only the gods should see by a disturbingly bright-eyed child.

"Not much-" He suddenly becomes aware that Ed is speaking. "It's Christmas Eve-probably just trying to get the kids to bed and perth-suade them to th-stay there, I think-"

David mentally prods himself. Obviously, he tells himself firmly. Obviously. Miliband won't be-

What would that even be- creeps into his mind before he knows what he's thinking, and then he's picturing, almost before he realises-Miliband's back arching a little, his cheeks flushed-he wouldn't be able to shut up, knowing bloody Miliband, little sounds escaping the whole time-that lisp would probably creep through, probably more than usual-

His fingers tighten on the table. His cheeks feel suddenly far warmer than usual.

What on _earth-_

Miliband's dark eyes are lingering on his, narrowing a little. "Are-"

David clears his throat loudly. "So, you're not one whom believes in the excesses of birthday celebrations, I take it?" he says lightly-and it is lightly, he tells himself. That's all the question is.

Miliband's head tilts, as he chews his lip. "I suppose-maybe not-" He shrugs. "I mean-I suppose we never really made a big deal of it when David and I were kids."

David feels a pang. It must show on his face because Ed bites his lip. "I take it you disagree?"

David laughs, a sudden memory prickling into life at the back of his brain, of himself and four other boys, laughing a little too hard, clinking together their first glasses of champagne.

"Oh, I suppose-well. Birthdays were made rather a fuss of at school."

"Bullingdon Club pay for a helicopter-"

"Not the Bullingdon Club."

"So there was a helicopter?"

"No." David bites into a crust. "There was a Concorde."

Ed splutters out his tea. "You're joking."

David shakes his head. " A friend's birthday" he says, grinning as Ed grabs for the napkin, dabbing at his chin. "When we were eleven-"

_"Eleven-"_

"It was his parents' idea." David takes a look over his shoulder at the three children, all of whom are absorbed in the TV. "Though they didn't turn up, as a matter of fact, until the second week."

Ed splutters once again. "The second _week-"_

David doesn't stop smiling. "Interesting that you picked up on that and not the fact his parents weren't present."

Miliband opens his mouth, then closes it again.

"Where were they?"

"I've no idea. They just....didn't turn up. Until we went to their house for the second week."

Ed doesn't make any comments on the "second week" aspect this time. Instead, he looks at David and then says "Where did you go?"

"United States." David takes another gulp of tea. "He was American; parents sent him to school in England."

Something like a flinch passes over Miliband's face. "How old was he? When they sent him over here?"

"About six, I think. Maybe seven."

Miliband's eyes don't move from his, but his lips part and then compress again.

David tries for a laugh. It doesn't come as easily as it should. "Maybe that's why they gave him a holiday."

Ed doesn't look away, but his lips purse a little as he replies, simply, "Maybe."

There's another short silence before Ed asks "Who was looking after you?"

"Their nanny. And a teacher, if I recall correctly-"

"A teacher?" Ed's brow furrows. "Where did you go?"

"Sightseeing, mostly. World Trade Centre, Washington, Disneyland. We went to Las Vegas, but we couldn't leave the hotel-too bloody hot. And then to his house in San Francisco for a week. I think his parents arrived a few days after-"

"What were they doing?"

David feels his brow furrow. "I can't remember, to be honest. I think it was quite usual for them. They never came to see him at school, as I recall-"

He takes another bite of toast and, chewing, looks up to find Ed watching him. He swallows, offers a smile back.

Ed doesn't smile. Instead, he just says "Was it a good trip?"

David grins a little. "Yes. As I recall. A little odd, though, to see Peter with his champagne." He laughs, takes another gulp of tea. "He'd been thrilled to get his teddy back, a few hours before."

"Peter?"

"The boy whose party it was."

"Oh. Thrilled to get his teddy-?"

"Oh, they took toys away." David reaches for his mug again, casting a glance at the children to make sure no-one's managed to tip the toast over someone else's head. "Thought it would toughen us up. I mean, our parents would send us with them, but the staff took them away on the first night. Peter never liked it, I remember-he was only six or so, the first time, I suppose-"

He still remembers it now, them peeling Peter's fingers free from his teddy. The coaxing softness of the words _-Come on now, be a big boy-_ horribly gentle, as they wrenched the little boy's fingers back, Peter's fingers aching and stained purple with bruises the next day.

He becomes aware that Miliband hasn't spoken in almost a whole minute so he looks back, puzzled. When he does, he finds Miliband watching him in a decidedly odd way.

David's about to ask "What?" when Miliband says, voice oddly smaller than usual, "Everyone's?"

David keeps his voice light. "Yes, even mine."

Miliband doesn't say anything, just looks at him, and because David hates people looking at him like that, he says with a laugh "We should probably have got used to it after the first few nights. First nights back, you'd always get-" He waves a hand. "You know-crying, all that sort of thing-"

Miliband flinches, or something close to flinching. But then he just looks at David and then draws in a breath and says "That's-"

David's about to open this mouth to stop whatever Miliband's about to say-

But then Ed's teeth nibble at his lip for a moment and he says "Did-"

He hesitates and his eyes meet David's and for a moment, a question hovers between them.

And then Sam says "Daddy-" and they both look round a little too quickly and David doesn't wonder why his heart's pounding.

For a moment, his fingers itch to scratch at his ribs, under his shirt, at the skin, but they don't.

Of course, these days, they don't.

* * *

 

Flo has never watched the Octonauts but Sam's telling her what it's about while their daddies talk at the table. Sam's telling her why Barnacles is the best Octonaut and Professor Inkling is the cleverest and Flo is storing it all up in her head to tell Mummy when she gets home.

She likes Sam. He's nice and quiet and his hair is dark and curly, which is very nice and she could get married to him when they're older if they have enough of what Daddy calls invent-ments. (He always looks at Uncle George and Uncle George always says something about how the government could do with more invent-ments, which makes Daddy laugh and Flo doesn't know why.)

Sam's telling her because Daniel's quiet today. Daniel's a year bigger than Flo and sometimes he talks _lots_ and _lots_ , so Sam goes quiet, and other times _he's_ quiet-

When Daniel's quiet, Sam speaks more, which Flo likes, though Sam's words are sometimes mangled and crash and run into each other like children do in the playground. Flo still likes it, though.

Daniel's very quiet, today.

But now Sam's waving at his daddy and talking about Lego and Mr Ed Miliband's looking at him because he's Sam's daddy and her daddy's smiling-

They sit on the floor and she and Sam are building the house they're going to live in. Daniel is allowed to join in because one day they're all going to live together and Nancy and Elwen can too, except Nancy's going to be writing what she says are op-e-rahs, and Elwen's going to be playing football-

"Why don't you put this there?" her daddy's saying, tapping the tower she and Sam are building. Flo moves the block carefully and Sam helps her.

Daniel's holding onto Flo's daddy's shoulders now and her daddy pats his hand. "Where do you think it should go, Daniel?"

Mr. Ed Miliband ruffles Sam's curls and then chucks her under the chin. Flo's tongue pokes out and Daddy taps her hand. "Flo."

"Wasn't _me."_ She holds Sam's hand. "My tongue came to _life."_

Daddy and Mr. Ed Miliband are laughing and Sam butts her shoulder gently with his head.

"I don't think it did-" Mr. Ed Miliband's cuddling her now and he pulls her back gently so she's half-sitting on his knee, the same way Daddy does. "I don't think it did-"

Daddy's laughing and chucking her under the chin and then Mr. Ed Miliband's holding her hand and Daddy's ruffling Sam's hair and tapping Daniel's hand.

Daniel's pushing his face into Flo's daddy's hair and Daddy cups his cheek. "Look what your daddy's doing, Daniel-"

Mr. Ed Miliband looks at Daddy and they both smile at each other. It's different from the way Daddy smiles when he's on the television doing big grown-up speeches-it's a bit like the way Daddy looks at her and Mummy and Nancy and Elwen, but different too, and Flo doesn't know why-

Flo reaches up to poke at Daddy's smile and then at Sam's. Sam lets her, as she tries to push his mouth into a smile.

 _"Flo-"_ Daddy has hold of her hand and his voice has gone all low and nearly cross-"Don't jab, no- _no-"_

Flo's trying to get her hand away, because she _wasn't_ jabbing, she was trying to make Sam _smile-_

Mr Ed Miliband says something about building homes for the future chaos and Flo doesn't know what that is except the future is what's going to happen and home's where you live, though they live in different places and Nancy says where they live's the pretend home-

And Daddy's laughing, with his chest shaking, and saying that you'd know about chaos, and he's just smiling all over his face, and Flo doesn't know who he's talking to but he's smiling at Mr Ed Miliband-

"Where's the-" Daniel's finger's jabbing now, at the bottom of their building. "Where's the basement?"

"Donave basement-" says Sam, who's holding Flo's hand.

"You need a basement-" Daniel knocks his daddy's hand, which was reaching for Sam's. "To eat dinner in with Zia."

Mr. Ed Miliband stops moving for a moment and he has a strange look on his face and Flo's looking at him when Daddy hands her a little figure which she recognizes from the Octonauts and it's Barnacles, it's Captain Barnacles, and she wants to look at him better-

Mr Ed Miliband is saying something low and quiet but his voice is firm and nearly cross like Daddy's was, and then Daniel's hand flies up and nearly knocks their tower but Sam catches it-

Flo cries before she can stop herself because it's their tower and they've built it and Sam looks worried and her eyes are scrunched up and he rubs his curls against her cheek and she's making them wet-

Daddy reaches out then and lifts her, pulling her gently onto his knee, and taking Sam's hand too, tucking him under his arm on the couch. He's shushing her, making nice soft shushes into her hair and she snuffles, her eyes and voice all damp and crumpled, until the air stops stuttering when she tries to breathe in and Daddy's hand is against her cheek, gently and then she hears Daniel's voice, all high and angry, and Flo pictures it crashing into his daddy's head. "It's true, it's true- _true_ , you and Mummy make us eat in the basement-"

"Daniel-"

Daniel tears his sleeve away from where Mr Ed Miliband's trying to hold it and his voice is loud and crashing and angry-"I don't _want_ Mummy to come home!"

He runs out of the door and it slams against the wall and his daddy just stares after him.

Flo waits for him to shout, maybe, or tell Daniel to get back here _now_ and go and sit on the naughty step, but he stares and then his hand runs through his hair and his eyes are big and sad and Flo thinks he looks like a little boy.

"Dani-" he starts and then he looks at her daddy and her daddy's looking back at him-and her daddy-her daddy's eyes have gone all soft and he's looking at Mr Ed Miliband all softly too and Flo doesn't know-

"Ed" her daddy says and then "Flo, Sam-come and have a look at this-"

He hands them Professor Inkling and Sam's breath gets all sharp and happy and he tells Flo that this is the cleverest, even though he told her before and Flo wants to count all the octopus legs again, and their daddies are talking in grown-up whispers and when Flo looks round again, Mr. Ed Miliband has gone out of the room and Daddy's putting another brick on top of their house.

Sam's quiet, reaching out to hold onto Daddy's hand and moving it to another brick and then he says "Daniel right."

"Sorry, Sam?" Daddy has his head tilted to one side, his eyes with that look he gets when he's not sure what you've said.

"Daniel _right-"_ Sam reaches for another block. "We do have to eat-to eat-down in the _basement."_

Flo looks up. "Don't you eat with your mummy and daddy?" because that's what she does, and Nancy and Elwen, Mummy and Daddy always have dinner with them, except when Daddy's away and even then Mummy always does and if she's away Daddy's there, and sometimes Gita-

Sam shakes his head. "With-" He says something Flo doesn't hear and when she leans forward, he says "Nanny."

"Nanny comes to _our_ house, she's Daddy's mummy-"

"No, darling-" Daddy kisses her cheek. "Like Gita."

"Oh-" because Flo likes Gita, she does, _lots_ , but Gita doesn't look after them all the time and even though she's always there, she only sometimes gets them from school when Mummy has to run into work, and she doesn't eat dinner with them, or when she does, she's eating with Mummy and Daddy, too, and Mummy gets them from school and always takes them, and Mummy's nearly always there when they get home, sometimes Daddy too-

"Why not your mummy and dady?" she asks and Sam says, though Daddy takes in a breath like he wants to say something, "Not back til we sleep." He reaches for another brick.

"Not back until you sleep?" Flo stares at Sam, because that must mean they don't see their mummy and daddy _at all_ some days and Flo has a big hug and kiss with Mummy every night and Daddy, and when one of them's away, they get to give themselves a big hug from Mummy or Daddy and then when they get home, they get a bigger one, and they get lots in the day too-

Sam nods and Flo says "Why?"

Sam shrugs, but then Daddy says "I think-" and he's looking at Sam very carefully, the way Daddy always does when he wants you to _listen._ "I think it might be because Sam and Daniel's mummy and daddy do a lot of work-"

"They do lots of work-" Sam reaches out and lifts up another brick. "Daniel says-Daniel says like work better than _us."_

Daddy's eyes go all wide and Flo says "You mean your mummy and daddy like being-being at work more than you-"

"No, Florence-" Daddy says but Sam looks at her with his eyes all big and dark and nods.

Daddy's saying something but then Mr Ed Miliband's coming back into the room and Daniel's with him, with his face all scowling and sad, and Daddy stops talking then.

Mr. Ed Miliband sits down on the arm and Flo wonders for a second if Daniel's going to have to say sorry and promise not to do it again, but he just stands there quietly and then pulls himself up on the couch, pushing his chin into his hands.

Sam's showing her Peso again and Daddy and Mr. Ed Miliband are talking in low voices. Daddy's looking at Daniel for a little second and then Flo's looking at Peso and turning him over and over between her fingers, and his beak tickles.

When she looks up again, Sam's looking at her and Daniel's looking at her daddy and when Flo looks round, she's looking at her daddy too, and Mr Ed Miliband, and her daddy's hand, which has his fingers all curling around Mr Ed Miliband's sleeve.

* * *

 

Ed finds Daniel on the stairs, kicking the wall.

"Daniel-" He stops at the bottom, then decides that standing below his son might negate the point. "That was rude."

 _"You're_ rude." Daniel's words are shouted, in little shards, wet and raw and crumpled. _"You're_ rude because you're not _there."_

Ed's suddenly thankful that he closed the door. He stops, his hand on the bannister, one step below his son and he clears his throat, trying to sound firm.

"Daniel-Mummy and I do want to be there-"

"No, you _don't!"_ Daniel shouts the words so loudly that Ed feels himself flinch.

"Daniel-"

"I don't want Mummy to come home!" Daniel spits, his little face flushed and contorted. "Mummy's _never_ home!"

Ed feels his voice well in his throat and curls his hands into fists, counting slowly. "Daniel-" He takes a seat on the step next to his son. "Mummy's _working_ -she's busy-"

"All my friends' mummies work-work and they're all busy-" Daniel's eyes are hot and bright and Ed shouldn't flinch back from his own son. He really shouldn't.

"They're all at home. And their daddies." Daniel pushes out his lip and wraps his arms around his knees more tightly, flinching away when Ed tries to reach for him. "You _never_ are."

"Daniel." Ed tries to keep his voice level, tries not to snap but they've _told_ the boys, they've told them so many times-"You know how important our work is-"

Daniel mutters something.

"What was that?"

"You don't think _we're_ important." Daniel kicks the wall again. "You think work's important-you don't think _we're_ important-" He pushes his face into his hands.

Ed takes a moment to swallow hard. "Daniel" he says, when he can trust himself to speak. "We don't think you're not important-"

"Yes you _do!"_ Daniel's shouting again and Ed grabs his hand. _"Stop it-"_

"You don't _care-"_ Daniel gives the wall one more kick, then hides his face again. "You _don't-"_

"I do care." Ed tries to keep his tone level and isn't sure how well he succeeds. "I do care but you know I have to care about work because-" He searches for a way to explain it. "It helps us to make things better for people."

"You're not here." Daniel curls away from him and something aches in Ed's chest.

He stares at his hands for a moment and then says quietly "I'll try to-Daniel-" He turns to look at his son. "I'll try to-I'll-we can do more things, sweetie-"

Daniel looks at him then, with his head on one side. "But you're not going to _promise."_

Daniel is five years, six months, three weeks and one day old.

He shouldn't know when his father isn't going to promise, Ed reflects briefly, sadly, and he shouldn't know it's already too late for that.

"Daniel-" he says and he doesn't answer the question.

It's horribly Cameron-ish of him, but he doesn't.

"Daniel" he says and he finds himself touching his son's sleeve carefully, as if asking for permission. "You know-you know me and Mummy love you and Sam both very much."

Daniel shrugs.

Ed swallows. "Well, we do."

Daniel doesn't bother shrugging this time.

"And-well, it's a busy time. You know there's an election-"

"You and Mr. Cameron are friends-" says Daniel suddenly, sharply.

Ed blinks. "Well. Yes. We are-"

"And you're trying to _beat_ him in the election."

Ed frowns at the sudden turn in the conversation. "Yes."

Daniel gives him another sharp look. "I don't try to beat my friends" he says, and then looks away and his words sting more than his son can possibly mean because suddenly he can hear Douglas' words, passed onto him by a friend of a friend, smacking him in the face all over again- _I couldn't try to beat my brother._

"Well-" he says, after a long moment. "We're not those types of friends."

Daniel looks at him, blue-grey eyes big and oddly contemplative. Daniel doesn't look much like his father, Ed thinks sometimes. Sam looks like him-astonishingly so-

(and still more like David)

(though that's something else that stings that shouldn't)

but Daniel doesn't, not much, and never did. He looks a little like Justine. But even there, the resemblance isn't strong.

"What type of friends, then?" Daniel asks, and Ed opens his mouth and then closes it again.

Because he doesn't _know-_

(never _knows)_

What type of-

(Friends?)

 _I like you. Miliband_ , echoing in the back of his skull, sending warmth back into his cheeks.

He looks back at Daniel. "We're friends" he says, stumbling over the words. "But-we just disagree-"

Daniel looks at him and then looks away and then breathes something about "caring."

"What?"

Daniel shoots him a look from under heavy brows. "Nothing."

Ed swallows. "That was rude, Daniel" he tells him, after a few moments, and Daniel shrugs.

"Yes" he says simply, and then meets his father's eyes with a long, defiant look, and it's Ed who looks away.

He chooses not to notice he hasn't answered Daniel's question.

(He chooses not to wonder if he can.)

* * *

 

He should make his son apologise, he knows; Justine would insist on it. But when he sees Daniel curling up on the armchair a few moments later, he can't face the battle and a voice jibes, a little snidely, that if Justine's so keen on getting the boys to apologise, she should occasionally be here to make them do it.

He blinks but Cameron's looking at him and he sits down on the arm of the couch, while Cameron just looks for a moment, juggling Flo a little. "All right?" he says amiably handing Florence a small toy, which successfully distracts her and Sam.

He nods and then, given he's apparently given up on Justine's parenting methods, says "Sorry."

"What for?"

"Daniel's just-" Ed sighs and glances quickly at his elder son, who's staring at the floor. "I think us working-it's having more of an effect on them than we realised."

"Sam said something about them eating in the basement."

Ed sighs. "It's _not_ a basement. It's-our nanny lives downstairs-it's a basement _flat_. She's the one who looks after them when they get in from school. And dinner."

"Until you get home?"

"Yes. Well-we-we don't always get home early." This is an understatement-Ed has to strain his memory for the last time he got home when it was still light.

And even then, he can't remember it.

"Ah." That's all Cameron says and Ed feels an irrational prickling of annoyance, Cameron's words from earlier hovering.

"it's not through choice" he says, a little more loudly than he means to, and then "I mean-it's not entirely through choice."

Cameron's still watching him and Ed catches sight of the book on the table. He winces.

"Sorry" he says again, even as Cameron gives Sam's shoulder a squeeze. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

He waits for the expected comeback, the polished line. When it doesn't come, he looks up to find Cameron just watching him.

Cameron just looks and then says "It's fine."

He reaches out and his hand hovers for a moment, both of them watching as if they're not sure what it might do, and then he pats Ed's sleeve, a little awkwardly.

Ed can feel the heat creeping up his cheeks and his heartbeat is a little more rapid, a little more urgent than usual. He glances up at Cameron, and sees Cameron looking back at him, a little-well-

Almost a little _uncertainly._

Cameron's never uncertain.

Ed stares back at him and swallows, unsure what to say. Or if he should say anything at all.

"Dad?"

They both look round to see Sam reaching for another block. "When Father Christmas-Christmas comes, will he be able to get out-out-get out again?"

"Of course. " Ed falls into his line of parenting, because it's easier, better. He can do this, tell stories. He can do this, answer questions.

Answer _these_ questions.

"You know Father Christmas will get out again" he says to Sam, who's got his head tilted, dark eyes fixed on them both. "He'll go out the window or the back door-"

"Father Christmas finds a way" Cameron says, nodding. "That's why he's Father Christmas."

Florence taps Sam's arm. "Father Christmas can get past-get past all Daddy's cameras" she tells him in a whisper. "So it'll all be all _right."_

Ed's eyes flicker to Cameron's and he feels his own grin appear as he catches sight of the one peeking out at David's mouth. They smile and his hand seems to shiver pleasantly under the pressure of Cameron's. David moves his a little.

It's then that Ed looks down at the same moment as Cameron does. They look together at Cameron's hand covering his, fingers playing with Ed's sleeve.

Neither of them knows what to do; Ed can tell, somehow. So, they both pull back a little, fumbling, David reaching for his tea and Ed leaning to examine Flo and Sam's house.

Ed's cheeks are too warm and he can't look at Cameron for a few moments, and then there's Sam's voice, "Is Nanny coming?"

It takes Ed a few moments to realise that this question is addressed to him.

"Ah-no, no, Nanny's-she'll be coming tomorrow, sweetie."

"For Christmas-" says Sam and then Daniel says "Uncle David won't come." The words jab viciously, though Daniel's staring at the TV screen as though barely hearing his own words.

Ed can't look at Cameron. He can't, so he tests his own words. "No, he won't be-"

"Uncle David sent Daddy an e-an email" is what Daniel says next and Ed senses rather than sees Cameron stiffen.

"Yes, he did" is all he can say.

His heart's pounding. His heart's pounding and all he can think, angrily and irrationally, is that his son _knows_ somehow what he's doing, and that's stupid, it's ridiculous, but-

"Well-" and he can't bear Cameron's look, the gaze he can feel resting heavy on his face, because he doesn't know which he'd prefer, for it to be a smirk or be pitying.

Sam's looking at him, eyes big and dark and confused, and God, it's his job to say something light-hearted here, to make them laugh, but he's not, he's not-

"That's nice" is all Cameron says, and Ed wants to curl up so Cameron can't see him and the irrational urge leaps up in his chest to _grab_ his brother somehow, to grab him and _shake_ him, for all of this-

"Can you-can you fight Uncle David?" Sam asks and Flo giggles and oh _God-_

"You know-" Cameron's voice is airy, as if the thought's just occurred to him. "My brother used to fight me."

It takes a moment for the words to sink in and then Ed lifts his gaze to hear Sam asking "Did-did you  _win-",_ and Flo scrambles happily onto her father's knee as she says "Was it because Uncle Alex is so _big-"_ She holds out her hands to indicate the approximate size of Uncle Alex, and David kisses her head, standing up and swinging her into the air.

"Maybe it was." Cameron sinks down again, Sam flopping against him while Florence curls onto his knee. Daniel turns round in the chair to face them. "Either way, he liked to win."

"But you're _clevererer_ than Uncle Alex-" Florence squawks indignantly, and Cameron laughs. "Well, he is _quite_ a clever man, sweetheart." He brushes his daughter's hair back behind her ears. "He is a lawyer-"

"But he _beat_ you-"

"Well, we were little" Cameron concedes affably, tidying his daughter's hair. "He was a lot bigger to wrestle."

Sam's chewing his lip as he listens and Ed thinks at first it's just that that makes him slide down off the arm to join Cameron on the couch.

Sam's eyes linger on his father and then suddenly he brightens, tugging at Cameron's trousers. "Did, did-did, could your-" He's laughing and Florence does the same, their laughter entwining, young and high and sweetly mischievous.

"Would you-" Sam's curling up next to Cameron now. "Would you ever wrestle _my_ dad?"

It might be Ed's imagination but he thinks Cameron almost tenses for a moment. "Well-" He laughs and Ed does too, a little too high-pitched.

"I'm sure your daddy wouldn't want to wrestle me" Cameron's saying, chucking Sam under the chin. His voice is light, gentle, but he flashes Ed a quick grin, the same one he gives in PMQs when he knows Ed's about to start laughing and can't stop.

"Is it because you're bigger?" says Daniel from the armchair and Cameron laughs and then, with a shake of the head, says quietly enough that only Ed can hear "Not for me."

Ed arches an eyebrow, but he's distracted by Sam tugging at his sleeve. "Daddy, Daddy-would you wrestle Mr. Cameron?"

Ed laughs again and again the sound's a little high-pitched. His face feels a little warm. "Mr. Cameron wouldn't want to wrestle-wrestle me-"

"He didn't say-say that" says Daniel, who's curling further back into the chair.

Ed feels oddly wrong-footed and he's looking at Cameron again before he even realises it. Cameron's looking back at him, that small smile hovering at his mouth.

"Well-" Ed hears his voice waver a little. "Well-" He tries to make the word "No" come out of his mouth.

Somehow, his leg is touching Cameron's. He isn't sure when that happened.

Cameron tilts his head and that's when Florence pipes up. "Daddy-Daddy, wrestle _-wrestle_ Mr. Ed Miliband-"

Sam bursts into a little shriek of high-pitched laughter. Even Daniel turns his head, a tiny smile peeking out.

"Daddy, _wrestle-"_ Sam's tugging at his wrist and suddenly he's staring at Cameron and Cameron's watching him with that smile and then he says "Well, it's your dad's birthday-"

Which is one of those annoyingly ambiguous Cameron statements that could mean anything and Ed wants to tell him so, but instead he says "What does that mean?"

Cameron grins a little. "What do you think?"

"Daddy, wrestle-" Sam's fingers have fastened in Ed's sleeve, tugging at his hand.

"Sam-" Ed's about to explain that he's not going to wrestle, that Cameron isn't going to wrestle, that the very _idea_ is silly and-

Cameron dimples at him. "It's up to your daddy" he says, with a grin and the hint of a wink and how bloody _typical_ of Cameron-

"Daddy, please-"

_"Please-"_

Ed looks helplessly back at Cameron and Cameron grins.

Maybe it's Daniel's voce in his head or the fact he's been being sensible all day. Sensibly understanding Justine has to work. Sensibly not shouting at his son when he misbehaves. Sensibly reading his brother's email, tapping out a polite, friendly reply, and sensibly not minding.

Sensibly.

He sighs and turns to look at Cameron. Cameron grins.

"We're not wrestling" is what he says. But he moves an inch closer to Cameron who sits up, his grin deepening the dents under his eyes. "What are we doing, then?"

Ed is suddenly aware that he and Cameron are sitting very, very close together. His eyes flicker to Cameron's mouth before he can stop them and his own mouth is dry. "Not-not-wrestling" he says weakly.

Cameron beams. "Oh. So we're _not-wrestling."_

 _"Wrestle."_ Sam's clapping his hands together and Florence is giggling, her cheeks flushed, while Daniel watches them with his head on one side.

Cameron gives him a grin." So. Not-wrestling. Care to demonstrate how that works, Miliband?"

Something about Cameron's voice is softer-teasing, daring. Ed bites his lip. But Cameron's grinning and it's that look that always makes Ed want to- _say_ something, _argue_ something, prove him _wrong,_ wipe that bloody _grin-_

"Fine" he says and their knees are brushing and his hands move to grip Cameron's sleeves. "Fine."

Something like surprise flickers across Cameron's face now-an arching of the eyebrows, a slight widening of the eyes-but then he's smiling and he's moving and-

"Well, then-"

Their children's laughter shrieks in their ears and Cameron's hands fasten in Ed's jumper. Ed's heart is beating rather fast, but he's not sure-and then Cameron's hands are higher up his sleeves.

They're holding each other's sleeves and Ed has no idea how to go about this- their _children_ are watching, for God's sake, their voices duelling together-but then Cameron's pushing him gently, and all right, he can do that-

He pushes Cameron back gently and then they're both pushing a little, their hands knotting in each other's shirts and this is-a laugh splutters itself out of Ed's mouth because this is _ridiculous_ , so ridiculous, Cameron's the-the bloody _Prime Minister_ , for God's sake-

Florence's laughter is high and Sam's giggles are sliding out and then Cameron's hands are holding Ed's jumper and they're both tugging and pushing a little-

Cameron grins at him, then. Their eyes meet and Ed's laughing again, and he doesn't know why, he's not sure why, but Cameron's laughing just a little, his eyes crinkling, and then Flo lets out a little shriek as Ed pulls and Cameron pushes and then they both fall backwards.

The childrens' laughter is rioting and high and happy. That's the first thing Ed thinks as his head sinks into a cushion.

The second thing is that Cameron's a little out of breath and his hands are pinning-gently, but pinning-Ed's shoulders.

The third thing is that Cameron's somehow ended up between his legs, almost on top of him.

Cameron's staring down at him with a grin and Ed laughs again but he can feel Cameron's breath, a little unsteady, on his forehead and every time he wriggles, they're pushed together, so for a moment, his waist is pressing against Cameron's stomach. It sends a strange shiver through him and he bites his lip without meaning to.

Cameron smirks at him and Ed wriggles harder and this time, with his childrens' laughter in his ears he pushes back up, twisting himself against Cameron. Cameron laughs and they're still keeping it gentle but-

Ed's heart is pounding and it's then that he rears up a little and Cameron falls forward and then-

Cameron's chin is digging into Ed's shoulder. His cheek is warm where it's pressed against Ed's skin. Ed's head turns and his nose presses into Cameron's hair.

Cameron lifts his head. The children are laughing. Cameron's looking at him. His weight is pressing Ed gently into the couch.

Ed's heart's too fast and the cushion's sinking under his head and Cameron's eyes are very blue, he notices. There are bags under them, barely noticeable, and Ed can see the few dents of age on Cameron's skin, but he-he keeps looking and there's a strange lurch in his chest at the same time, as a thought pops into his head before he can grasp the words; _God, you look good like this._

Ed freezes. Cameron's looking at him and he's blushing, he knows it, can feel the heat in his face and he looks away as if that'll stop Cameron seeing that he likes-

Likes-

Likes _what?_

It's _Cameron-_

"Daddy, Daddy-who won-"

Flo's tugging at her father's shirt and Cameron starts a little. It's then that Ed realises that Cameron hasn't looked away from him, either.

The weight of him somehow isn't unpleasant and Ed can smell soap and that aftershave and he almost wants to just breathe it in, bury his face closer-

He blinks, but then Cameron's leaning up a little and saying "I'm fairly certain that's a draw actually, Miliband."

Ed blinks. "What?"

Cameron grins down at him. "Well. It _is_ your birthday-"

Ed's breathless and he's not sure why. It takes him a moment to lever himself up on his elbows.

"I don't need a conth-concession if that's what you're worried about" is what he eventually manages, his voice a little lower than it should be.

Cameron just grins at him and then suddenly leans down again. Ed freezes, his eyes moving to Cameron's mouth, his heart fluttering like it's trying to wriggle out of his chest.

"That could be the definition of famous last words, Miliband-" Cameron laughs a little and the sound vibrates through both their chests, seeming to curl under Ed's ribs, tickling even as Cameron shifts a little so that their hearts beat awkwardly against one another.

Cameron's still smiling but there's something softer in the look, something gentle and oddly serious.

Ed looks back at him, heart thumping. For a moment, he thinks Cameron leans an inch closer.

Then his hand moves and then Flo's voice says "Draw means both won-"

There's a moment where his eyes meet Cameron's again and they both stare. As if he's waiting for Cameron to answer a question or Cameron's waiting for him to-

Cameron sits up slowly, levering himself off Ed. Ed does the same, feeling his cheeks are flushed, something like a smile at his mouth.

(He thinks it's a smile. It's something like that.)

Sam's saying something and it's only then that Ed realises he isn't concentrating. Instead, he's looking at Cameron, who's cuddling Flo, with Daniel leaning into his side.

"What was that, sweetie?"

Sam nestles into his chest. "You and Mr David Cam-e-ron can do the same thing at 'lection, you can draw-"

A smile twitches at the corner of Cameron's mouth and Ed laughs. "Sweetie-"

He stops because that's something that he can't quite answer lightly and that thought sends a pang through him.

Cameron glances up, then, and says "We could always make a pact, if you're that concerned, Miliband-"

Ed meets his eyes. "Is that a conth-cession of defeat, Prime Minith-Minister?"

Cameron smirks. Ed can't help but do the same and watching Cameron's hand rubbing Flo's back, Ed feels a pang of something else-something that's almost sharp, but too gentle-almost-

_(Tenderfondwhat?)_

There's the jangle of keys in the door. Ed jumps and moves away before he's realised what he's doing-

And then he stops, because-

But Cameron's done exactly the same thing, but-

And then Justine's there in the doorway, her voice light around "Is there a reason there's a blacked-out car outside-"

Two things happen at once; she trails off as she catches sight of Cameron, and Daniel rolls his eyes and folds himself into the armchair, making himself as small as possible.

"Hello, David-"

Cameron's already standing up, with the grin hitching into place, and Ed doesn't feel the usual stab of annoyance.

Or he does, but it's tinged with something that feels like that almost tender feeling, and with a jolt that's something almost like disappointment.

Justine smiles at Sam and Flo, reaches over to chuck her son under the chin, and Ed notices that although Sam doesn't pull away, he doesn't _look_ at her, really.

Ed can't stop noticing things.

* * *

 

"How was work?" David asks, reaching for the questions he knows on autopilot, which he tells himself is only polite and not a strange, anxious feeling jabbing away in his chest.

(Miliband had been all angles and sharp lines when David had first felt him squirming about and then his head had fallen forward and for a moment, his nose had been brushing Miliband's neck, and his skin is softer than David would ever have expected.)

The thought sends a skitter of feeling up David's spine.

"Oh, it was fine." Justine's pulling off a scarf now and she reaches for Flo's hand before awkwardly chucking her under the chin. Flo lets her, looking a little bemused. "A client just had an emergency, nearly wanted to pull out of the whole suit we're setting up-"

Flo's reaching for Sam's hand and David finds himself noticing how Ed's hand hovers for a moment, as if he's not sure whether to touch Justine's arm or not. He notices the way Sam's eyes drift past his mother, and then Justine's looking at him expectantly and David's about to launch into an explanation when Ed says a little quickly, "David wanted to deliver a birthday present."

His face relaxes as he picks up the book again, apparently finding himself back on safe ground.

"Oh, fantastic-" Justine turns round with a grin, her eyes widening, and Ed's still staring at the back cover of the book.

"Yeah, it's-" He looks up and his eyes settle on Justine and then move to David.

"It's amazing" he says too quickly, a blush rising to his cheeks, and David opens his mouth and then realises he hasn't actually got much idea what to say.

"Well-you're welcome" he says and it sounds so strange and Ed's eyes find David's then, and-

He just looks at him. Something about the look is typically Miliband-y, all big and dark and as if he's trying to-

Then again, maybe the look is entirely Miliband-y and David just hasn't noticed before.

"Our daddies wrestled" says Flo suddenly and Justine's eyes skitter to her.

"Wrestled?"

"Yes, and it was a _draw-"_

"A draw means both won" Sam explains and Ed laughs but something about the sound's a little tighter. He laughs, but his eyes find David's a little too quickly.

"Well, it's nice your daddies sorted it out-" and Justine catches sight of Daniel, then, curled up on the couch. "No Octonauts, Daniel?"

Daniel sits up, slides off the couch and marches out of the room without another word.

Justine turns to Ed, who says, with a quick glance at David "I think-ah-Daniel might have been less than thrilled about you going into work."

"Well, I said it was an emergency-"

"But still-I don't think he-"

 _He's five_ , rears suddenly in David's thoughts.

It's then that it occurs to him that this was originally supposed to be a quick visit.

"Right, well-" He squeezes his hands together, reaches for Flo. "We'd better not take up too much of your time-"

"Oh no-" Justine's already got a hand on his arm and David shakes his head. "The mince pies will be out at home and there might be a small diplomatic incident if Flo doesn't get her share-"

Justine laughs and Ed lifts Sam, juggling him onto one hip. "Say goodbye to Mr. Cameron-"

Sam purses his lips and when David leans forward, Sam pushes them into his cheek in a kiss. David presses a kiss into his hair. "Merry Christmas, Sam."

He turns his daughter a little, so that Sam can pat Flo's cheek gently. "Bye, Flo-"

"Bye-bye" Flo tells him prettily and kisses his cheek. Ed laughs and David turns Flo so she can give Justine a quick hug round the neck. "Justine-" David leans in, gives her a quick peck on the cheek. "Merry Christmas-"

"I'll see you to-" Ed nods, lowering Sam to the floor, and as Justine says "Sam, do you want to come into the kitchen and have some toast-", the last sight David has is of Sam pulling himself up onto the couch, completely ignoring his mother's request.

It's in the hallway that Ed says "She just didn't know that-" and then stops, his gaze falling on the stairs.

David follows his gaze and sees Daniel sitting on the steps with his chin in his hands, eyes fixed on the door.

"Daniel-" Ed stops at the bottom of the stairs, eyes on his son. "Do you want to say goodbye to Mr. Cameron?"

David, having some experience with children and tantrums, expects Daniel to either completely ignore him or simply turn and storm off up the stairs, perhaps accompanied by the slamming of a door. But instead, to his surprise, Daniel gets up, runs down the stairs, and half-throws himself at David, hugging him fiercely round the waist.

"Oh-" David lowers Flo gently to the floor and promptly lifts Daniel, who buries his head in David's neck. David presses a kiss to Daniel's cheek and then into his hair, a little surprised at how tightly the little boy's clinging on. "Happy Christmas, Daniel" he says, and then kisses him again. "Hey, it's-we'll be seeing you soon after Christmas-" He has no idea when, but surely they'll arrange something-

It's then that David realises that he's come to anticipate arranging things with Miliband.

But Daniel hugs tighter for a moment, wrapping himself around David's waist like a monkey. He holds his face up and David gives him another kiss on the head. With that, Daniel slithers down and touches Flo's arm. "Bye, Flo, Happy Christmas-"

Justine's voice comes from the kitchen. "Daniel, do you want any toast-"

Daniel turns and marches up the stairs without another word. David counts briefly in his head and this time is proved right on the slamming of the door.

Ed looks up the stairs after his son, but it's Flo who tugs at Ed's jeans. Ed blinks and bends to give her a cuddle. "Bye-bye, Mr. Miliband."

"Bye-bye, Florence-" Ed gives her a kiss on both cheeks. "Have a lovely Christmas."

Flo nestles in under his chin for a moment and David steps forward at the same moment that Ed does."Well-"

Ed nods. There's a short pause.

Then Ed says quickly "Thank you. For the book, really-" He swallows. "I do like it-a lot, actually-"

David grins. "I was under the impression that it was amazing, _actually."_

Ed blushes very, very deeply. David stares at him and Ed avoids his gaze.

It comes out as a mumble. "I meant it."

David swallows. "Good."

Ed's face is crimson. Something about the sight sends another pang through David, and his hand brushes Ed's sleeve.

"Happy birthday" he says, and then "And Merry Christmas for tomorrow."

"Oh. Right. Yes." Ed glances away, then back at David. "Thank you. And-um-you too."

Ed takes a step forward then, and David touches his arm. "Um-well. I just wanted you to know."

Ed's eyes meet his, dark and wide and-David laughs a little breathlessly. "Gosh, must be strange celebrating your birthday with Christmas lights. And ivy and holly."

Ed laughs. "Is that empathy, Prime Minister-"

"You really must be the most terrible person at accepting gifts-"

Ed laughs, the high-pitched laugh that lets David know his words have hit the right spot and makes him grin. "Must be, with ivy, holly, mistletoe-"

Ed's still laughing, but it dies away a little, and the two of them are looking at each other. Something's caught between them and David's suddenly aware of his own heartbeat.

He forces himself not to look up to check if there's mistletoe or not.

"Happy birthday" is what he says and then he realises he's still touching Ed's arm. "Well-" He tries to remember what he was about to do.

Ed nods. "Well." His hand touches David's sleeve then.

David moves to pat his arm-or squeeze his arm-or touch his shoulder-

But somehow-somehow, his hands move and they're on Ed's shoulders-and he's-

He's-well-his chin's moving over Miliband's shoulder-and they've-

He's-

He's hugging. Miliband.

Ed _Miliband-_

He's _hugging Ed Miliband-_

Miliband's warm and he's gone very still and that must be his shampoo, God, he smells good-

He's not mov-

Miliband's hands brush his shoulder blades and then his arms are around David's shoulders awkwardly and his chin is digging into David's shoulder but it-it's-

It's an awkward, fumbling hug. They both pat a little too many times on each other's backs. And then for a moment, Ed seems to press himself a little closer and David-

David just closes his eyes and-

Well-

It feels good-

When they pull apart, Ed's blushing. David had been expecting that. He can tell from the heat in his own cheeks that Ed isn't the only one.

Ed bites his lip, his eyes flickering away. David nods. "Ah-yes-"

"Well-"

"Ah-I didn't-" David doesn't stutter, but he makes a strange gesture, indicating Ed's general body. "Um. I hope I-"

"It's fine." Ed speaks a little too quickly and then he bites his lip again. "It's-um-that was-"

He blushes and suddenly, David's finding it hard to meet his eyes.

"Yes" is what Ed says eventually, a little garbled, and David looks at him for a moment. "Well. Well, I-"

"Yes. Um-"

David steps back and then, before he can stop himself, pats Ed's arm awkwardly. "Have a good holiday." He smiles. "Miliband."

It takes Ed a moment, but he smiles. "You too. Cameron."

* * *

 

"You cuddled Mr. Ed Miliband" Flo giggles in the car and David presses a kiss to her head.

"That's right."

"You gave each other a cuddle-"

"Well, that's what you do when you-"

He stops. He stops because he's not sure how to answer.

When you-

When you-

It's as though a big blank is there for what he and Miliband are. And he keeps reaching for what it could be.

"Daddy, how long 'til Father Christmas comes?"

And what will they-if that's how it is _now_ , how will-

"Daddy?"

Flo's looking at him with big blue eyes. And he seems to have memorised the feeling of Ed's hands pressing gently into his shoulder blades.

And it's Christmas Eve.

So he pulls his daughter closer and begins a very serious conversation about Father Christmas and the many and varied problems of time, and just for a little while, the only thing he thinks about Ed Miliband is the way his chin nestled into David's shoulder.

But David can think that that was an accident, which he does, a little more firmly, as he turns back to Flo, pushes her hair behind her ears, and focuses very carefully on the debate that lies ahead of him, namely on whether or not Father Christmas prefers mince pies or chocolate biscuits, while his daughter crawls onto his lap.

* * *

 

_ Playlist _

_In It For Life-Sick Puppies-" You can act naive/But I know you're not stupid...Isn't that the way it plays? /The leaver leaves, the stayer stays/You wouldn't make a move/So I made mine.."_

_This just reminds me of Ed and David in PMQs, and David's gradual ease with attacking Labour's record more and more frequently, as well as his underlying anger at Ed for making himself such an easy target._

_Belong-The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart -"When you came through the door/I felt everything and nothing that I had before/Tell yourself it's not yourself/But no one else can make me know there's no one else..Change your mind and stop the time/That comes between us, that bends beneath us...And you're the same, so slightly strange/Among the fakes you knew the pains/I know it is wrong/But me and you just don't belong/In their eyes, in the sun/Me and you just don't belong...._

_This is a) one of my favourite songs and b) reminds me of that moment when Ed's giving David his Christmas card (particularly the awareness of time passing) , as well as the general sense of something else growing between them, as well as their gradual awareness of the way they react to each other, particularly David making Ed question some of his viewpoints, with his stories about boarding school._

_Never Know-Jack Johnson-" So I wanna give this imagery back/But I know it just ain't so easy like that/So I turn the page and read the story again and again and again/It sure seems the same with a different name/And we're breaking and rebuilding/and we're growing and we're guessing/Never knowing...Tell ya that the metaphor is better than yours'/And you can either sink or swim/Things are looking pretty grim/....Never knowing/Shocking, but we're nothing/We're just moments/Clever, but we're clueless/We're just human..."_

_This reminds me of the build-up to the election and their mingled scrambles to have the right plan, but also the fact both their sides are missing very basic points and can't bear to admit when the other side have the right idea._

_'Til We Are Found-Samantha Savage Smith-" You are a moment, you are a person/I'd like to keep/We run down, down, down/'Til we are found"_

_This reminds me of the moments in Ed's house, where they can escape from the usual politics of it all and just learn about each other, as well as the easy simplicity of Flo and Sam's friendship._

_Bedroom Door-Broods-" I know you, I know you/It's what you do, what you do/There's no need to disappear...So shut up the bedroom door/And shut out the world some more...You've had a hard day I know/I've had a hard day too, I can't forget with you"_

_This reminds me of both Daniel and Ed's separate reactions to Justine constantly working and the different ways they react to it-Ed denying his own irritation and anger in an attempt to preserve what he sees as a sort of script to his life, while Daniel, being little, openly voices it, pointing out that no matter how important his mother's work is, it's his and Sam's lives that are damaged as a result._

_All Of This-The Naked and Famous- this actually recurs later in the playlist, but the start of the song just reminds me of the moment they're wrestling and they're lying on top of each other. (Also, the lyrics are INCREDIBLY suitable for Camerband-seriously, listen to it if you like this fic-which is why the song recurs throughout the fic, as do a few others.)_

_"All of this is tearing us apart/I don't know where us or this starts"_

_Drift-Daughter- this is the other song I picture playing in the wrestling scene and also in their goodbye scene at the doorway. It's just got a hint of them growing closer, even if neither of them want to acknowledge it._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the PMQs here: http://www.parliament.uk/business/news/2014/december/prime-ministers-questions-wednesday-17-december-2014/   
> George did imitate Ed Miliband in preparation for PMQs, to the point where David had to tell him to tone it down. David did go for a run after that PMQs, before he had an interview with Nick Robinson, according to the book Election Notebook. (David and Nick R did both go to Oxford .)  
> Ed's Christmas card can be seen here:https://goo.gl/images/19D581  
> Daniel is on the left, Sam is on the right. David and Nick's cards: https://goo.gl/images/9mAabf  
> https://goo.gl/images/D9RbVj  
> Kate Fall did go out with George: https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/george-osbornes-former-girlfriend-kate-1377676  
> David does buy gifts for his colleagues' children, as they did for his. Ed Balls is a huge fan of The Sound Of Music-he and Yvette Cooper took their kids interrailing around Austria dressed as the Von Trapp children one year: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/11105408/Doctor-Who-is-too-unhappy-warns-Yvette-Cooper.html  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/ed-balls-went-on-a-sound-of-music-tour-in-curtained-costume-9750221.html  
> Lynton did refuse to let David see polls (which is one of the main reasons the victory took them all by surprise.)  
> The incident David refers to in his office is from 2011, when he infamously told Angela Eagle to "calm down, dear":https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VWKBSYqtu7M He did take Ed up to his office afterwards, and joke about what Sam and Justine would wear to the Royal Wedding: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-1382359/David-Cameron-turns-charm-calm-Ed-Miliband.html  
> Frances would have been a fairly safe bet for David to ask about presents, as she and Justine have been friends since bar school: Ed is obsessed with the Boston Red Sox: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/profiles/ed-miliband-dad-indulged-me-in-my-red-sox-obsession-8919253.html  
> This is the house Ed was living in, which they visit: https://goo.gl/images/AfU1ad  
> Douglas did disagree with Ed standing against his brother:https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/silent-assassin-how-ed-miliband-plotted-against-his-brother-for-months-2298702.html  
> The Octonauts is Daniel and Sam's favourite programme: https://www.newstatesman.com/politics/politics/2012/07/ed-milibands-week-its-not-scale-our-problems-concerns-me-so-much-smallness  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/picture-this-my-selfie-in-no-10-l5dh6z7npnx  
> Ed and Justine did have to use Christmas card photos when they were asked to personalise their kitchen. Daniel and Sam did/do have to eat in the basement flat with their nanny and aren't allowed to eat with their parents, according to these accounts, suggested to be genuine: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11472863/Ed-Miliband-doesnt-have-two-kitchens-one-is-for-the-live-in-nanny.html  
> http://home.bt.com/lifestyle/house-home/tv-viewers-left-unimpressed-by-ed-milibands-tiny-communist-kitchen-11363967840107  
> https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/84539/downton-eddie/  
> https://www.conservativewoman.co.uk/laura-perrins-dont-bother-to-read-milibands-manifesto-his-duplicitous-kitchen-stories-say-it-all/  
> The holiday is a holiday David went on in 1978, with Peter Getty-son of the famous oil tycoon Getty family:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3245386/Dave-born-TWO-silver-spoons-mouth-Parents-prep-school-included-8-Honourables-4-Sirs-2-Princesses-2-Marchionesses-1-Viscount-1-Earl-1-Lord-Majesty-Queen.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/7718823/David-Cameron-His-politics-stem-directly-from-his-upbringing.html  
> Heatherdown, David's preparatory school, has been criticised for its' excessively harsh regime towards the children, including forcing them to sleep in rooms with ice on the windows:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1278552/Cameron-Minors-schooldays-How-extraordinary-life-exclusive-prep-school-helped-shape-PM.html  
> Sam has a peanut allergy: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/video/2015/may/05/ed-miliband-interview-jamelia-junk-food-video  
> Nancy is an opera fan:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/event/article-2540767/David-Cameron-I-dont-drop-knees-divine-guidance.html  
> Ed did say work was Justine's top priority, above him and the children: http://www.redonline.co.uk/red-women/interviews/ed-miliband-pictures  
> Ed did rarely see them during the day:  
> http://www.totalpolitics.com/articles/interview/ed-miliband-man-who-could-be-king  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/8987022/Ed-Miliband-longs-to-drop-designer-look-to-wear-big-glasses-and-nasty-jumpers.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/ed-miliband-all-about-my-father-mps2wbqnksx  
> Leave a comment if you liked it!


	13. Commencements of Campaigns, A Media Menagerie And A Friendship Of Fair Fallaciousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which phone calls from New York are rare as the dodo, one should not talk to Richard Desmond in parks, the David and the Cameron are liable to far too easily become entangled, and Nick has no idea who he's fighting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....this is quicker than usual! The chapter might be a little shorter, but I've decided to do shorter chapters that update more frequently, rather than making you guys wait a month and then killing myself typing it all up (I handwrite Impossibilities, so....)  
> BEFORE YOU READ: Thank you so much for your comments, I read every one and love them. If you ever want to ask me anything about Impossibilities or my other fics, just send me [an ask](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr or message me over there! Quite a few of you have, and I always love answering questions about my fics! :) :)  
> If you want to read any of the articles and can't, send me an ask!  
> Go forth and read-and leave me a comment if you like it! :)  
> NOTES ABOUT PEOPLE MENTIONED:  
> "Uncle Ed L"=Ed Llewellyn, one of David's chief advisers, & a close family friend: https://www.conservativehome.com/highlights/2015/12/profile-ed-llewellyn-the-pocket-talleyrand-of-downing-street.html  
> Bells=Isabel Spearman, Samantha's aide & close family friend, frequent babysitter of the Cameron children:https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/esmagazine/at-home-with-isabel-spearman-in-shepherds-bush-a3391111.html  
> Lib Dems:  
> Ryan=Ryan Coatzee, Nick's director of strategy.  
> Stephen=Stephen Lotinga, communications chief.  
> Jonny=Jonny Oates, Nick's Chief of Staff  
> James=James McGrory, Press Secretary  
> James Holt=Deputy Communications Chief  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/shortcuts/2013/nov/06/nick-clegg-fan-spin-emma-gilpin-jacobs  
> Labour:  
> James Stewart=press officer  
> Lucy Powell=MP and campaign head.  
> Tim Livesey=Chief Of Staff  
> Spencer Livermore=Campaign Director  
> The animosity between Ed's team can be read about here: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2962408/Fear-loathing-planet-Ed-Weaponising-NHS-Dodgy-donors-sniping-ex-ministers-Red-Ed-s-campaign-beset-gaffes-instead-fighting-closest-aides-busy-fighting-other.html  
> The reasons for the animosity to Anna:https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/bullying-row-engulfs-milibands-office-frsczn6tv59  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2664367/Now-Miliband-aide-blamed-leaders-Hillsborough-gaffe-accused-bullying-junior-Labour-staffer.html  
> Alex =is Alex Belardinelli, Ed B's Head Of Communications: https://www.newstatesman.com/politics/2015/03/whos-who-team-balls  
> Jon=Jon Newton, Ed B's senior researcher.  
> John=John Wrathmell, adviser to Ed B and Ed M on economic policy, former civil servant.  
> Tories:  
> Stephen=Stephen Gilbert, strategist.  
> Messina=Jim Messina, American polling strategist who worked on Barack Obama's campaign, sent personally by Obama to help David win the election: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3367364/Conservative-Chairman-Lord-Feldman-said-Tory-victory-big-f-Ashcroft.html  
> Grant=Grant Shapps, MP and co-chairman of the Tory campaign.  
> Andrew Feldman-Lord Feldman, close friend of David and co-chairman of the campaign: https://www.conservativehome.com/thetorydiary/2015/03/profile-lord-feldman-the-more-important-of-the-two-tory-chairmen.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/david-was-emotional-at-winning-he-couldnt-compute-it-he-was-stunned-gp5pnggb2dd  
> Ameet=Ameet Gill, adviser and speechwriter: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/8155084/David-Camerons-voice-Ameet-Gill-finally-speaks.html  
> Clare=Clare Foges, speechwriter: https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/clare-foges-the-woman-who-put-words-in-david-camerons-mouth-10437029.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/a-life-in-the-day-i-write-the-pms-speeches-he-does-the-gags-tp0xtc8dl79  
> Adam=Adam Atashzai, Downing Street aide.  
> The Craig Lynton mentions (not Craig Oliver)=Craig Elder, who, with Tom Edmonds, ran the Tory digital campaign: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/general-election-2015/11757682/2015-really-was-the-first-digital-general-election-here-are-7-lessons-you-should-know.html  
> "The other George"=George Bridges- Campaign Director.  
> Rupert=Rupert Harrison, George Osborne's Chief of Staff, & Thea=Thea Rogers, one of his advisers: https://www.conservativehome.com/highlights/2014/06/profile-of-team-osborne-who-sometimes-enrage-other-conservatives.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/11487584/How-the-Chancellor-has-become-Machiavellian.html  
> Juliet=Treasury speechwriter.  
> Gabby=Gabby Bertin, David's Director of External Relations  
> Liz-Liz Sugg, David's Director Of Operations  
> Graeme=Graeme Wilson, David's press secretary  
> More here: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/feb/03/tory-strategists-enforce-rigid-discipline-lynton-crosby  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/11609570/Secrets-of-the-Tories-election-war-room.html  
> Hayden=Hayden Allan, adviser to Hammond.

_Posner: But he doesn't understand. Irwin does like him. He seldom looks at anyone else._

_Scripps: How do you know?_

_Posner: Because nor do I. Our eyes meet looking at Dakin._

_-The History Boys (2006)_

 

_No-one's the same as they used to be_

_Much as we try to pretend_

_No-one's as innocent as could be_

_We all fall short, we all sin_

_-"Fast In My Car", Paramore_

 

_All of your flaws_

_And all of my flaws_

_They lie there, hand in hand_

_Ones we've inherited, ones that we've learnt_

_They pass from man to man_

_-"Flaws", Bastille_

* * *

 

" _Five-"_

David catches George's eye and gives him a wink.

_"Four-"_

Elwen scrambles around David's feet. Luke shoves his younger sister's shoulder, sending her into Geronimo, nearly knocking his glasses loose.

_"Three-"_

Michael kisses Sarah on the cheek. Beatrice, Libbie and Nancy are readying their special child fruit mocktails, sparklers fizzing.

_"Two-"_

Samantha presses a kiss to Flo's cheek, and hoists her a little higher on one hip. Beatrix curls in closer to her mother's shoulder, while Sable clings to her leg.

_"One-"_

David draws in a breath, as his eyes meet Sam's and Clare's simultaneously, and George's hand brushes his.

_"Happy New Year!"_

Fireworks explode in their ears. Glasses soar into the air. Cheeks clash together.

"And many more-" George kisses Sam's cheek before David can, and grinning, David does the same to Frances. Flo shrieks out a giggle and casting a glance at his elder daughter, David sees that even Nancy's smiling.

"Happy 2015-" Samantha kisses him, and David is cut off halfway through. Elwen makes a vomiting sound that is so realistic, David almost reels back, and then nearly falls over as he catches sight of Alex across the room, waving at him.

"Good start" Michael remarks, kissing Sam and Flo on the cheek one after the other. Sarah squeezes her goddaughter's shoulder and then bends to kiss her own daughter's forehead, while her son and Elwen appear to be conducting some sort of duel with their straws, Galileo and Artemis winding around them.

"Hopefully not start as we mean to go on-" George arches an eyebrow, squeezing David's arm. "Unless you mean reeling away from disaster-"

"Yes, hopefully not, David-" and David turns around to see his mother beaming at him, Tania at her side. "Unless you wish to guide the country completely down the drains."

"Happy New Year, Mum." David presses a kiss to her cheek. "And thank you ever so much for the encouragement, we will do a positively wonderful job of ensuring the country fails to meet your lofty standards-"

George pretends to salute her. Mary eyes him contemplatively.

Tania winces. "You're dead" she tells him succinctly, as Mary draws herself up to her fullest height-which, though it barely comes up to George's shoulder, is still somehow impressive.

 "You're five years younger than my son" she informs him gravely. "And I don't balk at giving him a smack."

George keeps a completely straight face as he answers her. "My wife would quite agree with you."

Frances promptly proves George correct by whacking his arm, causing a wry smile to appear at Mary's mouth. She pats George's arm affectionately, in exactly the same place Frances has just hit. "Do keep David on track, he's liable to wander free otherwise-"

"I'd give anything for you to wander free" Clare mutters, to an elbow in the ribs from Samantha.

"What was that, dear?" Mary smiles at her. Clare smiles back. "Nothing." She steps on Sam's foot at the precise moment that Sam opens her mouth.

"Well, anyway-" George pats David's arm. "Preferably not having to reel away from disaster-"

"Have some faith in Lynton" David protests, with another kiss to Sam's hair, as his wife tries to avoid his sister's elbow in return. "As if he'd steer us towards disaster-"

George grins. "I didn't say anything about _Lynton."_ His eyes sparkle mischievously.

A few moments later, Elwen and Luke are cheering-"Go on, Dad-", Flo's giggling, and Michael's observing with an amused expression, which is when Alex ambles over, clutching a glass of ale in his hand. "Hey, hey, what's all this? I invite bloody politicians into my party-"

David would protest, but it's difficult, with George's head, still shaking with laughter, currently being wedged under his arm.

"And here I thought the Prime Minister was going to give us a bloody song..."

* * *

 

Ed stares at the ceiling, listening to the steady in and out of Justine's breathing next to him, and wonders how everyone else is spending their New Year.

He's always lain awake at night, and it's happening a lot more recently. It doesn't help, perhaps, that Justine's parents are here, and he's aware the entire time that they're in the house-even though it's Margaret's friend's house, and she's the one who's let them stay here for New Year-in a way he can't really explain.

But really, it's more that every second that's spent away from the news and politics, he wonders what's really happening somewhere, if there's something more they could be doing, and it's always there, a persistent backbeat in his mind, a backing track to whatever else he's doing.

When he lies awake, he always finds his mind pulling focus, sharpening moments of memories, narrowing in on tiny details, playing them over and over.

He remembers yesterday, in the pub, patting the man on the back, hoping it wasn't too awkward, that he hadn't said anything he shouldn't-but the man had seemed happy, excited even, as he walked away.

He'd headed for the door, Justine waiting outside, pushing at his glasses awkwardly, trying to ignore the pub musk around him. Pubs have never entirely been Ed's forte, and being left alone in one to pay the bill had made him even more acutely aware of this.

He's not sure, taking this into account, not to mention the fact that neither he nor Justine are big drinkers, why on earth they'd chosen to go into a pub at all. Perhaps it had been the fact that they were on their way back from their friends, and maybe they'd both been thinking about the childrens' faces that morning, and neither of them had been keen on seeing their expressions again-

(Though Ed can't get rid of the nagging thought that that might have been only him)

Maybe the silence had dragged a little too long between them, and maybe the sounds of glasses clinking and drinks pouring and the sheer familiarity between people who are local to an area, in a way they never would be, might fill up the gaps, perhaps neither of them wanting to say that they didn't know if words alone would be able to.

(Though they were tired and it had been easier with friends, easier to let others do the talking, to corroborate each other when needed, and that was conversation, that still counted.)

Perhaps the simple fact it had seemed something to do; the sort of thing most couples would do, he was sure of it. Like visiting friends. Like having a day out.

He'd instantly regretted these assumptions on New Year's Eve morning, when he'd informed Daniel and Sam that they'd be spending the day with Margaret and Stewart.

Margaret had made a little more of an effort, attempting to make a fuss of the boys, ruffling Sam's curls, and giving Daniel a weak sort of half-chuck under the chin, even as he scowled, looking away. Stewart had raised an eyebrow and told the boys that they needn't worry about it if it bothered them, that he certainly wouldn't, leaving Justine to whisper frantically at her father and Ed to try fruitlessly to distract the boys with the Octonauts, only for Stewart to remark that "those kids watch too much TV as it is."

Ed had gritted his teeth, the same way he did whenever Stewart's incredulous look had slipped through that Ed has found appears whenever he mentions that he has no idea how to bleed the radiator or change a fuse or perform any one of a hundred other basic DIY tasks.

But Margaret's attempts at cuddles or hugs hadn't made either of their sons smile as they left the house, and aside from Justine's pointing out whichever direction they needed to head in next, their journey to Dover and then to the pub had been mostly in silence. Ed isn't sure even now if it felt companionable or not.

He hasn't been sure, over the last few days, if many things have been companionable or not.

"You need to watch those boys" his mother had told him bluntly, as he washed the dishes on Christmas Day.

"What do you mean?"

His mother had just looked at him then, all 70 years of her, her eyes steely. "You know perfectly well what I mean, Edward. Your family is a recipe in _barely."_

Ed had blinked. Marion had raised her eyebrows.

"Sam barely speaks. Daniel barely smiles. Justine's barely _here."_ She'd folded her arms. "It's not a recipe for happy family life, Edward."

Ed had blinked again. "The boys are-"

"Unhappy" Marion had informed him without preamble. "And it'll be far worse if you win this election."

"I-what do-"

"You're not a stupid boy, Edward" Marion had told him with a firm look. "You know you're not giving them what they deserve at the moment."

Ed had swallowed, hard.

"And neither's Justine."

"Justine's got to work-"

"I'm aware." Marion had handed him another plate. "And I'm aware that your father and I must clearly have spent our lives scrounging money and slumped in front of a '70s sitcom, given the amount of attention we lavished on you two."

Ed had felt the words sting, and his mouth open in indignation, remembering the nanny-one of their nannies, there were so many they all tend to run into one-hand on his shoulder, pulling him back from the bannisters.  _Come on, Edward, Mummy and Daddy are talking..._

 Then he'd heard the words "you two" again and they'd stung more.

"Edward-" and his mother had touched his arm suddenly, which is rare enough to make Ed fall silent. "If you consign something  to the back burner, it could be too charred to get it back when you remember it."

Ed had opened his mouth but then Justine had come into the kitchen and he'd turned away, not knowing what to say to either of them.

Now, Ed rolls over and looks at his wife for a moment. Justine's curled on her side, facing away from him. She rarely smiles in her sleep. Ed watches her for a few moments, considers putting an arm around her, then considers whether he wants to.

They've never really been the type of couple that sleep with their arms wrapped around each other, cuddled up. They had done a few times, in the early days when she was pregnant with Daniel, but something about it had always felt a little wrong, a little disjointed, like trying to cram jigsaw pieces where they just wouldn't quite fit, and one or the other had always slid away sooner or later, glad of the excuse to make a cup of tea or fetch the phone. Just glad of the excuse to slide away, really.

He didn't think he'd minded, then.

He rolls onto his back, thoughts drifting back to their excursion the previous day. Perhaps with the conversation with his mother dwelling on his mind, he'd determinedly tried to bring up Daniel and Sam as their main topic of conversation. He'd told himself firmly that that should be easy.

It had been. A little. The boys were fractious, yes. They both worked a lot, yes. It was important that they both worked, yes. The election would be tough for the boys, of course. Justine had found a book on Amazon that might help to explain it to them-good idea. They should try and make time once a week or so to talk to the boys about it-good idea.

They'd had lots of ideas for the boys and every so often, Ed would try to bring up something about the boys-something Daniel had told him or Sam's new favourite food-and he'd be about to start the story, groping for words, when he'd realise he couldn't-that he couldn't find them because he didn't have one.

Or rather, he had snapshots. A half-formed sentence out of Daniel's mouth, a point of the finger from Sam at the TV screen. Snapshots, small films of memory that spool out for a few seconds, and nothing more.

He'd thought about asking Justine for her insights and then had had the uncharitable thought that he might well be better off asking the table leg if it could possibly give him its' impressions of their children.

He'd opened his mouth because surely it was something they should mention, and then stopped. Because Justine has a case and he has an election. Because this Christmas was supposed to be about spending time with the boys, and they both want to think that its' worked.

This train of thought had led Ed to quickly drag his thoughts back to the campaign, to the BBC and the speech on Monday, to needing to keep an eye on Cameron's launch-tomorrow, now, technically, God, tomorrow-to watch Marr on Sunday, to-

He'd said a couple of lines about this to Justine. She'd nodded.

She'd told him a little about her latest case. How it was no-win, no-fee, but they could afford it, and he'd nodded because they could. He'd taken a sip of his drink and noticed that he hadn't even swallowed half of it.

There must be other things they talk about, he'd told himself then, tells himself now.

There are. Of course there are. They discuss the boys, their jobs, politics-

Ed had frowned, pushed his glasses further up. Now, in bed, he frowns, clutches the duvet a little tighter. There's more than that. There's-there's more. There will be-it's just-

He'd been longing to check his phone by halfway through the drinks and had felt an irrational pang of annoyance at Justine that he couldn't. Then, he'd felt awful, because she didn't even know, and-

 _Doesn't know what?_ had been his next thought.

They'd both tried hard not to look relieved when it was time to go. Justine had tried to protest when Ed had told her he'd pay and she should just go on ahead without him. He'd tried not to feel relieved when she'd let him.

And then, he'd found himself standing outside the pub, trying to remember exactly why he was feeling relieved to be alone and wondering simultaneously what aspect of his speech he needed to focus on the moment he got home.

He sighs, rolls over and reaches for his phone.

Most of the messages are the same as earlier and his eyes hover on the ones from his team, from Balls, from Marc-

_Happy New Year, from me, L. and the kids._

Ed had stared at his brother's message for a long moment a few hours ago, and then for the first time had nodded gratefully when Stewart had offered him some of the Scotch he'd brought (half of which he'd ended up pouring discreetly into a potted plant.)

Now, he scrolls through the messages a little faster, and then his eyes roll automatically as he finds Cameron's name. There's a grin tugging at his mouth as he opens the message before he can think twice, re-reads Cameron's New Year greetings, which he'd received at half an hour past the chimes of Big Ben, when Justine and Margaret had been struggling to put Sam back to bed while Sam's face had dissolved into those horrible, silent tears that always make Ed feel helpless, and he'd been instructed to sit on the couch and ignore it, to "help him learn."

Learn _what?_

The thought had hit Ed hard, harder than he would have expected and now his hands curl into fists as it hits him again. Anger curls, hot and bright and unexpected in his stomach, and Ed realises he's gripping the phone tightly, his knuckles whitening.

But it's stupid. It _was_ stupid.

He shouldn't have let Margaret-

And then, stronger than that-He shouldn't have let _Justine-_

He stops. Actually, physically, freezes under the duvet, considering this.

 _Teamwork._ He can hear it in Justine's voice, quoting from one of those hundreds of parenting books that always seem to appear when they make a point that somehow it's been decided they agree with, and are carefully discarded when they don't.

_Teamwork. Communication. United front._

But louder than that for all its' silence, is the fact that all he can see is Sam's red, angry, flushed little face, dark eyelashes wet under damp curls, cheeks smeared with silent, crumpling, straining tears.

 _Teamwork_ and _united front_ are dying away, but he can see Sam's face easily, no matter how hard he stares at his phone.

He shakes his head and then finds himself staring at Cameron's message again. _Despite our contradictory and occasionally mutually exclusive hopes for 2015, Miliband, Happy New Year._

Ed feels a smile make its' way to his mouth. He reads the message again and then his own reply.

**_Spending time with Boris, again? But I return the sentiment. Happy New Year, Cameron._ **

_Actually, no,_ had been the response. _I am capable of extensive use of loquacious vocabulary myself, Miliband.:)_

**_I thought you agreed to cut down on your emoji usage? And I'm aware._ **

_Do we agree on anything? Also, I may be mistaken, but that sounded like a compliment._

**_You're often mistaken. But maybe it was._ **

_Well. Thank you. Talk about New Year's Resolutions._

**_You're one to talk about promises. And you're welcome._ **

Ed feels himself grin as he looks over the messages, and then bites his lip. He's lying here, grinning his head off into the dark, all over a message from David bloody  _Cameron._

It's stupid and-

Ed can't stop grinning.

But looking at his phone just leads to flipping through his pictures and he stops on one of Daniel and Sam crouched under the Christmas tree. They're smiling, Sam's hand tugging at Daniel's sleeve, and it's only then that Ed notices, first, that that's one of the nicest pictures he's seen of his sons in a while; and second, that neither of them are anywhere near-or indeed, _looking_ anywhere near-him or Justine.

He thinks that it would have looked more natural if they'd used a photo like this on their Christmas card.

A second later, he hates himself for thinking that.

It's only when he closes the photo that he realises he's already made up his mind not to mention that to Justine. Knowing her, she might decide it's a good idea.

The thought makes Ed frown.

As he turns over, eyes drifting to the window, he recalls suddenly Christmas Day, taking a break from peeling the potatoes to check his phone, and grinning at Cameron's Christmas message- _Merry Christmas-been a long time since the last day of gifts for you, hasn't it, Miliband?-_ and he'd just been tapping out a reply along the lines of _I'm not sure if that's aimed at my birthday or the current state of my party_ -that Marion had remarked "You look happy."

"Hmm?" It had been such a simple remark, so easily dropped or tossed away, that Ed had only looked up when his mother had neglected to reply.

Marion had been standing with her arms folded, watching him closely, and all she'd done was look at him for a long moment, and then Ed had realised he was beaming without even knowing it, that his shoulders had relaxed for what felt like the first time in what felt like a while.

"You look happy" his mother had said again, more softly, and Ed had only been able to nod, feeling oddly wrong-footed by such a simple observation.

But he'd been happy suddenly, and somehow that seems a strange and sad thing.

Perhaps it's merely the direction of his thoughts but suddenly one of those snapshots flickers into life, sharp relief colouring the words, the snapshot becoming a photograph gripped tight by the fingers of his memory.

It had been the day before Margaret and Stewart had arrived from Nottingham before they'd all headed up to Kent, and they'd been at Parliament Hill.

It hadn't been deliberate that they'd ended up there. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision for Ed to take the boys out at all. Justine had been in the study working and Ed had been struck again by that look on Daniel's face on Christmas Eve, and before he'd known what was happening, he'd been leading the boys outside, dragging Daniel's bike and Sam's scooter with them, calling to Justine that they were going out, and her lack of response only made him more determined.

It had only been once they got to Parliament Hill that he'd realised where he was heading, and for some reason, the sight of the swings had made a flush rise to his cheeks, and at the same moment, a confused sort of happiness rise in his chest, that had left him fumbling for a moment, almost dropping his son's hand, a grin hovering at his mouth.

Then, it had transpired that Daniel wanted the stabilisers off.

"But you've never had the stabilisers off" Ed had told him and Daniel had looked up at him and said "I _have_...just not with _you."_

Ed had tried not to wince.

Sam had remained silent, pushing himself along on his scooter, and Ed had found himself awkwardly doing as his elder son commanded, holding the bike for a second and then letting Daniel ride along the path for a few moments before grabbing it again.

It was only a few minutes into this that it had occurred to Ed that technically, he was teaching his son to ride a bike, and yet he felt absolutely none of the pride and excitement that he'd always anticipated thinking about this moment.

Perhaps because it had felt less like he was teaching Daniel than that Daniel was showing him someone else's ways of teaching.

This suspicion was confirmed when he'd asked, struggling to sound enthusiastic, when Daniel had got so good at riding a bike, and Daniel had said  _"Zia"_ without looking at him.

Sam had nodded and said "Ice cream" which had led Daniel to explain in a tone far too world-weary for a five-year-old, that Zia "picks us up and brings us to play."

Which hadn't lifted Ed's mood.

It had been during one of these interludes that a hand had tapped him on the shoulder and upon turning round Ed had found himself face-to-face with someone whom he would struggle to decide would make his day better or worse.

"I take it these are yours'?" Richard Desmond had said with a grin, a large dog tugging at the lead grasped firmly in its' owner's hand, and Ed had found his own hand being firmly shaken.

Sam had just dimpled quietly, which seemed to be one of Sam's default positions when being introduced to people, and Richard had seemed more amused by Daniel's half-hearted glance in his direction before he'd pushed off on the now re-stabilised bike.

Ed had ended up sinking onto a bench when Richard had said, with a grin "Now, you might want to prepare yourselves for some of the headlines we've got coming up" and with Sam ambling about his feet, occasionally ambling closer to the dog, hand outstretched to pat, before backing away, apparently losing confidence at the last moment, had found himself debating immigration.

Justine would have said this was just more evidence of how obsessed with work he was, and it occurs to him now, with a sharp jab of annoyance, that she has no right to talk.

Ed has no idea how long it had been before he'd looked up and felt his heart plunge into the depths of his ribs.

Sam was tracing his scooter back and forth on the path. Daniel was nowhere in sight.

 _"Shit."_ Ed had almost scrambled up off the bench, his head whipping back and forth as he struggled to catch sight of his son. "Hell- _Daniel-"_

"You said bad word" Sam informed him cheerfully, looking completely unconcerned by his brother's sudden disappearance.

"I know, th-Sam-" His lisp had crawled out at the wrong moment, as well. "Oh God-" He crouches to take Sam's shoulders. "Where's Daniel?"

Sam glances about, then, turning back to Ed, shrugs with a big grin, "I don't know."

Ed swears under his breath, glancing around, Richard now doing the same. "Well, we've got to _find_ him-"

"Daniel-" Richard is stepping away now, calling himself, his eyes narrowing through his glasses.

"Daniel!" Ed had shouted his son's name, the sound stinging the back of his throat, even as he knew it was hopeless-if Daniel was near enough to take any notice, he'd be in sight.

He'd grabbed at Sam's sleeve. "Sam, come on-"

"No-"

Ed had still been glancing about frantically, but he'd managed to stare at his son. "What do you mean, _no-"_

"No." Sam had folded his arms firmly, a scowl now creeping across his face in a decidedly Daniel-esque way. "No, I'm staying here."

For a moment, Ed's hands had flexed and he'd thought they'd fasten themselves in Sam's sleeves, fasten there and _drag_ him along-"Sam, come _on-"_

"No-"

Ed had heard himself make a strange, inarticulately frantic sound. "For God's _sake-"_

Richard had been spinning around, hands cupped around his mouth. _"Daniel!"_

Ed's heart had been throwing itself against his ribs so hard that his stomach had twisted, so tightly that for a moment, he thought he was going to vomit. His eyes had been scanning the horizon frantically, and his son wasn't there, he _wasn't_ _there-_

"Oh _Christ-"_

"Right." Richard's hand had been on his arm and his voice was calm, even as Sam had looked from one to the other, confusion crumpling his face. "Right. He won't have gone far. I'll watch Sam-you go and find him-"

Ed had stared at him, torn for a moment, but he's smart enough to have known, even in the panic that was currently engulfing him, seeping over his thoughts, that he had very little option.

"Right. Right. Thank you." He'd patted Richard's arm, absent-mindedly, and almost grabbed Sam's arm. "Sam, you stay with Mr. Desmond, I'll be right back-"

Richard had already been holding his hand out with a grin, lashing the dog's leash around the bench in a careful knot with the other. "Come on, Sam, let's go on the swings-"

Sam had squealed happily and Richard had half-shouted after Ed, "We'll stay near here, in case he comes back-"

Ed had already been running, his feet pounding the path, panic aching in the back of his throat, his heart painful in his chest.

 _"Daniel!"_ The sound had been ripped out of him as he reached the end of the path, stared around, and then headed for the trees. _"Daniel!"_

It was icy panic gripping his chest-he couldn't _see_ him, Daniel was nowhere and _God,_ if he'd been paying attention-

He hadn't been paying attention. That was the truth of it. He _hadn't_ been-

Daniel had been right, was another thought that stabbed into the back of his mind.

He couldn't see him. The minutes crawled by, too fast and too slow. Ed's heart was rapid enough to hurt. Panic was gripping his stomach and head and chest, and he couldn't breathe through the fingers of it, he couldn't not look about. His eyes were trying to take in everything and everywhere at once, and _I can't see him, I can't_ was drowning out everything in his head, and he'd come to a stop, swearing. One hand curled into a fist, clenched into his hair.

 _"Daniel!"_ It came out as a yell, fear throwing his heart against his ribs, and for a moment, he thought he was going to vomit.

He'd taken a few more steps, struggling to grasp for any sense of coherent thought-he needed to get back, get Sam to stay with Richard, ring the police-

_The police, oh God, oh God, the police-_

_Oh God, this'll be all over the headlines_ hit him in the chest and then a jolt of something like disgust that that had occurred to-

 _Daniel_ jostled in his brain then, louder than anything else.

His eyes had swept the trees and then he'd caught sight of a coat. He'd blinked, convinced he was seeing things out of sheer desperation.

Then the coat had moved and he'd seen the little face poking out of the collar, and the relief had slammed into him so hard his knees had almost gone out from under him, before he even knew it was relief.

_"Daniel!"_

He'd been running towards his son almost before he could realise what he was doing; the last few steps seeming to take an age, his legs shaking under him; his hands fastening into his son's shoulders, his voice ripping itself out of his throat-"What the _hell_ were you doing-"

His son's face was staring up at him, blue-grey eyes wide with defiance or shock or both and Ed half-lifted, half-dragged him off his bike into the air, the relief coiling in his stomach into hot, furious anger.

He barely knew what he was shouting, that his hands had knotted in his son's coat, that he was shaking, almost shaking his son, too. All he knew was that Daniel had just stared back at him, and then had shouted something incoherently angry and ragged with tears about _"you talking with the man"_ .

Ed had been too angry to even apologise, half-pulling his son back by the hand, anger slamming his feet hard into the ground, Daniel sniffling at his side.

It had been when he'd reached the playground that he'd stood and watched for a moment, and Ed turns over and shuts his eyes tight but still remembers.

Sam was on a swing, legs kicking in the air, Richard behind him, pushing him. Sam was shrieking with laughter, dark curls flying, his cheeks flushed, and it had hit Ed then, as he stood looking at them, that he couldn't remember the last time Sam had smiled like that for him.

He couldn't remember the last time either of his sons had smiled like that for him.

Now, lying in bed, phone still gripped tightly in his hand, Ed vaguely notes and then notes again, two things; one, how ironic it is that one of the two recent clear memories he has of his children is one Justine doesn't even know about. Two, that it's a memory in which one of his sons is crying, face crumpled and red and furious, and the other is absorbed in someone else, lost in his own laughter, so far away from Ed that he couldn't touch it if he tried.

* * *

 

David opens his eyes slowly, Sam's arm draped over his chest. He snuggles closer in, fingers trailing over Sam's arm, feeling strands of her hair tickle his fingers.

His eyes fall shut-then, with the vague sense that he's missed something, he opens them again.

A pair of blue eyes are hovering just above his own.

 _"Aah!"_ David almost leaps backwards, but lying down, ends up doing a sort of crazed wriggle back up the mattress.

Flo jumps back a little but maintains her happy, wide-eyed look. David slams a hand over his chest, Samantha jerking awake next to him, and wonders quite how many years, exactly, having children can reduce one's lifespan by.

"Sorry, Daddy." Flo dimples up at him in her pyjamas, eyes wide and blue.

Samantha props herself up on one elbow, tucking her hair behind her ears. "No, no, it's all right, sweetheart-"

David could point out that Samantha isn't the one who just woke up to find their daughter's face an inch from his own, lovely as she is.

"Daddy-" Flo's scrambling up onto the bed and David feels Sam jab his arm quickly, frantically, under the duvet. His own fingers fasten into the sheets, very strongly aware firstly, that neither he nor Samantha are wearing anything, and secondly, that this is one memory of her parents he would prefer his daughter not to carry with her into her twilight years.

"Flo, darling-" David catches Flo's shoulder carefully, gently holding her back as she scrambles up the duvet. He catches her as she squirms happily and then lifts her gently, kisses her hair. "Flo, could you be a very big girl and go and get me your Harry Potter book?"

Flo's eyes light up. "Yes, Daddy, yes-"

"Because we could have a read, if you want, and a cuddle-"

 _"Yes, yes, yes-"_ Flo's already scrambling down off the bed, charging for the door. David barely waits until she's reached the landing before he's diving for his boxers, scrabbling under the duvet and dragging them back on with what he likes to imagine is rather impressive speed.

"Sam-" he starts, but she's already grinning at him, darting for the door and pulling on her robe.

"Lucky she didn't walk in last night" she whispers into David's ear, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and he grins back at her, remembering her fingers pushing his boxers down last night, as she shushed kisses into his neck.

David gives her a playful tap as he pulls his shirt over his head, while Sam grabs her nightie and Flo reappears in the doorway, accompanied by Elwen.

"Here, Daddy-"

"Hi, Dad-" Elwen scrambles onto the bed, nestles under his father's arm. "Can we play football later?"

"I think we might be able to make some time, yes-"

David finds himself once again gasping as both Elwen and Flo buffet the breath out of him. "If I'm still alive by breakfast time-"

"You're not _that_ old, Dad" Elwen says, grinning as he carefully moves Flo over, whilst his little sister crawls across the duvet, before wriggling under, pressing herself into David's chest. David kisses her head fondly and cuddles Elwen for a moment, while his son squeezes his shoulder affectionately, before saying with wide, overly sincere eyes, "You probably won't die _yet."_

"Oi." David ruffles his son's hair and Elwen grins, grabbing his hand to pull his father into an arm-wrestle. "See, Dad, Dad-you're _terrible_ at this-"

"I am _not_ terrible at this-your Uncle _George_ is terrible at this-"

Flo giggles, pushing her hands into her mouth, and then tugs at her father's sleeve. "Daddy, Daddy, read-"

"All right, Daddy, Daddy will _read-"_ David lets Flo nestle her head against his chest and Elwen huddles closer, tucking his legs under the duvet.

Sam appears when they're halfway down the page, now clad in her nightie, and David gives her a quick smile over the book, remembering the night before when she'd stood in front of him in that nightie and he'd found himself completely unable to catch his breath, even as she took his hand with a grin and had slid it slowly under her nightie and between her legs.

He quickly looks back at the book, taking a grip of his thoughts, but not before he catches sight of the small, answering smile hovering at Samantha's mouth.

They're another half a page in, with Sam scrambling onto the bed next to them, pressing a kiss into Elwen's hair, when there's a small noise from the doorway and David looks up, feeling a smile pull at his mouth at the sight of their eldest daughter.

"Morning, Nance-" Sam tilts her head. "You coming to join us, darling?"

Nancy hovers, and for a moment, David is gripped by a strange fear she'll say no.

But then she nods, heads over to the bed and climbs in next to Sam, who immediately tucks the duvet round her and kisses her head. Nancy's hand reaches round Samantha's shoulders to pat David's head.

They get through a couple of chapters like that and then Sam takes over, while David takes up the task of fetching tea and milk.

It's always better when they get up to Witney, he decides, shivering a little at the bite of the cold through the flagstones as he waits for the kettle to boil. It seems to have a good effect, he reflects, gazing out of the window at the countryside spread out around them. Especially on the children. He hasn't seen Nancy smile like that for a long time and he makes a mental note to take her out for a milkshake soon, or a hot chocolate. Though she's seemed to cheer up a little over Christmas, from when he tucked her into bed as they stumbled into Chequers late on Christmas Eve, with a kiss on the head for each of them, to when she curled up between him and Sam on Christmas morning, with Elwen wrestling her and Florence squealing as she tugged open her stocking.

Still, they haven't gone out, just them, for a while and it's only going to get busier with the election coming up.

They can seem more trouble than they're bloody worth, elections. The thought that this might not be the last one he has to fight is rather exhausting in itself.

This sticks in his mind as he carries the tray upstairs, and he has to remind himself as he pushes open the door that this isn't the time to be thinking about work. There are many times to be thinking about work but this isn't one of them.

And there's going to be far fewer of these times in the months ahead.

David shakes these thoughts away firmly and pushes the door open with his foot.

"And Daddy's going to be-nearly breaking everything-" Sam says optimistically, as she looks up from the book, using it as a makeshift microphone. "And he's cutting the corner, cutting the corner, tight victory this could be-"

David places the tray successfully on the ottoman at the end of the bed.

"And he _puts it in the back of the net-"_ Elwen roars, then throws himself face down into the pillows, shaking the bed and almost knocking the entire tray to the floor.

Flo is wriggling and squealing and Nancy rolls her eyes, telling her brother "You sound like Luke Dunphy, for pity's sake-"

"If I'm Luke, though, you're Haley- _Haley-"_

"I'm not _Haley-"_

"You're not _Alex-"_

David is just watching them with a grin-just taking them in, the three of them, locked in their laughter, quarrels sliding into each other, when Sam pats the bed next to her. The children scramble down to seize their drinks, and David beams when Nancy wriggles back so she's leaning against him.

Sam passes him his mug before Flo nestles herself in her mother's lap and Elwen sprawls across both of them. David takes a moment to stare at them, revelling in the sight of them, and it's difficult to only allow himself a few moments before he lifts the book, his heart aching with them all.

"Right. Now, I believe Harry had just come across Justin, if I remember rightly-"

* * *

 

"When Nancy writes her book-" Flo is draping herself against David, her arms winding around his neck. "Is she-is she going to put _me_ in her book?"

"Well, you can ask her" David tells his younger daughter, with a kiss to her head. "She's right here."

"You might be." Nancy nestles against David's other side, while Sam plays with Elwen's hair, gently. "You and Frozen-"

"Yes, but _Frozen_ - _everyone'll_ want to know about _Frozen-"_ Flo's hands are curled into fists in David's shirt, when his mobile rings.

Sam rolls her eyes. David quickly runs through the options in his head and decides that since this call is to his mobile and isn't accompanied by frantic aides running into the room, that it's unlikely to be a national emergency.

"Right-" he says, reaching for his phone. "Everyone want to make their bet?"

He nods at Elwen, who nudges Flo upright and then says "Go and see Chelsea next season, Uncle George telling you he needs your help because the banks have broken."

"Optimistic." David nods at Sam. "Darling?"

"Meal out, your mum reminding you just how much you had to drink last night."

"Defamatory but likely. Nancy?"

"Tickets to _Swan Lake_ when it's next here, Mr. Crosby asking something about the election."

"Very likely. Flo?"

Flo beams up at him. "Custard tart later, and Uncle Nick and Mr Ed Miliband telling you to cancel the 'lection."

"Another optimistic one. Well, let's see." David lifts his phone and, holding a finger aloft, answers. "Hope you know there might be a custard tart at stake" he says amiably to whoever it is on the other end of the phone.

There's a silence and then a nasal voice-but quite a different nasal voice from the one David's used to-says "Well, that sounds rather a vital bargaining tool."

David sits up, with a raised eyebrow. "I believe you may have just cost my daughter a custard tart, Mr. Miliband."

Flo frowns. "I said Mr. Ed-"

David shakes his head and it's Sam who nods. "Ah."

"That sounds rather interesting" says David Miliband and David frowns at the little jolt of strangeness that sends through him. The voice is similar to _his_ Miliband's-a little nasal, a little similarity in the pronunciation-but slightly less heavy and with no hint of the lisp that can make David grin whenever he hears it. It's strange, to hear a voice that has the edge of familiarity, but is so undeniably different.

It's then that it occurs to David that he's just thought of Ed as _his_ Miliband.

And that he's thought of Ed Miliband, in any way, as _his._

He doesn't have much time to consider this, though, with _this_ Miliband already speaking again. "Thought I'd wish you a Happy New Year, Prime Minister."

"Oh. Well-" David supposes he's received polite greetings from the elder Miliband before, but he can't recall any recently, and it seems a rather unexpected move.

"Thank you very much" he offers, pulling a confused face at the children, who are all gathered around him with varying degrees of interest. "I'm wishing you the same."

"Thought I'd ring before we went to bed, as you're a few hours-"

"Of course, you're on New York time-"

"Yes, we've been in Times Square-"

"Ah, did Jacob and Isaac have fun?"

At this, Nancy and Elwen's faces brighten a little with recognition at the names-David recalls the children playing together a few times, back when he was Leader of the Opposition and David Miliband was the Foreign Secretary whom they were keeping a worriedly close eye on.

What had he thought of Ed then, he wonders suddenly but Miliband's speaking again.

"The boys, yeah-thought it was terrific. Nancy, Elwen and Florence all doing well?"

"They're fantastic." He arches an eyebrow at the three faces in front of him, all of whom seem to have heard their own names. "Louise?"

"She's wonderful. A lot of work with her-"

"Violin, I remember-"

"Yes, she's doing very well-New York's fantastic for music. And Sam?"

"Brilliant-Smythsons is going fantastically-"

"Oh, yes, yes of course-"

A short silence falls and then David says, with the grin that comes naturally now, "Anyway, how's New York treating you?"

"Oh, wonderful. I mean, the job's time-consuming, but you'd know more about that than me-"

"Very true."

The words hover for a moment and David takes a second to consider the possibility-the slightly bizarre possibility, it seems now-that this could once have been the Miliband he was running against.

"Anyway, I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year, Prime Minister."

"Well, it's much appreciated-"

"I suppose your Leader of the Opposition already has?"

The words make David simultaneously bite his lip, fighting back a bizarre urge to laugh and at the same time, feel a strange wriggle of warmth in his chest at hearing Ed once again termed _his._

"He told you?" is all he says, however, grinning as Nancy draws a hand across her throat and pretends to collapse backwards across the bed.

"I heard he'd been spending some time with you" the elder Miliband tells him. "So I presumed."

"Ah." David barely resists the urge to ask if the Miliband brothers have actually spoken to each other over the Christmas period. Not that it should bother him-it might be a shame for them, but as George-and now Lynton-repeatedly point out, the fact is, it's a rather effective stick that they can batter Labour with repeatedly.

"No-one's ever going to forget that" George said jubilantly once, while Michael nodded, after a headline about the progress of David Miliband's new career. "No matter what he does, no-one's ever going to forget that he's the guy who shafted his brother."

 _And we can't afford to let anyone forget it_ , David can almost hear Lynton telling him.

"Yes, _ah"_ says the elder Miliband, in such a way that David can't tell whether he's smiling or not. "So-I thought it would only be polite that you got your best wishes from both."

David smiles, grips the phone a little tighter. "Primogeniture has to take priority, I suppose" he says, keeping his voice deliberately light. It's strange, that there was a time when he would probably have said he knew David Miliband better than he knew Ed-though he supposes that he knew them in different ways, really.

"My brother Alex would say the same" he laughs.

He'd always been friendly with David Miliband, back in the days when he was almost entirely focused on how to get into power, into government, into a place where they could make a real change. Even though Miliband had been Foreign Secretary in a crumbling government led by _Brown_ of all people, they could get on, laugh together. It helped, perhaps, that he'd known the elder Miliband had been a breath away from shoving Brown out of power, until his little brother-and _that's_ how he'd thought of Ed Miliband back then, he remembers now, as Miliband's little brother-and some of his Brownite chums had talked him out of it-

"I expect so." There's a laugh in the voice and David treads carefully as the other David says to him "You might never know how annoying it can be."

_He's never nicked my career, no._

(Has Ed nicked his brother's career?)

(Though, it doesn't really matter-that's what they'll say, anyway.)

"Well, I just called to wish you well-" Another laugh. "Maybe not so much, politically-"

"No, I imagine you wouldn't be-" A jab of something like glee, prickling into life at the thought of the election in the next few months, at the thought, once again, of which brother he'll be facing. "I'm sure you'll understand if I return the sentiment to your brother."

Nancy bursts out laughing and Sam smacks him in the shoulder. Elwen and Flo both look merely confused, while Nancy rolls over, stuffing the duvet in her mouth to muffle her laughter.

"Understandable, yes" the elder Miliband says, and David has to bite his lip to prevent himself reminding him he's not a Roald Dahl villain, there's no need to talk like one-

He'd have said it to Ed, he realises vaguely, but winding David up isn't quite the same.

After they've exchanged goodbyes and David's checked to make sure he has actually ended the call, he puts the phone down and Nancy rolls over, giving full vent to her laughter.

"You two are horrible" Sam says, although there's a smile creeping out at her own mouth.

David shakes his head, hugging his daughter tightly. Nancy nestles into him, still helpless with laughter.

At the sight of Elwen and Flo's confused looks, David struggles for breath, puts up a hand to explain.

Nancy beats him to it, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright in a way that's been missing lately. "Mr. Ed Miliband has a brother" she says, rather breathlessly. "That's who Dad was speaking to. And he hates him."

 _"Nancy-"_ Sam gives her a reproving look but Elwen's already asking "Why does he hate him, though?"

"Because Mr. Ed Miliband beat his brother to be Labour leader." Nancy turns to Flo. "Leader of the Red Team" she says, by way of explanation.

"Oh." Flo's brow creases, furrows, her eyes narrowing as she puzzles her way through it. "So...Sam's daddy beat....beat..." Her eyes fly wide as she lands on the answer. "Sam's _UNCLE!"_ she shrieks in excitement, bouncing up and down in glee.

"Yes." David pulls her close, gives her a kiss on the cheek. "Sam's daddy beat Sam's uncle. And Sam's uncle...isn't very happy."

"He hates him" Nancy reiterates, apparently keen to get this side of the story across.

"That's so awkward" mutters Elwen-his new favourite word-with a grin.

"Well, _duh-"_

"Like, like, imagine that family Christmas dinner-" Elwen's sniggering now too, and Flo descends into shrieks of giggles, even though David doubts she fully grasps the conversation.

"It must be so awkward-"

"Yeah, yeah, like-" Elwen's sitting up now, propping himself up on one elbow. "Imagine like, _please pass the sprouts and don't throw them at me-I can get cranberry sauce in your eye from here-"_

Flo almost screams with laughter. Nancy's draped, giggling, over her sister's shoulder. "They probably don't even _have_ dinner together-"

"Like, one of them has to sit in another _room-"_

"Now, now-" Sam touches Elwen warningly on the shoulder, even as Flo clings onto her brother's sleeve.

"No." David chucks Elwen under the chin. "One of them has to be in another country. Mr. Ed Miliband's brother moved to America-"

He doesn't get through any more before Elwen bursts out laughing. Flo's giggling and Nancy's leaning against him, shaking with laughter, while Sam says "All right, that's enough-"

David shakes his head, soaking in the sound of his childrens' laughter a little more than he should. He's got to launch the campaign tomorrow and then when he gets back to Downing Street, there's a meeting on Saturday, and then he's got to answer Marr's questions on Sunday-

It's starting. And he might as well take whatever chances he can to laugh with his children-

Even if it is at the expense of his opponent.

(Perhaps _especially_ if it's at the expense of his-)

"Right-" he says, clearing his throat. ""Right, Florence-" pulling his youngest daughter round so she's sitting on his knee, arms wound around his neck-"I believe I said that you only got a custard tart if your guess was right?"

Florence's mouth puckers ominously.

David beams at her. "I may be reneging on that promise." He presses a kiss to her forehead, and says, with a glance at the other two, "For all of us-"

"What does rena-rena-" Florence mouths as Nancy punches the air and Elwen grins, following his sister's example.

"Go back on." David presses another kiss to Flo's head, and then gives a wink at Sam, who's doing the same with Nancy. "Though, for God's sake, don't tell Mr. Ed Miliband I said that!"

 

_He hears the name vaguely, but it only hovers for a moment, before the air is split with George's cheer. A fist is thrown into the air and then the cheers spread, as if everyone is only just realising that they're allowed to make a noise, that it's all right, they're going to be all right, because it's-_

_"It's him! It's the younger one!" George grabs David's sleeve, points at the screen as if David's blind. "Bloody Mili Minor!"_

_"That what we're calling him?" David asks lightly, his heart slamming against his chest, relief trembling in his limbs as he watches the younger Miliband stand up, his brother already heading towards him, arms out, with a smile on his face David would bet has been rehearsed in the mirror. "Mili minor?"_

_"It's what they all call him" Ed tells him from his chair, where he's already got a phone pressed to his ear. "Everyone, everyone calls him that-David was Mili major-"_

_"Miliband Major-" Michael reminds him and George shakes his head._

_"Who cares? We're home free with him."_

_"Don't get too cocky" David warns him, but his heart is already lighter, a grin swelling in his chest as he watches the awkward embrace between the two brothers on-screen. He squints at the younger Miliband, who's patting his brother on the back, eyes darting, as if he doesn't know quite what to do with his hands._

_He's seen that look before, he thinks, a few times-he remembers the younger Miliband, from when he was Energy Secretary, a few times they'd had to collaborate on projects, back when Steve was touting the push for the green vote, and they'd shaken hands, talked a little, and something about the way Miliband's little brother's eyes had glimmered when he got excited about something, the blur of movement his hands became, the way his jaw set whenever David muttered something about Brown,and the way his words would snap out a little harder and faster had spiked something in David's chest, made him say things a little more teasingly, a little more sharply, just to get that feeling of something like glee, at watching Miliband's little brother's brow knit, his eyes narrow. Something about that look had left him with a mischievous squirming in his chest, and at the same time, a sort of wondering about how someone could believe in something so painfully. Miliband minor's big eyes, the way he repeated things sometimes, his words rushing together when he hit a topic he was excited about, all screamed painful earnestness, and David had watched it, slightly amused but something else, too, that he couldn't quite identify._

_But now, he glances at Steve, who's sat back in his chair, bare feet tucked up underneath him. He meets David's eyes, then George's, then grins. "You can probably get the champagne out" he remarks. "Just make sure you can keep it together when you have to speak to Miliband."_

_George almost pumps his fist into the air. "Knew we made the right decision storing the champagne-"_

_David glances at the screen where Miliband Minor is taking his first steps behind a podium. He looks small and fragile there, somewhere where his brother would have commanded and David feels a stab of something like triumph, and knows something, instinctively, lodged under his ribs-he'd have had to fear David Miliband, Miliband Major._

_Miliband Minor, Miliband's little brother-_

_The glass that's pressed into his hand is smooth and the champagne is cool and sweet and bubbles in his mouth, making him laugh, as they watch the younger Miliband talk, the drink fizzing in the back of his throat and up into his skull, and fizzing through there too, cool and sweet and certain as the knowledge he's suddenly very sure of-he doesn't have to fear Ed Miliband._

* * *

 

 

Ed takes a long look at the poster. Tom is standing to his right, eyes narrowed. Greg's studying the poster assiduously. Bob's watching Ed. Lucy stands to the left, pen tapping nervously at her knuckles.

"It's good" Ed finally manages.

And it is good-it's very good if that's the sort of thing they're going for. Cameron's face stares out at them from a poster that's been blown up so that in this version, Cameron's face is bigger than Ed's whole body. Underneath it, reads the essential message: _The NHS as you know it cannot take five more years of David Cameron._

He squints at the text across the picture: _The Conservatives want to take the NHS back to the 1930s, when there was no NHS._

"See-" Greg taps the poster thoughtfully with his pen. "That's the bit I'm worried about."

Tom snorts. "What, Cameron's face? It might get punched, I suppose-"

Ed has to force himself to laugh. They've airbrushed the poster, he realises suddenly; taken out all of the wrinkles and creases, darkened Cameron's hair. He wonders briefly if it's supposed to fit the image of Cameron as the slick, PR, image-obsessed-

Of course, the real Cameron has those lines and creases and bags under his eyes and those dimples and Ed has to admit, peering at this airbrushed version-

He likes how the real Cameron looks better. More-

Real, but not just _real-_

There's something there that Ed just _likes,_ in the creases and dents and dimples, in those smiles that-

Ed catches himself and blinks.

Why on _earth_ was he thinking about-

He shakes his head. This picture's better. It's colder, smoother, more clinical. It works.

It's not like the real Cameron, but then his promises aren't like the real Cameron either, so what difference does it make?

This thought makes Ed frown, but then his brain catches onto the word _accurate_ and he tunes back in to hear an argument between the others.

"We can't prove they're taking spending levels back to the 1930s" Greg's saying, furiously. "We can't prove that-they could cite it as inaccuracy, use it to get us on the economy again-"

"Oh, for Christ's sake-it's a _simile-"_

"You mean a metaphor" Bob supplies. "And it's not even that."

"Oh, for God's sake, we're taking a bit of licence, so what-"

"Licence can work" Lucy interjects, her eyes widening a little, the way they always do when she's trying to convince. "Licence can get the message across-"

"But we can't _afford_ to take fucking licence-" Greg lowers his voice, almost hissing the words. "God, the Tories already have a field day saying we're crap on the economy-Christ, why don't we just hand them a loaded gun-"

"Because they'd kill more foxes?"

All four of them slowly turn to look at him. Ed looks back.

Finally, Tom holds up a hand. "Ed, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but don't fucking try to fucking joke, OK?"

Ed feels the heat creep into his cheeks immediately, but Tom is already staring at the other three, stretched out in his chair. "It's not meant to be literal. Get Alastair on the phone, he'll say the same-"

"We don't want to be bothering Alastair all the time-"

"And they could _imply_ it's literal-"

"And that won't bloody matter because no ordinary person's going to have a fucking clue, they're just going to see the poster-"

Ed swallows, as the others turn to look at him. It takes him a moment to realise that they're waiting for him to make the decision.

Ed clears his throat. "Um-" He takes another look at the poster, but his eyes hover on Cameron's face.

It's just....different.

It's colder and smoother than the real Cameron and a few months ago, Ed would have been a lot more comfortable with that.

"What do you think?" he says to Bob, because it lets him look away from the photo of Cameron.

Bob shrugs. "I think it could go either way" he says, examining the poster himself. "But it's your call."

Ed takes in the poster again. His eyes linger on the words.

They're exaggerating. But it's a campaign.

"What you need to remember" says Greg, more quietly now. "Is that Cameron's launching his campaign today. This'll go out today or in the next few days." He takes a step closer to Ed. "What you need to decide is if the pay-off is worth it. Whatever criticism you get. The NHS is a big attack line."

Ed bites his lip. They need the NHS-he remembers his own words a few weeks ago to Robinson, how they _need_ to use the NHS to show the difference between their parties, utilize it or something like that-

This is an opportunity.

And yet it could be seen as-

But the Tories _will_ damage the NHS.

And Cameron would do this-

_(to him)_

Cameron would do this.

Ed blinks.

Cameron would do this.

He looks at the poster one more time.

And voters _are_ concerned about the NHS.

He meets Greg's eyes and nods. "Run it."

* * *

 

It's easier than it should be.

Smile, beam, look around. Mention the Tour de France, break the ice a little, like Clare suggested.

He launches into a story about the time he took Elwen to the Tour de France, and it's easy to tell it, because he can still remember Elwen's little face at his side, his eyes bright and dancing, freckles sprinkled across his cheeks, the same way David's had been at that age.

"And I was with my young son, who's only eight-" He looks around, falling into it, the ease of it. "And we walked round Harrogate, and I'm pleased to report that there were lots of cheers and-" He pumps a fist. "Go for it-you know, "Come on, Dave, do your best", all the rest of it-"

 _Makes you look self-deprecating,_ Craig had said, advising him to wing it at that bit. _Less polished. Nice anecdote._

He looks round. "And then, I have to admit, there were one or two-one or two jeers from a small part of the crowd-"

It hadn't bothered him-he's used to it by now, more used to it than he'd ever thought he'd be. But he'd looked straight at Elwen, who had been staring around, looking for the source of the noise, brow furrowed, and a wave of anger had spiked sharply in his chest, because it was one thing to shout at him, but his son was there, didn't any of them have fucking kids-

"And I looked at my son and said, "Elwen, I'm sorry, sometimes that happens in my job-""

Elwen had looked up at him, little brow furrowed, as David had stared back, hoping his son would understand somehow, would understand that it was just political. That it almost wasn't personal, in a way.

And then Elwen's brow had cleared and David feels a smile creep out at his mouth, remembering it.

"And he said, "No, no, no, don't worry, Dad-""

Elwen's little face brightening, his blue eyes sparkling with the words that would send David laughing for ten minutes, and Elwen wouldn't even quite understand why-

""That'll be the French!""

The laughter breaks out around him.

The poster hangs behind him, the poster that Lynton's approved of and Craig's approved of and just about everybody he can think of's approved. The poster, that's one of the main arguments.

_Let's Stay On The Road To A Stronger Economy._

_Hammer it home._

He looks out at Halifax and he doesn't think about the meeting with Lynton tomorrow or the flight he's got to Cornwall later or the interview with the Mail he's got to conduct en route.

He can hear his own voice, saying the things he's rehearsed, but not rehearsed too much, but not rehearsed too little-"To mark the start of an election year-"

_We're firing the starting gun._

"And it is an absolutely _vital_ election for our country-"

_We're the ones who fixed the deficit._

"I think it is the most important election-"

_They're the ones who wrecked it._

"In a _generation."_

_They're the ones who wrecked it. They're the ones who wrecked it._

And he hammers it through the speech, the speech worked on with Craig and Clare over the phone, the speech they've gone over and over in the car. The speech that shows who succeeded, and who didn't.

Us, not Them, for the first.

Them, not Us, for the second.

He fires out the statistics for Yorkshire. _119,000 more people in work. 61 000 fewer people unemployed. A quarter of a million apprentices trained._

And then wider, because _make them see. We did it. Not Them._

_1.75 million jobs created._

_A thousand jobs for every day we've been in office._

"We've been on a journey-"

_Emphasise it, you've got to stick with us, because they'd wreck it-_

They'd wreck it.

 _Miliband_ would wreck it.

"And it's important that we stay on this journey."

More statistics. _Two million more private sector jobs. 1.75 million more people in work._

 _The unemployment thing's brilliant_ Lynton had barked out over the phone. _Fucking put that in. You always hammer Miliband on it in PMQs. Don't let anyone forget the unemployment._

 _Make it human,_ Clare had said. _It's got to be human._

"That is 1.75 million more people taking home a pay packet, able to deliver security for their family-"

_Cut taxes for 26 million, 3 million out of income tax, 2 million apprentices trained, a million more children in good or outstanding schools._

_We're making things better, hammer it home._

"So, at every stage of people's lives, we are trying to help." He looks round at the crowd assembled in front of him, the down-to-earth, Yorkshire-blunt, mostly Labour-voting crowd and remembers Lynton's words. _We're the ones who fixed it. That's what could win us the whole thing._

"Whether it's creating those jobs, whether it's cutting those taxes, whether it's building those homes that we need-or whether it's providing good school places for our children."

_Make it clear. Make it clear._

"What is absolutely crucial is that we _win_ this forthcoming election-"

_Status quo. Competence vs chaos._

"Because it's _so important_ that we stay on the road to a stronger economy."

He goes on, outlining all the things they've done, the things they can still do:

"I say we should stay on the road to a stronger economy _not just_ because the alternatives are so disastrous-"

He looks round, lets them remember, lets them remember, what Labour did-

"Though frankly, they _are_ disastrous-"

He lets it sink in, lets it linger, even as he goes on. _Remember what Labour did. Remember what they did. Don't let them back in. Don't let them back in._

It's at the back of his mind the whole speech, and when it comes to it, he looks out at the crowd, fixes Balls' whining little article that morning in the Guardian firmly in the forefront of his thoughts and says the words loudly and clearly:

"There is another road people can choose. But it's about higher spending. Higher borrowing. Higher debt. And more burdens on future generations."

He lets his voice get louder. "It's about higher taxes, higher taxes that will _destroy_ jobs and livelihoods in our country. And it's a future that I believe-"

_Competence vs. chaos._

"Will be about insecurity and potential economic chaos-"

_Make them remember it._

"Instead of the security we offer."

He looks out at them, meets some of their eyes. _"That_ is the other road."

The applause breaks out at the end. And he's done it. He's done it. The first one.

Just the first one.

But he's done it.

The gun's fired. It's started.

* * *

 

"Excuse me-urgent announcement-"

For a moment, David truly thinks Lynton's about to die.

Lynton's eyes bulge behind his glasses. When George doesn't speak for another moment, Lynton almost leaps out of his chair. His knuckles whiten on the table. _"What?"_

George waits another moment, eyes flickering between all of them, before a smile creeps to his mouth. "I was just going to ask if we've all got our air raid sirens ready-since we're apparently all going back to the 1930s-"

There's a moment of silence before Lynton almost collapses over the table.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again-" He nearly kicks the cardboard box at his side, tugging at his collar.

David bursts out laughing. "Jesus, George-"

George is laughing already, his dark eyes glinting. "Just thought we could do with something to break the tension-"

David pats George on the back. "Don't worry" he says. "I'm too busy being flattered by the picture."

"Yeah, it was pretty altered." George winks. "Which explains why it flattered you."

David demonstrates Prime Ministerial authority by kicking him.

"If we could take things fucking seriously-"

George smacks the back of his own hand with a grin. David nudges him in the ribs.

Lynton glares at them both, until they sit up and David inclines his head, gesturing for Lynton to go on.

"Right. The launch was brilliant, yesterday." Lynton claps his hands together. "We got the message out and we can stick to it. One message-they broke the economy, we fixed it. That's it."

George furrows his brow. "Let me just write that down-" Off Lynton's look, he subsides.

"Now, David's on Marr tomorrow-"

"I'll be gripped" mutters George. David is strongly tempted to kick him again.

Lynton glowers at George. "So you're prepared?"

"After Maya saying I should put my job in a wedding dress yesterday-" Craig flashes David a quick grin-Joanna will have had a field day with that. "Yes. We got a good deal done over the phone, during travelling. He's prepped."

"Well. Make sure you go over it again, later. Might be a kangaroo in it for you this time."

David raises an eyebrow. Lynton gives the cardboard box at his side a quick shake.

David and George peer over the table simultaneously, and David sees his Chancellor's eyes widen. Staring back up at them are at least a hundred toy koalas and kangaroos, all tangled comfortably together.

Lynton shrugs. "Went back to Australia over Christmas." He extracts a kangaroo from the box, pats its' head affectionately, and tucks it into the chair next to him.

George arches an eyebrow. "So, I somehow missed the story of the single-handed shattering of the economy of the Australian soft-toy industry."

Lynton raises an eyebrow. "You're steadily reducing your chances of getting one."

George raises a finger to his own lips and bats his eyelashes. "I'll be good."

"Right." Lynton claps his hands together. "We need to talk about seats."

George gives David a grin and David has the strange glimmer of a feeling that Christmas might as well not have happened at all.

* * *

 

"So.." Ameet says some time later, when Lynton seems to have temporarily talked himself into silence. "Reckon Miliband was behind that picture?"

David shrugs. "Almost definitely, since it's his party-"

Ameet and George exchange a look, Ameet's eye flickering closed in a quick wink. "I meant the flattering aspect."

For some reason, David can't quite meet his eyes. He swallows, carefully modulates his tone. "I doubt it" he says, strongly aware of George's grin. "If Miliband had been personally involved in the poster design, I might have been given-I don't know-" He tugs the poster closer, examines his own face once again. "A couple of horns-the number 666-"

"Maybe a tail" Grant suggests, from the corner. "I think you could do with a tail."

"I'll suggest that to Flo." David pulls the piece of paper closer. "She made short work with her drawing in those Miliband policy books."

"Flo our new campaign artist?" suggests Stephen quietly, with a smile. David feels a pang of fondness.

"If you want us all dressed up as Elsa, singing _Let It Go_ , then I'm sure it could be arranged-"

George frowns. "That's an intriguing image-"

"What would you suggest, Stephen?" David asks, with a grin."Cartoon of me doing the Nazi salute, that sort of thing?"

"I should think they'll save that for Farage, Prime Minister."

"What'll be saved for Farage?" This from Adam, who's just walked in with George. David's George is already upright, patting their arms and George gives David a quick, one-armed hug as he gets up from his chair.

"What's that?" Adam asks, peering over David's shoulder. "Ah, of course-I forgot to bring my evacuee box-"

"How was Christmas?"

"Not long enough." This George, too, casts an amused eye over the poster. "Yours'?"

"Too long" David's George replies. "Frances would say the same-and Libbie, despite pestering me for ruddy Taylor Swift tickets-"

"Have they scribbled Dave into a church mural, yet?" Grant asks, grinning at the poster. "Maybe have George crouching off to the side with a pitchfork-"

George opens his mouth, then looks thoughtful. "I might see if I can commission that, actually. Could look good on our wall."

"We were discussing whether or not Dave should have a tail" Grant tells the other George happily.

"A _tail?"_

"On the poster."

"Oh." The other George grins, and Ameet looks thoughtful. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if-"

"I bet Miliband would like Dave with a tail" remarks George, with a grin.

Grant whistles. David rolls his eyes. "Doubtful" he remarks, with a nudge to his George's ribs. "That would steal Labour's limelight-their USP is rather their terrible campaigning skills-"

George snorts. David wonders why the tail remark has left a strangely pleasant shiver running up his spine.

"Fascinating though this discussion undoubtedly is-" Lynton remarks, leaning back in his chair. "It's not going to help us get more Lib Dem seats, is it?"

David bites his lip, sending a grin at the others as they all take their seats around the table.

Lynton gives Adam a nod. "I called these three in, because we need to take a quick look at the map. We're not doing much with it today, but we need to work out where we're going to bring the majority in from-"

"And the Yellows need the chop" remarks the other George, causing David's George to grin.

David frowns, but Lynton's already speaking. "Now-" He points directly at David's George. "Heard about that infrastructure shit you pulled with Clegg."

George sighs and holds out his hand for another smack.

"Hey, let me fucking finish." Lynton holds up a hand. "Good work. Exactly what we needed. I'd have given you another koala, but time was short."

George shrugs, with a grin, apparently coping rather well with the loss of the koala.

"But that's what we need." Lynton looks round at them all. "We're attacking Labour on the economy 24/7. But those target seats aren't going to be enough. We need to hit the Lib Dems. We need to hit them hard. And we need to leave Clegg as weak as possible."

David blinks. George, next to him, tenses a little.

Lynton's gaze finds David's unerringly. "We're aiming" he says, not asks. "For a majority."

"Yes."

"This is how we _get_ a majority." Lynton's finger stabs down into the map, once, hard.

"But we have to be realistic." David keeps his voice careful, but he leans forward a little. "There's a chance we might need a coalition."

"In that case, Clegg might be necessary" Grant points out.

"But he'd need some MPs" says Craig. "Unless we went into coalition with multiple parties."

Stephen's chewing his lip. "That's pretty unprecedented, from what I remember-"

"We need-" Lynton looks round at them all. "A majority. To _get_ a majority, there are a few risks we're going to have to take."

He stabs the map again with his finger. _"That's_ where we win. _That's_ where the majority comes from."

There's a moment of silence. David glances round at all of them. Craig's watching him. His George is studying the map, eyes narrowed. The other George is muttering something to Adam, who's nodding with a sharp glance at David. Ameet is looking at all of them, clearly anticipating instruction. Stephen is taking in the map thoughtfully. Dan's leant back in his chair, watching the room at large. And Lynton's looking at David.

It's George who breaks the silence, finally. "How many would we be going for?"

Lynton doesn't blink. "All of them."

There's a much, much longer silence.

Then Craig clears his throat. "Ah. Are-are you serious?"

Lynton's head snaps round. "Do I look like I am fucking joking right now?"

Craig watches as Lynton clutches the kangaroo tighter, pulling it into his lap and stroking its' head.

"You might want to plead the Fifth" mutters George.

Before Lynton's wrath can descend on him, however, Adam chips in. "Jim mentioned something similar" he says, with a glance at the other George for support. "That we'd have to target that number of seats, I mean."

Lynton nods triumphantly. David's George looks round. "Messina?"

"Yeah. I can get him to call, if you want-"

"We'd have to schedule carefully" says Ameet, with a glance at Grant, who nods. "Our campaign teams would have to avoid running into each other-"

"George would have helped yesterday" Grant points out, with a glance at Lynton. "With that campaigning in Twickenham."

"Cable's seat, isn't it?" David glances at George. "When did you do that?"

George grins. "Twitter."

David rubs his arm. George grins at him, then widens his eyes at Lynton." Worthy of a koala?"

A koala promptly comes flying across the table. George catches it, and pats its' head affectionately.

"Though this could work to our advantage, if we _did_ need a coalition" Craig says suddenly, eyes narrowed now. "It's always the Lib Dems who've been seen as traitors for the coalition, not us."

"But that's the thing" David says, unable to simply listen to the arguments any longer. "There's a chance-and I _know_ we're going for a majority, but the fact is, there is a chance we might need a coalition."

Stephen nods. "If we've decimated their party-"

"If we've decimated their party, that means we've _won-"_

"But what if Labour take some of the seats?" Stephen asks, addressing this to Lynton and Grant. "Or they offer the Lib Dems a coalition?"

George nods. "Cable was keen to go with Labour, last time."

"Exactly" David points out. "There's a chance neither of us-" He carefully avoids saying Miliband's name-"Will get enough seats. For an overall majority, I mean."

There's a moment of silence, then Adam chips in. "There are other parties."

"The DUP" agrees the other George.

"The UUP."

George spins in his seat so fast David is stunned his friend doesn't give himself whiplash. _"Not_ _UKIP."_

Stephen and Grant both shake their heads and David's already speaking. "Not UKIP. Absolutely not UKIP. And that's another problem-"

"We'll deal with what we're going to do about UKIP another day" says Lynton firmly. "But now, we need to focus on the Lib Dems."

"But we need to reduce the threat of a Lib Dem-Labour coalition" David argues. "We could find ourselves completely locked out of government."

Lynton smiles, then. It's a slow smile, that creeps out like a fox that's just spotted a particularly tasty rabbit, separated from its' mother. The fact Lynton is clutching a toy kangaroo does absolutely nothing to make the image less terrifying.

"And that's another thing." His finger traces the map again, wanders higher to Scotland. "We've just unwrapped ourselves a bloody gift." He beams. "We've just unwrapped Nicola Sturgeon."

George's brow furrows. "Can I make a request, Lynton?"

"What?"

"Never say those words, in that order, again, ever."

"Or anything like it" Grant agrees. Dan nods fervently.

Lynton rolls his eyes. "If you could all grow up for five fucking minutes-"

"You'll all get a koala-"

"I'll have yours' back in a minute." Lynton doesn't even look at George. "Sturgeon is the best gift you've ever opened under your fancy Christmas trees, trust me. Including that time your wife stepped out in a Victoria's Secret bra and asked you if you had a Boy Scout's badge in tying knots."

"Can you say that in front of our wives?" David asks, kicking George at his friend's rather contemplative expression. "I'm intrigued to know which one would kill you."

Lynton glowers. "Sturgeon is a fucking gift. She'd hammer Miliband in a Labour-SNP coalition. And that's what we're going to get out on every party political broadcast."

"Wait." David sits up, leaning forward, eyes flickering to Craig and Stephen. "Wait. That's a real possibility? That she'd offer a coalition with-"

For some reason, he can't say the name.

"Possible-"

"Probable." Lynton slaps his hand down. "It's pretty damn likely, with the strength of the SNP as it is now."

"How is that a strength for us?"

Lynton meets David's eyes. "Because we can use this. I mean, Salmond was good enough-"

"Please don't talk about unwrapping him" mutters George.

"But Sturgeon is gold. They're calling her another Thatcher."

Lynton leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and grins. "Now, imagine Miliband up against _Thatcher."_

Despite the strange pang that goes through him at Miliband's name, David feels a smile slowly creep to his mouth.

"Now, what you just pictured-" Lynton slaps the table. "Is exactly what the country will think."

David glances at George and stops then when he sees George smiling. When he spots David watching him, he grins. "Come on. You've seen Miliband's ratings. People would trust a dead snake over him."

David turns to Craig to see a similar smile stealing over his mouth.

"That could work" Dan's saying, nodding slowly. "That could definitely work-"

The other George is nodding. So's Grant.

"And when we get to TV debates-" Lynton says. "They won't have to imagine it. And that reminds me."

He snaps his fingers, glances at Craig. Craig nods, and turns to David.

"You're not ever debating Miliband."

David blinks. "What?"

He glances at George, but George is watching Lynton thoughtfully, head tilted to the side. He turns back to Craig, but he too is watching Lynton now, as are Stephen and Grant-Ameet, Adam and the other George all exchange quick, questioning looks as if unsure whether their input is required or not.

Lynton shakes his head. "You know how it is in the US debates" he says, warningly. "The challenger always gains ground, nearly always. Their ratings can skyrocket. And with someone like Miliband-"

"The only way he can go is up" George mutters and Lynton nods. David turns to George.

George is watching him, head tilted with that cool, decided look he gets whenever he's come to a satisfactory conclusion. "Dave, Miliband's ratings are so bad that he could walk out there, vomit and lie down in it, and it would still be an improvement."

Grant rolls his eyes. "It's the imagery that really makes these meetings."

"But doesn't that just hand them another weapon?" David asks. He can't see how Miliband yelling at an empty chair will do anyone any good-apart from Miliband, if he manages not to fall over the chair.

"It could reflect badly" agrees Craig. "I mean, we don't want to look as though we're chickening out."

"Credit me with something" Lynton remarks. "We're not going to avoid debates." The smile appears again. This time, he's stroking the kangaroo more slowly. David resists the urge to slide his chair back from the table a little.

"If Miliband wants _debates-"_ Lynton says slowly, as though savouring the words. "Let him _have_ debates. The more, the better." He leans forward, smile deepening, eyes slowly getting brighter and brighter. "The more _people_ for him to debate, the better.

Next to David, George breaks into a slow smile. He turns to look at him, dark eyes glittering with barely-concealed delight.

"The SNP" he says slowly.

"That's one" Lynton agrees.

"UKIP?" suggests Stephen.

"Are you sure Farage will manage to turn up?" Dan asks with a snort. "Or turn up sans pint?"

"We could always tell him there was an open bar" Grant suggests, half-seriously.

"Farage-the SNP will cancel out any negative sides of him debating us-us, Miliband, Clegg-" George doesn't even pause at using Nick's surname. "So that's five-"

The other George whistles. "Five-way debate? Who'll hold _that?"_

"Forget five-way debate" says Lynton, leaning back in his chair. His eyes meet David's and he smiles. "Try _seven_ -way debate."

David laughs, and so does George. When Lynton just stares at them both, the sound dies away slowly.

"I feel like this is a rhetorical question" says David slowly. "But are you serious?"

Lynton doesn't miss a beat. "Plaid Cymru will want to show up. They'll be hoping for the same kind of boost the SNP have had recently. And then we have the Greens."

George snorts, as does Adam. "The _Greens?_ So they're going to turn up in a caftan and offer us all tofu?"

"The Greens" Lynton says calmly, reaching for an apple from the fruit bowl. "Are what we're going to use to back Miliband into a corner." He takes a bite out of the apple. "He wants a debate? He can have a debate. But it will be a fair debate with all parties who want to be involved. And that-" He takes another bite of the apple and gives David a grin. "Just happens to involve Miliband being battered over and over again by the others."

"Sturgeon will crush him" Stephen says quietly. "And if he won't agree to a coalition deal, she'll hammer him for being a Red Tory."

"And if he does, he'll be crucified in England" Grant says, with a grin. "People already hate the idea of the SNP having more influence down here-add that to what they already think about Miliband and that could _crush_ him-"

"And if he tries to refuse debates-"

"He's a coward" Craig tells them. "We'll turn his own accusation right back on him."

David nods, turning slowly back to Lynton. "And while that's impacting Labour-"

"We'll be taking Lib Dem seats."

David looks down at the map. His eyes move from one yellow dot to the next, trying to remember which one is Sheffield Hallam.

"You said-" he says slowly. "All the seats."

Lynton nods. David looks back at the map.

"Including Ni-"

He stops. Clears his throat.

"Including Clegg's" he says, a little hoarser.

Lynton nods again. George has stilled next to him. David knows without looking at him that he's thinking about Danny.

David doesn't say anything for a few long moments. Names and faces flicker through his head very quickly-Danny, Nick, Tim, David-and his eyes move from one yellow dot to the next, unable to tell which constituency is which.

He clears his throat. "Maybe" he says. "We could do both."

He looks up. "Target some Lib Dem seats. A lot, but not all. We need to err on the side of caution. The last thing we want is to reduce the number of Lib Dem seats and not have enough ourselves to form a government." He meets Lynton's eyes. "Then we've got the worst of all worlds. No majority, no coalition-"

He waits for a kangaroo to come flying at his head, but Lynton just nods slowly.

"That makes sense" he says slowly. "But we'll have to decide pretty damn soon which seats we're going to target."

"That's an idea."

Lynton claps his hands. "I mean, you don't fatten the fucking pig on market day-"

David nods. "Absolutely" he says and it isn't until he feels his shoulders relax that he realises how relieved that decision makes him, and then wonders whether he should feel relieved at all.

But they've got a window now. A window to decide what to do with the seats.

"Now, we need to talk about the dossier we're going to unveil on Monday, but we need a break for a bit, you all look fucking exhausted-"

They've got a window to decide what to do with the seats.

The Lib Dem seats.

Including Nick's.

David feels his eye give the tiniest twitch.

No. Including Clegg's.

* * *

 

Nancy's never sure if she wants to watch or not.

Flo doesn't have to wonder, because she's too little, but she always wanders in anyway, and claps loudly even when Dad isn't saying anything at all.

Elwen will usually oblige them with a punch in the air and a "Go on, Dad!", but he doesn't really listen. Nancy does, and sometimes, she doesn't like it.

Mum's watching with Flo on her knee and some of Dad's advisers around her and after Bells ruffles her hair and Uncle Ed (Uncle Ed L, as Nancy sometimes calls him, to differentiate, because half of Dad's friends seem to have the same names) gives her a box of Celebrations, Nancy bites her lip and leaves the room before Dad's interview can start.

She sits at the kitchen table, swinging her legs. She glances at the ipad again, then again (waiting until she's a teenager for an iphone is borderline ridiculous but Dad has managed to convince himself that ten minutes staring at the screen of a phone would leave her brain trickling out her ears. He once actually started a whole conversation with Nick about whether they should bring in a ban on them for anyone under thirteen and, with a wink at her, call it "Nancy's Law." Nancy had expressly told him she'd leave the country and change her surname if he should ever do such a thing.)

Now, Nancy pulls the ipad closer, and types for a moment. Then stops. Then again.

She bites her lip, then types in her dad's name, glancing around to make sure Flo hasn't come up behind her.

She winces a little at her dad's picture-it's nice, but it's the same smile he wore when they were walking around Grey Coat and Lady Margaret and all the other schools and every single time they went into a classroom, everyone would look up and then their eyes would bulge and their heads swivel back round. A couple of times, people dropped pencils. Once, someone fell off her chair. Nancy was never sure whether she was meant to smile or not, or whether it looked stupid to smile or not. Dad always seems to just know these things, and so does Mum.

She clicks on her dad's Twitter page, clicks in the search box, then out again. She swallows hard.

It feels like something wriggling in her stomach every time she does this. But if she doesn't, she wonders, and it just sticks there, and she can't stop thinking about it, and then she'll think about what could be there, and her chest tightens, too much saliva filling her mouth.

She types it quickly and then her eyes skim over the results. She never reads them for too long.

"Well, that was an average morning." Nancy closes the tab quickly as Gita walks into the kitchen. "Walk out of building. Nearly get shot."

"Isn't that, like, the third time you've said that?" Nancy turns round to face Gita and Gita sticks two fingers up at her, something she'd never do if Mum or Dad were around.

"Doesn't bode well for your dad, does it?"

"I don't know. The security team didn't shoot Flo when she made them all sing "Do You Want To Build A Snowman?""

Gita snorts and then takes a closer look at Nancy. "Not watching your dad?"

Nancy doesn't remember a time when her dad wasn't on TV. She doesn't even remember realising that her dad was on TV or when she realised that other dads weren't.

She remembers Mum sitting with her on her knee, watching Dad on the screen. Nancy doesn't remember feeling anything much-just a vague knowledge that that's Daddy. Daddy talks on telly.

She remembers saying "Daddy" to Mum, pointing at the screen, and Mum laughing, clapping Nancy's hands together for her. Elwen was asleep next to them under a blanket and she remembers she and Mum making shushing sounds at each other, and Mum kissing her head. Ivan was next to them, with one of the nurses.

That had meant it was a bad few days. But Ivan was quiet, and then he'd looked at her and his mouth had twitched. Nancy had waved at him, and reached across to pat his arm. Ivan's mouth had twitched harder. Mum said that meant Ivan was smiling at her.

"Hey, Nance-" Gita ruffles her hair. "You remember the deal?"

Nancy tilts her face up, forces a smile. "Yeah, I remember."

"Anyone says anything about your dad-" Gita adjusts her glasses and slams her fist into her open palm.

"I know. Thumb on the outside-"

Flo skitters into the kitchen, pigtails flying. Nancy turns round to look at her, as Flo hugs Gita round the legs.

"Hello-" Gita picks her up, and presses a kiss to her cheek. "How's Mum-"

"Mummy smiled." Flo claps her hands together and Gita lifts her higher. "Daddy laughed."

Gita kisses Flo on the cheek. "Good."

Nancy thinks of the few words she caught on the ipad screen and her stomach seems to squeeze itself painfully.

"Nancy-" Flo's got her arms up and Nancy helps her scramble up onto the chair next to her, reaching over to fix one of Flo's pigtails, which has come loose.

"Daddy _famous_ " says Flo, and Nancy feels herself stiffen. "Who said Dad's famous?"

Flo's kicking her legs under the table in a little dance. "Some people-lots of _cameras-"_ Flo turns round to tug at Nancy's hand. "You said you're going to write a _book-"_

Gita arches an eyebrow. "And I'd better be getting a signed copy" she mutters, with a kiss to Nancy's head.

"If Nancy writes a book, Nancy will be _famous-"_

"I'm not going-going to be famous" Nancy says, but her voice is so quiet, she's pretty sure Flo doesn't hear.

"When Nancy's famous, I'll get to-Nancy will know _Elsa-"_

"I'm not going to be famous" Nancy says again, quietly.

Flo doesn't hear. "And Daddy and Nancy will be famous, and then we'll know Elsa-" Flo's clapping. "Take Sam-go to the _Ice Palace-"_

Gita tugs at a pigtail. "Slow down the chattering, Flo-"

Nancy thinks of that Twitter page again. She swallows, sickness suddenly hollowing itself out in her chest.

"And Nancy going to meet Elsa and we'll _skate_ with Elsa and Anna-"

"No, we _won't."_ Nancy nearly shoves the ipad away from her. "It's not  _real,_ Flo."

Flo's mouth puckers. Nancy feels guilt stab into her ribs, deepening the sick feeling in her stomach.

"Sorry" she says, and Flo glances about, chubby cheeks trembling, confusion and tears creeping into her big blue eyes.

Nancy puts her arm around her, then, lets her little sister's head nestle against her chest. "Sorry, Flo" she says and presses a kiss to her little sister's cheek. "Sorry, Flo."

Flo's lip trembles, but she nestles in. Nancy presses a kiss to her hair.

"Elsa real?" says Flo, questioningly, with a suspicious look at Nancy.

Nancy nods reassuringly. "Yeah."

"If you're famous, we can visit Elsa." Flo puts her arms up trustingly round Nancy's shoulders.

This time, Nancy swallows. "Yeah" she says and this time she looks at Gita over Flo's head.

Gita just arches an eyebrow. "Remember" she mouths, and slams her fist again.

Nancy manages to smile properly this time, but only a little.

* * *

 

Being at home somewhere doesn't mean David has to love it.

Now, sitting on the sofa with a bunch of cameras pointed at his face, David's reminded of that quite strongly.

"I think, for families concerned, I'm not missing the point-" Marr's saying, and David seizes on the words in his head one more time, Lynton's voice echoing. (Lynton had ended up gifting David a phone call to help him prepare last night because the idea of Lynton staying away from David before an interview is about as likely as Miliband getting "austerity" tattooed on his forehead.)

_Unemployment. Long-term economic plan. They broke the banks. We need to finish the job._

"I think every family in this country knows you can only bring people out of poverty if you have a growing economy-" Tick. "And we started out with low growth or no growth-"

_Remind them whose fault it was._

"We're _now_ the fastest growing economy in the Western world-"

_Remind them who fixed it._

"You can only create- _get_ people out of poverty if you create jobs-"

_Keep hitting the employment theme._

"We've seen 1.75 million more-more people in work-"

And _we did that._ Hammered in through every word.

"We've seen all-families who are facing difficulties, but now you've got all these families who weren't previously in work who are in work and who are able to provide for themselves and their children." He lifts his hand, raises his voice a little. "We've come _a huge way-"_

Lynton's voice echoes louder- _And it was all down to you._

"Down the road we need to be on for a stronger economy-"

_And remind them who broke it last time._

"And the _real_ concern I have-"

Because they did. It's true. Brown, for all Miliband's goggle-eyed hero worship of the man, _did_ break the economy. Maybe not single-handedly, maybe not entirely unabetted by a global crash. But he was the Prime Minister who borrowed and borrowed and borrowed some more, so that when a crash hit, there were no reserves, and if Brown's not careful, that's all he'll ever be known as.

And Miliband, David has no doubts at all, would go exactly the same way.

"Is if we turn back _now-"_ He turns away.

 _(Looks like you're thinking, more spontaneous_ , from Craig, fussing with his tie, two hours ago)

"If we go back to the bad ways-"

Look back.

"Of more borrowing, more spending, more debt-"

_Remind them what that does._

"If we listen to the people-" He ignores Miliband's face hovering in his mind and then has to push away the jab of memory of Miliband's shoulder blades, sharp under his hands as he hugged him.

"That got us into this mess in the first place-"

_Them, them, them._

(Never let people forget.)

(It was _them.)_

(And why's he thinking about _hugging Miliband,_ for God's-)

"We could go _right_ back to the start-"

Remind them of the progress.

"And really threaten the economic recovery that's now underway in Britain-"

 _That we've created_ hangs unspoken, but, David knows, always heard.

"And that sounds in the _abstract_ very compelling" Marr is saying, waving a hand. "But there are lots and lots of families up and down this country-"

David's already picking his next words, brushing away the jabs from the arguments, the way he's learnt to brush away most things.

(Miliband can't do that, he realises suddenly, sharply. He can try to laugh, try to shrug something off, try too _hard_ , but you can still _see_ it there, gnarled under his skin, niggling at him.)

(David can still _see.)_

(As if he just can't believe that these people don't agree with him.)

(David doesn't give a damn whether or not they agree.)

(He gives a damn about getting votes.)

(Which is the way you can get somewhere to make a difference, and the fact Miliband seems completely unable to grasp this is what makes him so horribly easy to beat.)

So, when they ask about meals on wheels, he has answers, as they've practiced, and points out all the benefits they've brought in for the elderly (Brown handed the Tories a free nail to hammer into his coffin there, slashing those pensions) and he can already hear Miliband's voice in his head, accusatory and whining, _"You didn't answer the question."_

He didn't, of course. He's not in the habit of committing political suicide.

He won't, and he'll keep not answering questions until they claw back a Tory majority and then they'll tackle the bloody meals-on-wheels issue and eradicate the necessity of the question in the first place.

_"How many would we be going for?"_

_"All of them."_

And so when Marr brings up where the money to that end will come from, David puts more emphasis on the words "More than _any other party"_ than he does on the carefully memorised proposals he hands over to be dissected by the ravenous teeth of whoever's watching at home.

He emphasises it again- _work, long-term economic plan_ , and then latches onto the other thing Lynton has put forward- _stick to the plan, stick to the plan-_

They don't trust Miliband. That's what it comes down to.

And they trust David.

Not all of them.

They might not like him. But they trust him.

And that's what's important.

He recounts the Dementia Friends experience a few weeks ago, which had been brilliant-George would make a good carer, not that anyone else would believe that-and then they're onto Europe and, Jesus, a referendum-

He says something about doing it earlier, because the earlier, the better, if only to stop everyone harping on about it-

And then it's the hung Parliament question, because every reporter seems to have shoved Parliament's head through a noose.

And yes, they're fighting for a Tory majority, but if it's a hung Parliament, then they need Nick.

They do need the Lib Dems. Even if vastly reduced.

He doesn't say that, of course.

But they can still go for the majority.

_"How many would we be going for?"_

_"All of them."_

So he draws in his breath and pulls out the answer he practiced with Lynton last night-

(Competence over chaos, echoes in his head. Competence over chaos.)

So he waits until he's blagged the usual softened line about UKIP-"They've said extraordinary things", the new way of saying "They can be downright nutters who would make my grandfather tell them to get with the times"-and then-

"And the truth is this." He pauses for a breath, just barely. "Of course, there are other choices. People can vote in different ways. They can vote Green." _Count them off-"_ They can vote Liberal, they can vote Labour, UKIP, SNP-"

He looks back at Marr. "But the _fact_ , as I see it, is that all those options give you uncertainty, instability-"

People like the status quo. However much they might claim otherwise, they like it.

"The potential of _chaos-"_

_Competence vs chaos, remember, competence vs chaos, you vs him-_

"If it leads to a-"

He pauses, the name fighting for a moment.

"Miliband in Downing Street, Balls in the Treasury-"

(Miliband. Not Milee-band, he thinks suddenly, not the way Marr said it-)

"Debt-funded government-"

Marr is about to say something but Lynton's words hover in his head _-Hammer it home-_

"The only alternative to that is the competence and delivery-

_Status quo, remind them._

"That you know you'll get-"

_Bring it home._

"With me as the Prime Minister and the Conservatives in power."

_Done._

Marr's talking about immigration, but it doesn't matter. He's said it, he's done it, and he's kept saying it.

Status quo vs uncertainty.

Competence vs chaos.

Cameron vs Miliband.

That's the way they need to see it.

David should see it that way, too.

(Miliband's eyes blinking a little, as they pulled away on his doorstep, confused and something else, something-)

(And why's he thinking about _Miliband_ at all-)

Miliband, he repeats more loudly in his head. _Miliband._

Cameron vs Miliband.

That's what they need to hold onto.

Maybe what he needs to hold onto, too.

* * *

 

Ed tries to ignore the heat of the studio lights on his skin, the dampness under his collar, and runs through the attack lines in his head.

Attack is the best form of defence, Bob had insisted, while Tom paced around, tugging at his hair and bellowing about "fucking _dossier." Just go on there and point out the IFS stuff and you'll be home free._

"So, the campaign has begun-" Nuga smiles at him. "With-I think it's fair to say it's officially kicked off, as the New Year's begi-begun-"

Ed folds his hands together, goes over the lines one more time in his head-

"But-it seems a bit bad-tempered-" Nuga tilts her head to the side. "Already-in terms of _negative_ campaigning-" She spreads her hands. "Is this what voters should be expecting over the next four-four and a half months?"

He knows this one. Despite Tom almost tearing his hair out- _We've got to be fucking negative at times, how else can we fucking show that they'll be fucking negative at times, for Christ's sake-_ Bob had gone over this one, because they've got to make people _see_ , they've got to-

"Well, Nuga, we want to run a _positive_ campaign, and that's what we're going to be doing today-" _Make sure you explain, convey the message of how much is at stake_. "The-the reason I say it's a once in a generation choice for the country is I think there's-big differences between-where people think the country is now-"

_Tories, Labour, Tories, Labour-_

"We've got the Tories, who think things are pretty much fixed, they've done a great job-"

_Working people, working people-_

"I think more people are feeling is the country's not working for them-and a big choice about the future-"

_A Labour government or a Tory government._

"And I'm laying out that choice today-look, I think that what we've had in the last five years-"

_They're the party of the rich, get that across._

"Is a country where the Tories think that if you help the richest, the wealth will trickle down to everybody else-"

_And we're different._

"I've got a different way of running the country. I think let's put working people first again in our country-"

_Hardworking people. Get that across, hardworking people._

"Let's reward hard work properly, let's give opportunity to our young people-"

_Remind them of Murdoch, of Leveson-_

"Let's take _on_ some of those powerful interests like the energy companies and the banks and make them work for people-"

Because he can _do_ it. It's the same rush of feeling he got when he'd stood there and told his team that they were going to ask Murdoch to resign because what was the _point_ of them if they didn't do things like this?

What was the point of _him-_

Because this was how things could get better. They'd worked hard and they'd got here, and this was how things ended. With them making things better.

David would have said this was naive, but David didn't believe that things could get better.

That's the thing. David and Cameron-and it's strange that they can fall under the same label in Ed's mind-they don't think things can get better. They don't believe in an end to the story, in a moment when what's right wins.

But if Ed can show people that that's how things can happen-

(And _he'll_ be the one who does it, and then people will _realise-)_

"We're putting forward a positive case for a change in direction-"

Nobody ever believes things can change until they do, and then everyone _realises-_

"I think that this is a crucial election for the British people, for the lives that they and their children are going to lead in the coming years."

Nuga tilts her head. "The reason I said that this appears bad-tempered already is just from the release-the launch of the posters-that the Conservatives have put out, that Labour has put out, already-and also, today, we've heard the Conservatives say that Treasury numbers say that your pledges-" Nuga meets his eyes. "The Labour Party's pledges when it comes to the economy-and fixing the economy, as you say, it needs to be done-means that there are £20 billion of worth-pledges that cannot be proven to be funded." She doesn't look away from him. "Your reaction to that?"

Ed makes sure to keep smiling, _don't look shocked, don't look rattled_. It had been him that had been woken by Tom at the crack of dawn two mornings ago, half-screaming down the phone that the Tories were putting about "some _bullshit_ about 20 billion, Osborne and the fucking team of Merry Men are doing a fucking _press conference,_ the bastards", and it had been him that Greg and Lucy had rung ten minutes later to tell him to _calm down, they're exaggerating, don't worry, IFS, just cite the IFS-_

_And make sure you say it's a lie. If we're clever, we can twist this on them. On Cameron._

He looks Nuga in the eye. Doesn't look rattled.

"It's completely false." He keeps his voice quiet, keeps himself still, don't turn it into a big thing. "You know, thi-I'm afraid this is what the Tories are going to do-the kind of campaign they're gonna run-" _Say going to, not gonna, Jesus-_

"It's going to be a choice between hope with us and falsehood from the Conservatives-"

_It's not true, they're exaggerating-just remember that, so we're not lying if we say they are-_

"Just look-the Institute for Fiscal Studies-"

_The IFS agrees, see, the IFS agrees-_

And he's telling _them_ that, not himself-

"A respected independent body-has said that Labour has been the _most_ cautious of all the parties in making commitments-"

_Cautious on the economy. Trustworthy on the economy._

"And we've said something that no Opposition party has ever said before-let's get the independent Office of Budget Responsibility to audit our manifesto-to conduct an audit and say "Right, do the numbers add up" and we've said very clearly, there'll be _no_ unfunded commitments in our manifesto-"

_You've got to make them see they can trust us this time-_

"Every measure will be paid for, either by tax change or by a change in spending-and that's a contrast to the Tories who-who are spraying around all kinds of unfunded commitments, including £7 billion on tax-"

 _Bring it back to Cameron. Bring it back to Cameron. This is about you and him._ Tom's hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard. _You and him. You've got to beat him._

"So, I'm afraid the Prime Minister launched his campaign on Friday, said it was going to be positive-it's taken forty-eight hours-and already, he's gone-he's gone negative-"

He tries not to think of Cameron's arms around his shoulders, the strange shock that had gone through him at suddenly being hugged by Cameron, the way Daniel's head had just leant into Cameron's shoulder-

(Like he _trusted-)_

"And I think it sh-it just shows he doesn't really have much to say, to defend his own record-"

He can feel Cameron on top of him, his face pressed into Ed's collar for a moment, the heat of his breath on Ed's neck, and the odd shudder that had gone through him, so that he wanted to wriggle closer or away or-

(Away. He wanted to wriggle away. Of course.)

"Or to actually explain how he wants to have another five years, and what he wants to do with the country."

Nuga's speaking again but Ed's running through lines in his head, his heart beating fast, and he can feel Cameron's words tickling his skin, making him laugh, and it was just the _words_ making him laugh.

Just the words and not the sight of Cameron so close to him, with his blue eyes and how warm he was and just how-

It wasn't that. It wasn't that.

* * *

 

It doesn't seem too long later that Tom's standing there in front of him, clapping his hands.

 _"Right. "_ Tom claps his hands again. "They're about competence vs. chaos, more of the same-"

"I did see him yesterday" Ed manages, looking at his knees.

Tom freezes, then slaps his head. "Oh, you meant Marr. Right."

"Hard to tell these days" Bob mutters, with an attempt at a grin.

It might be an attempt to lighten the mood, but Ed just squeezes his hands together, runs over the speech again in his head. He wishes Ayesha was here. She's better at lightening the mood than anyone.

He glances at his notes, clutching them as if they might be snatched away any moment.

"Must have been an amusing day" Rachel tries to joke, but it falls flat.

Ed swallows, and Tom crouches in front of him. "Better than this. We keep hammering that. They want to keep things the same. But we want to make things change."

"It's a good strategy" Greg says, who's walking up and down, checking his phone every few moments. "People get behind change, it invigorates them-"

"Gives you something to fight on that Cameron doesn't have" Bob points out.

Ed doesn't get out the "but" but all he can think of for a moment is the smoothness of Cameron's voice yesterday, the smile that had crept out at the right moment, his hair neat and shining and-

Ed shakes his head. He doesn't need to be thinking about how good Cameron looks on TV.

He frowns. _How good Cameron-_

"Right." Tom claps his shoulder again, as Rachel heads out the door, presumably to join Anna and James in barring the press. "Better than this. Better than this. We can do better than this-"

"He gets it, Tom."

Ed squeezes his eyes shut.

"He's Teflon" Bob says, and for a moment, Ed thinks, _But people like Teflon-_

He shakes his head. Cameron might be smooth, but he's not-

It's not that he's not _meaningful,_ it's that he doesn't mean _much-_

He just doesn't seem to _realise-_

But-

Ed shakes his head. People are cleverer than that.

"They'll _see"_ he says, and only then realises he's speaking aloud.

Greg and Bob exchange the briefest of looks, and then Greg says "Yeah. 'Course they will."

He says it a little too quickly.

* * *

 

When Danny's name appears on his phone, Nick is a little too relieved.

"How are things going your end?" Danny sounds almost irritatingly cheerful.

"Extra £8billion to the NHS is working. Don't know if I am."

Danny laughs. "Just don't talk to students."

"Yeah, well, don't talk about rat runs."

Nick can almost see Danny's grimace. "I know. Look, we've got-"

Nick turns away from the building, wondering if it really was the best idea to stage this launch from a hospital.

"We'll sort it" he says, even though Danny sounds less panicked than him. "Though, did you, ah-"

He hesitates, then says, deliberately lightly-"You catch David's interview, yesterday?"

Danny laughs. Nick only wishes Vince had reacted the same way.

"Yes. We'll have to-ah-how did he put it-"

"Think of more things?"

"Yeah. That."

"Well, wouldn't want to disappoint him."

"Speaking of which-" Danny pauses for a long moment, then,

"Have you-are you definitely going ahead with the-ah-"

Nick glances around, though he knows there's no way David could hear him. George, on the other hand, he wouldn't put it past.

Nick immediately vows to redouble his security at some stage.

"The letter? Yeah."

There's a silence, then-"And you're not going to warn him-"

Nick opens his mouth, then closes it again.

"Nick-" Danny's voice is a little lower. "We've got two months left. This could make things awkward-"

"Oh, and the stuff _he'll_ be doing couldn't?"

There's a long silence. Nick closes his eyes and curses himself.

"I didn't mean it like-it's not about that" he says, when he can trust himself to keep his voice level. He takes a long breath, grips the phone a little tighter. "Look-" he says, a little more calmly. "We've got to be prepared to use this stuff. We might end up in a coalition again."

The thing no-one can mention for certain.

"But we need to get enough seats for that."

There's an almost interminable pause and then Danny says, very carefully, "You know some people are saying that that might be difficult?"

Nick bites his lip. "Yes."

Another silence.

"That's why we have to do this." His voice hardens a little. "It's not five years ago."

"I know."

"We're not a surprise anymore."

"I know."

_We're anything but that._

"We can't afford to be nice to them." Nick becomes aware that his heart is beating rather fast. "They wouldn't be nice to us."

There's another moment of silence, then,

"So you're not going to tell him." It isn't a question.

"No."

"Have you spoken to Ed?"

Nick swallows, unsure which answer Danny would prefer to hear. But there's little point in lying.

"No."

"Then how-"

"I mean-our offices have talked, but-we haven't. Not directly."

"David might get jealous."

It's a joke, but Nick finds it hard to laugh.

"I suppose so."

 _Who of?_ rears suddenly in his mind.

"You know-" Danny's voice is a little lower. "It doesn't really bode well for us maybe going into coalition with him, if you two can't even speak."

It takes Nick a moment to answer. "That's not the reason."

Danny waits for a few moments, and then says slowly "I suppose it's natural to prefer a coalition with David."

"It's not about preferring-"

Nick catches himself, then starts again. "It's not about preferring a coalition with Cameron." He says the surname a little louder, firmer. "It's about who's a better prospect as leader."

 _And Ed isn't,_ he leaves hanging.

"And if Cameron doesn't do TV debates-"

"We still don't _know-"_

Nick snorts. "Oliver's blocking every date anyone suggests, and I know David. If they don't do the TV debates, it will be free season on us and Labour."

 _And we don't need to make it any easier_ , they both think, but don't say.

* * *

 

"Nice to see Lynton trusts us" William remarks, with an elbow in George's ribs. "Only took five of us."

George gives him a grin. "Well, you know. We don't want a repeat of the '01 election _-oi-"_

Theresa rolls her eyes as George is forced to duck William aiming a folder at his arm. Nicky and Sajid watch, and George gives them a wink-even though they've been part of the Cabinet for so long, there's still a sense sometimes that he has to include them.

"It's not as if it's hard" he remarks, to the four of them generally. "We've just got to go on with what Dave said last week-no, Dave's head's not going on a spike, and, by the way, have you seen this £20 billion Labour's trying to find and-oh, look-it doesn't exist?"

Sajid snorts unexpectedly. _"It's not as if it's hard_ could have been inferred whenever you hear you're up against a party led by Ed Miliband."

Nicky laughs, and William nods. "As the man who was photographed wearing that baseball cap continually, I concur."

"That reminds me-" George types on his phone. "Need to print out a copy of that for my wall-"

William hits him with a folder again.

"You'll be turning into Balls in a minute" Nicky remarks, looking a little more at ease now.

"Or Brown" George mutters, with a grin at Theresa. Theresa gives him an arched eyebrow and George wonders if Theresa will ever laugh at one of his jokes, and if, when that day comes, it will indeed be a sign of the impending apocalypse.

"Then again-" He gives William a tap on the arm. "We never had to just watch you for comedy. Miliband's on Marr next week. I'm thinking of watching just to cheer myself up."

"Oh God-" Sajid's head falls into his hands. "Don't remind me-"

George sniggers, only to be met with a raised eyebrow from Theresa. "Do you remember the definition of hubris, George?"

"As poor as my horrifically expensive education was, I believe I do, yes."

Theresa tilts her head. "If you have such a low opinion of Ed Miliband" she says, smile playing around her mouth. "Imagine how it would feel to lose to him."

George rolls his eyes. "Point taken. We'll make sure that 110% of our efforts are focused on grinding Miliband into the floor-"

"Hope your maths is better than that" Nicky mutters.

"Well, if my kids' isn't, it's your fault, you're the Education Secretary-then again, maybe we can blame Michael-"

"He gets blamed for everything else" concurs Sajid fairly.

"Anyway-" George flicks through his notes one more time. "That's why Dave's not doing anything like a head-on debate" he informs them, in more of an undertone now. "Miliband'll get a round of applause if he makes it off stage without wetting himself."

"And I thought it was Dave who liked the Enoch Powell trick-" William gives George a wink.

George snorts. "Honestly. They'd probably applaud him for breathing correctly-you know, the way they give medals to the kid who comes last on Sports Day."

"How often was that you?"

"A few times" George concedes happily. "Which is why I know this is infinitely worse."

"In which case I imagine losing to that child-"

"All right, Theresa, I know what I'm saying-you really imagine Lynton didn't pound it into me-bad choice of words-" he concedes, taking in the looks on all four of their faces.

"Of course" shrugs William. "You could always try saying that on stage. It might get a reaction-"

"Well, hopefully a better one than whatever Miliband's saying. Imagine-"Britain can do much better than thith-""

Sajid bursts out laughing. Theresa rolls her eyes. "What was I saying about hubris?"

* * *

 

"We're fighting for something much bigger." Ed looks around at the crowd assembled in front of him, runs the words more firmly through his head. "We're fighting for a Britain where everyday working people are properly rewarded once again. We're fighting for a Britain-"

The clapping's already started. Ed stops, doesn't look at Torsten, who he knows is in the audience.

"We're fighting for a Britain where every young person, no matter what their background, can start their working lives on a future that promises to be better, not worse, than their parents'. We're fighting for a Britain where everybody-everybody plays by fair rules, including the most powerful, like the energy companies and the banks."

This time, he meets Torsten's eyes and nods a little. Torsten gives him a thumbs-up.

"We're-we're fighting for a Britain-" More clapping's breaking out. Ed swallows, tries not to notice it.

"We're fighting for a Britain that deals with its' debts responsibly, without _shredding-"_

_Emphasise this point, emphasise this point, we can get them on this-_

"Our NHS and our _vital public services-"_

 _We can get them on the NHS._ Greg, looking calmly at him over a document. _It's one of the top issues. You know what Greenberg says-_

This gets a cheer. Ed stands still, holds onto the words.

"And we're fighting for a true recovery and real, enduring prosperity that extends to the kitchen tables of working families all across Britain. Friends-"

_Better, not the same. Change, not the same._

"We're fighting-" He pauses. Look around, take everyone in. "To be the kind of country that we know we can be."

He pauses again. _That'll be the headline_ , Tom had said. _That'll be the thing people remember._

"More just. More equal. And more prosperous- _that's_ what we're fighting for at this election."

The applause breaks out around him. Ed catches sight of Torsten beaming and flashing him a double thumbs-up, grin creasing his eyes.

The applause fills his ears and he nods. They can do it. They can make things better.

They can. And they will.

* * *

 

Nick swallows hard.

 _Coalition_ , James says from somewhere in the back of his head _. Coalition. That's what we're aiming for. A coalition._

_We just need to get the seats._

He clears his throat.

"We, as a country, have come a long way since the great crash of 2008. Those long nights in May 2010, when we negotiated the coalition-"

He remembers him and David, walking towards each other, each surrounded by their own team. His eyes had flickered over him, taking Cameron in quickly, grabbing a few little details about him.

"As riots took place on the streets of Athens and our economy teetered on the brink-"

There'd been a sense of urgency, he remembers. A sense, even as they broke the ice, exchanged wives, families, schools, that people were waiting, their eyes fixed on this meeting, even if they couldn't see it, through walls and TV screens and headlines. That something was hanging on it. Everything was hanging on it.

This might not be something everything hangs on, but it's close.

"Seems ages ago now-" He takes in a breath. "It's been a hard slog-for everybody-"

Dog shit pushed through the letterbox. Saliva hot on his cheek. Miguel's crumpled look of confusion.

A hard slog.

"But one that is beginning to pay off. The economy is recovering."

He sounds like David, counting off their achievements.

"The deficit is coming down-"

No. He sounds like _Cameron._

"More people are in work and wages are starting to overtake inflation."

(And he can't decide if that's a good or a bad thing or neither.)

(Or if he should be able to decide.)

"The central question in this year's General Election is simply this-" Nick looks out at the crowd in front of him.

And for a moment, he wants to laugh, because if he had to choose one question about this election, he couldn't. There are far too many, and it worries him that he can't immediately think of the answers to any of them.

He swallows. Looks out at them.

They think they know the answer and he wonders how they're so much more confident than he is.

"Who is best placed to finish the job and do so fairly?"

He asks the question anyway.

* * *

 

George knew exactly how he'd start the speech off from the moment David told him he'd have to write it, and so he just hopes David's watching when he launches into it.

"When we took office, four and a half years ago, we were left a note-"

For the umpteenth time since they walked into Downing Street, he thanks God for David Laws and his quick thinking.

"By the Labour Party, which said simply, "There's no money left.""

He looks around. "And I guess it was meant as a light-hearted parting shot-but there's nothing funny about the mismanagement of the public finances. It cost people their jobs and their homes, it meant cuts to public services, it meant businesses didn't invest. "

He looks up. "It threatened this country's economic stability and the economic security of everyone living here-"

And he launches into it, the statistics, their record, the way Lynton had insisted on approving over and over again, and then he gets to the bit Lynton insisted on, _the bit that'll highlight how fucking weak Labour are here, because this is our main fucking attack point, get this right and you get two more koalas._

"And what I've learnt doing this job is that making spending commitments is the easiest thing in the world." He looks up and around. "Spending commitments are superficially attractive. They get ready applause from lobby groups-they get you headlines."

He pauses for barely a second. "But _unfunded_ spending commitments-" He stresses the words ever so slightly. "Are made with borrowed money, and the price is paid by future taxpayers."

_Remind them what happened last time-_

"Add all the spending commitments up and you get an unaffordable bill for Britain that threatens our economy."

And it was Labour.

That's the thing, George knows, one of their key weapons, the one Lynton loves the most. It'll always be Labour who were in charge when the crisis hit, Labour who messed up the response, Labour who nearly turned Britain into a laughing stock.

It was Labour and it's one of the things they'll always be remembered for.

"And if you don't have an economic plan that adds up-then the small good you hope to achieve with your individual commitments is overwhelmed by the damage to public services that a failing economy brings."

 _They're going to attack us on the NHS_ , Lynton had said, pacing. _Remind them what they did to the NHS. Them and their fucking up of the money. Remind them. Don't let anyone forget it. They've done it before. So they could do it again._

Of course, it doesn't matter whether it's true or not. All that matters is that it could be.

It could be true, and the British people just need to not give Labour the chance to find out.

* * *

 

"Now, friends, for five years, the Tories have shown us their idea-" Ed turns slightly, so he can see the whole hall. "That if you strip government back to its' bare bones, if you just give into the powerful interests-"

His hand flies out, the words coming back to him easily now, with no need of the autocue. "And give huge tax cuts to the very wealthiest-that all of Britain will somehow benefit."

 _You've got to ridicule him_ , Tom had said, Stewart looking between them worriedly. _That's what he'll be doing to you. You've got to show you can do it._

"And you know what, judging-" _Too fast, too fast._ "From what David Cameron said last Friday-"

The name feels strange in his mouth, rounded, as though he's said it differently.

With the name comes a sudden memory-Cameron's shoulder blades were sharper than he would have expected under his palms and he smelt good, something like soap and-

Ed's thoughts reel almost with something a little like _alarm_ , and maybe it's that that makes him turn to the audience, inject a little more scorn into his voice. "They think it's been a great success."

There's a few laughs, but Ed doesn't let himself meet anyone's eyes, tries to hold onto the words without glancing at the autocue.

"But you know what that tells me-" He looks at the camera _-Try to look down the camera, it will look like you're addressing anyone who's watching-"_ It tells me what they think success looks like."

_Get into it, get to the main points._

"Because think about what has actually happened." He turns to take in the crowd. "Billionaires have reaped huge benefits from the Tory plan, there's no doubt about that. But working people in this country, as we've just heard, are worse off. Much worse off."

Make eye contact with some of them. "For the first time since the 1920s, working people will be worse off at the _end_ of a government than they were at the beginning."

He looks round. "We know that zero hour contracts have exploded, driving wages down across our country and have allowed some firms to play havoc with people's lives. The energy companies have doubled the profits they make from family and the average bill has gone up £300 a year-"

* * *

 

Backstage, Anna elbows Tom in the ribs. "Got to be prepared for that one" she says, almost too quickly to hear. "The Tories will be all over-"

"Because then he went and switched to a higher-priced energy company, yeah, I know-" Tom's already typing furiously on his phone. "It was a fucking stupid move."

Anna and Rachel return their gazes to the screen to watch as Ed says after a pause-a little too long, Anna thinks, and judging from the look on Bob's face, he agrees-"And what I think is most inexcusable, is the shortchanging of the greatest hope for our future-our children-"

"He should have been quicker" Bob mutters worriedly. "That could be picked up on-"

"Who this Government is just failing to prepare for the challenges of the 21st century-" Ed turns, hand opening now. "At a time when education and training are critical to the chances of earning a decent wage-and to the long-term success of our country...tuition fees have trebled and apprenticeships are actually falling-"

"Do we know what the Tories are going to say?" Greg says, eyes still fixed on the screen.

Anna shrugs. "Similar to the dossier, probably. Osborne standing there with a big red book. Apart from that, they're being pretty quiet-"

"Maybe we want to try doing the same thing" Bob mutters.

"We have to get the message across" mutters Tom, still typing furiously. "It makes us more open, accessible-"

Bob looks uncomfortable but Anna's turning back to the screen, mouthing the last few lines of this section along with Ed.

Ed looks round. "And they call all of that a success. We're a country of food banks and bank bonuses. A country where social mobility goes backward and privilege is rewarded-" He looks back and forth. "Where millionaires have had their taxes cut and millions pay more. And they call _that_ a success. Well, I _don't_ , and _the British people don't, either."_

Ed takes a gulp of water as the applause breaks out.

"I am the son of immigrants who came here with nothing-" is the last thing Anna hears Ed say, before she nearly collapses in shock, as Tom jumps into the air, punches his phone, and bellows, without warning, "FUCK!"

Rachel's hand slams over her chest. "Jesus Christ, _WHAT?"_

Tom shakes the phone and consequently almost hits Bob in the face. "Jesus, I'm trying to see-"

"Five" growls out Tom.

"What?"

 _"Five!"_ Tom bellows loudly enough that Anna's almost sure Ed could hear it on stage. "The Tories have fucking got _five_ out there-"

"Five _what-"_ Rachel still looks as though she's recovering, or attempting to. "Is this something to do with Osborne's bloody dossier-"

 _"Yes"_ Tom snaps, while Greg successfully wrestles a phone from Bob. "It _is_ to do with Osborne's bloody fucking dossier. That him and four other fucking Tories-including fucking Hague-are holding up at a press conference to every fucking news organization in bloody Britain that we've not got any funding-"

"And they've got some of the press we haven't" Greg says grimly. "They've nicked half our press outlets."

"Jesus _Christ-"_

"Oh, shut up, Tom-"

"Is there a reason you're not acting like this is a fucking disaster, Roberts-"

"Yeah, well, the last thing we need is you fucking it up again-"

"Would every fucking one of you just calm down?" Anna's already pulling out her phone. "I'm calling Spencer-"

"Oh, yeah, fantastic-why don't you have him give an interview to the _Sun_ again-"

"Oh, would you _shut up-"_

"You know what, don't call Spencer-" Bob's holding his hands up. "Because that would mean him getting the information from Tim, and I don't even know if they're speaking-"

"We don't know if they're _speaking-_ are you _kidding me-"_

"Let's face it, nobody speaks to Tim-"

"Oh, yeah, let's get _Tim_ -let the bloody Reformed _Monk_ grab a hymn sheet and fucking _preach_ to us-"

"You know they don't-" Anna points out.

"Anna, seriously, why don't you call the Sun-"

"Oh, Tom, why don't you go and phone Alastair and cry-"

"Oh, that's fucking _it-"_

"For Christ's sake, would you all _shut up-"_ Greg's already got out his phone, hissing. "Tim-we need you to get hold of the IFS figures _now,_ for fuck's sake-"

"They've got May out!" Tom almost stabs his phone with his finger. _"They've got May out!_ And fucking Hague-"

"Would everyone just _be quiet-"_ Rachel's texting furiously. "We've got to find a way to spin this for Ed-"

"For God's sake, there _is_ no way to spin this for Ed" Bob mutters. "The Tories are spinning it this way and they've got most of the bloody press in Britain at their event and not ours, and we've got to blow it to pieces or it's going to blow anything that Ed says right out of the fucking water."

Greg's hissing now. "Tim, I don't bloody care what your issues are with Spencer, fucking get hold of him _now-"_

"Burnham's out there, we could get some of his people on it-"

"Torsten's out there-"

"You can't text him, what the hell can he do?"

* * *

 

"Who is best placed to finish the job and do so fairly?"

He has to glance down, just for a moment, and he tells himself it's to collect his thoughts.

In his head, he can see himself last May, sitting in his study, Miriam at his side. The boys had been in bed-thank God the boys had been in bed-Tim's voice had been in his ear, the occasional shout from the car park he was calling from echoing down the line like a call from the past, which had seemed a far happier place to be.

Nick doesn't think about whether it still does or not.

 _This is the best way,_ Ryan had said in the car, tossing an apple from hand to hand. _Look at it this way. We're almost definitely going to end up in a coalition._

James had given Nick a wink, reached out, and shoved his shoulder gently. _We should be more relaxed. We're basically the only party that's guaranteed to be in government._

He's right, of course, but still-

"The biggest threat to our economy, and our public services-"he says, and he's hurrying over the words a little. "Is Labour and the Conservatives-"

He tries to get the words out as quickly as possible.

_We need enough seats for a coalition._

"Both of which are resorting to type as the election approaches."

 _You saw the results_ , he'd said last May, chewing his nails, phone pressed into his ear, dying for a cigarette. _They were disastrous._

_Yeah, I know._

_If we're still like that next year, we'll be slaughtered in a General Election._

_Nick-_

_Do you think I should go?_

"Labour says-" He raises his hands, and it's not hard to fake scorn here. No matter what he thinks of Ed, it's hard _not_ to feel scorn.

""Trust us, we'll fix the economy and raise living standards."" He pauses, quickly, too quickly. "But they won't. They are a clear and present danger to the recovery." George's dossier flashes through his mind. If it weren't for the stunt George pulled before Christmas, Nick would find it hard not to grin.

"Their economic policy consists of huge borrowing and _total denial-"_ _emphasise that bit, Cameron and Osborne bloody will be-"_ Of their responsibility for what happened last time."

 _You know this reduces our chances of going into coalition with them_ , Jonny had pointed out.

James had snorted. _Ed Miliband damages our chances of going into coalition with them_ , he'd remarked, tugging a draft page closer. _In more ways than one._

"We've already had the risible sight of Ed Balls claiming Labour are the party of the centre ground. He is the man who, as City Minister-"

_Not enough people remember this about Balls, make sure they do._

"Let the banks get away with utterly irresponsible behaviour, now claiming he's the guy you can trust with the economic recovery. It's like waking up to a late-night voicemail from an ex, telling you it will all be different if you just give them one more chance-"

_I don't think stepping down's going to fix this, Nick._

_Then what will_ , and the words had come out more plaintive and desperate than he could have expected, and maybe that was what scared him.

Tim had waited for an interminably long time before speaking. Then, voice lower now, he'd said simply, _I don't know._

* * *

 

 

Even though George had known what William was going to say beforehand, it's still enjoyable to hear his Yorkshire voice rounding itself on the words. George amuses himself by imagining the wide-eyed look on Miliband's face when he hears this.

Imagining Balls' expression isn't quite as fun but then, maybe for Dave, imagining Miliband's isn't quite so fun, either.

"In June 2013, Ed Miliband and Ed Balls vowed that they would exercise "iron discipline" when it came to controlling Labour's frontbenchers' spending proposals-"

The words _iron discipline_ just makes George think of Balls miming a whip across the House of Commons, and he lowers his eyes quickly, biting the inside of his cheek hard.

"No matter that this was the same iron discipline on public spending that Gordon Brown promised in his 1996 Party Conference speech-"

George feels a grin push at his mouth harder. Perfect. Brown's name, kryptonite for Labour, dripping with falling pounds and echoing with the last few coins rattling around in the bank for Britain's voters. Trust William to pull it out of the bag.

 _"This_ time, they said, it would be _different."_ And William's beating Miliband at his own game now, with the facts and dates he's gathered and George feels a rush of fierce pride in his former boss.

"Ed Balls, the Shadow Chancellor, made a crystal-clear promise on the 3rd of June 2013." William glances down. "He said any changes to spending plans for 2015-16 must be fully funded-"

Typical Balls, George can't help but think, shuffling his own papers. Knowing him, he probably didn't even think the promise through-just thought he'd wriggle it in somehow. George might not dislike him but he knows that Balls loves the sound of his own voice and the idea of him blurting out a promise he's got no idea how to carry out is pretty easy to picture.

"Today, we are publishing a document-the document in front of you-showing that Ed Miliband and Ed Balls have failed to deliver this promise."

George has to fight not to grin. Jackpot. He wonders if William will get a koala.

"Since Ed Balls made his vow, Labour frontbenchers have promised £23.26 _billion_ in spending increases-" William pauses for the slightest moment. "But only _£2.52_ billion of proposals to raise revenue."

Perfect.

"That means, for the year 2015-16-Labour frontbenchers have made net unfunded spending commitments-" William looks up. "Totalling £20.7 billion, equivalent to £1,199 more borrowing for _every working household in Britain."_

George mentally counts how many koalas Lynton will now have to replenish.

"It would mean higher taxes for hardworking familes, higher mortgage rates, more debt for our children to repay-"

* * *

 

"Now, you know, I think it's fair to say that in the next four months, there will be the sound and fury of elections-" Ed looks around at the crowd. "But I actually think it's rather-going to come down to something rather simple at this election."

He looks around, conscious of Stewart's voice in his head- _This'll be the bit that's remembered, you've got to make it count-_

"It's about who we are. It's about how we want to live together. And it's about how we succeed as a nation."

He looks up, raises his voice a little- _make sure you get the message across, make it count_ -"This is nothing less than a once in a generation fight about who our country works for."

His voice raises a little of its' own accord. "It's a choice between a Tory plan where only a few at the top can succeed and our public services are threatened-"

They'll see that. They have to see that. Everyone can.

His hands clench a little tighter on the podium. "Or a Labour plan that puts working people first, deals with the deficit, and protects our NHS."

The thing is, they can do it. They _can_ , if they're just given the _chance_ to.

"We have a Government that will say: stick to their plan." He looks around. "They really think _this_ is as good as it gets."

_Better than this, we can do better than this-_

"But you know why that is?" He looks out at them. "They're the pessimists. They're the _pessimists_ about what is achievable for Britain and the British people-"

_They don't believe things can change. But things have. They've changed before-_

"And between now and the election, they will find all kinds of ways to tell you that change isn't possible." He lifts his hands. "Just as the pessimists have always done down the years. That change that puts working people first can't be done."

He stands up straighter, because this, at least, is a pattern. "But I don't believe them-and I don't think you should believe them, either."

He looks out. "We've done it before as a country, in the face of even greater challenges, and we can do it again."

He can hear his voice getting louder. "It is seventy years this year since Britain won the Second World War and went on to win the peace-"

_Make it inspiring, emphasise it-_

"Think about the challenges that _that_ generation were facing." He turns round, his voice quickening of its' own accord. _"They_ didn't sit back and put up with what they'd seen before! With the dark days of the Depression-they said never again!" He turns. _"They_ didn't let negativity win the day and say there was no other way! Instead, they started to rebuild-"

Because it's _true._ They don't need to worry about the polls because people will _realise-_

"Rebuild with an economy that works for _all_ working people. Rebuild by honouring everyone who works hard. Rebuild by standing up to the powerful forces, those who need to be held to account. Rebuild by dealing with their debts responsibly for the good of the next generation. Rebuild by protecting our vital public services, including our NHS-"

He looks round once more. _"That_ is what our plan for Britain's future will do. _That_ will be our task again. Let's go out and fight for the chance to make it happen. Thank you very much."

He says it even before the applause breaks out, the cheers, and he can't stop smiling. Because he knows now. He knows they can do it. They're listening. They can do it.

"Thank you very much" he says again and he listens, smiles, as they applaud it, their plan for the country, their plan for the future.

His plan.

His plan. Not Cameron's.

That thought sends a jolt of confusion through him and Ed isn't sure why so he smiles harder. Because he should be happy.

He should be.

* * *

 

"But it _won't_ be different. Labour will borrow and borrow. Under Labour, we could be paying millions a year just on the interest on our debt-money that _should_ be spent on schools, hospitals and frontline public services instead."

He pauses, as if that will somehow soften what's about to come next.

 _You think it's my fault, don't you?_ Nick had asked, in a sudden burst of anger or frustration or masochism. Or maybe a bit of all three.

There'd been too long a pause before Tim had said _No._

"On the other hand-" His voice is a little louder, almost bright. "You have the Conservatives."

He looks down again. Just to collect his thoughts.

"Unveiling posters saying we are on the road to a stronger economy. And indeed, we should be." Another pause.

_We need to get seats or it will lock us both out of government._

"But they don't plan to _stay_ on the road. They plan to stray far from it. They're trying to sell you an ideological approach to cuts to public services, packaged up as continuity."

 _If it's my fault, I should step down._ Miriam's hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

"It's a con. It's like a mobile phone salesman offering your existing contract and cutting the number of calls you can make-"

It's longer than he remembers it, the speech, but at some moments, he wonders if everything can really be summed up in those two sections.

Two sides.

Tories. Labour.

Which to pick.

* * *

 

"Yet Labour still have not learnt" Theresa is saying, looking out at the cameras, her voice polished, smooth. "Our document today shows that they have made net unfunded spending commitments of just over £1 billion for the Home Office and Ministry of Justice in 2015-16 alone-"

Home Office. Business. Education. Foreign Office.

George smiles to himself, as they blow holes in every one of Labour's spending plans.

It's not even just that they need to win. Not even just that this is necessary, that the economy needs to be hammered through every sentence they say, the economy and how they've rescued it. It's that Labour need to lose.

George doesn't have a clue what Miliband sees when he closes his eyes-he suspects it's something to do with a Marxist housing block and himself being hailed as a conquering hero of social justice, if not David begging at his feet for mercy-either David-but he sometimes wonders what he sees when he opens them. If he ever has them open at all.

But all he can think is that Miliband must be stupid or blind or some odd mixture of both, because he pushes it away, every time, the fact that Labour got it wrong. They're words Miliband can't seem to bear to touch, because it taints this perfect vision he has of a world where everyone walks round hand in hand in circles and bank accounts are perfectly equal.

George glances at William and wonders how strange this is for him. Maybe it doesn't seem so many years ago that William stood outside CCHQ, the June sunshine too gentle on their skin, and read out a resignation speech.

They can't go back there, ever.

Blair's second election victory. Blair hammering home a landslide. Blair, seeming like he'd be there, living in Downing Street forever.

They can never go back there again, ever.

But he still wonders how it feels for William. William, who wore a baseball cap in a hundred pictures and was scribbled into a hundred caricatures, and coped with a hundred headlines.

William, to be throwing the same things at Miliband now.

But Labour didn't hesitate to throw this at them.

So, George thinks with a grin, they shouldn't hesitate now that the shoe's on the other foot.

* * *

 

"Did you tell him?" Rachel appears at Torsten's side, grabbing at his sleeve, even as he keeps clapping.

He keeps smiling at Ed, flashing him a thumbs-up, and speaks to Rachel out of the corner of his mouth. "Exactly when would I have had the fucking chance to tell him, Rachel, when I climbed on stage and threw away his microphone?"

"Well, you've got to tell him-" Rachel is staring at Ed with a perfectly composed grin, while she stamps furiously on Torsten's foot. "You've got to tell him, the fucking media's here-they'll end up asking something about the press conference, the Tories will have been fucking briefing them-or he won't know which ones aren't here, for God's sake-"

"We're going to take some questions-we've got some party members here-" Ed's speaking and Rachel groans, almost grinding Torsten's foot into the floor. "Too bloody late."

"Yes, and for my _foot."_ Torsten wrenches it back furiously. "Do you _mind?"_

Rachel doesn't deign to respond-instead, she just glowers and, with what's almost a toss of her blonde hair, says "Tell him it was great. James and I are going to have to stop him being mobbed. After that, no doubt every right-wing hack will want a piece of him-"

With that, she disappears, leaving Torsten nursing a conceivably broken toe and a vague but horribly growing sense of apprehension.

* * *

 

"A strong coalition government, with Liberal Democrats anchoring it in the centre ground and not lurching to the extremes of left or right-" Nick looks out at them, everyone who believes him more than he does. "Remains the best way to make sure we finish the job and finish it fairly."

They're asking for a coalition, he realises, and he almost has to laugh, because _they're asking for a coalition._ And it shouldn't be so funny, but it is, because he still remembers 2010 all too clearly, the high of it all, like a constant soaring in his chest, the feeling that _yes._ This was it. They'd make a difference.

And now he's standing here in front of a crowd of people who believe in him more than he does, and they're asking for another coalition.

Asking.

And he can remember Tim's voice last May, sharper suddenly, firmer. _You can't step down, Nick. You can't._

 _How is me staying going to help?_ He'd forced the words out, felt Miriam's hand clench more tightly on his shoulder. _You know it's aimed at me._

A pause, then _You leaving wouldn't help anything._

Tim's voice had been flat, resigned, over the words that weren't a denial.

"That is why a vote in May for the Liberal Democrats is the only vote for economic security against economic turmoil-"

 _Why wouldn't it help?_ he'd asked, before he could consider whether or not he wanted to know the answer.

"For stability against uncertainty-"

He hadn't even wanted to resign, or he'd thought he hadn't, but something had made him keep asking, the same feeling rising in his chest that he used to get every week on the radio. An awful anticipation, over a doomed, resigned feeling of just wanting to hear it, in case it wasn't worse than his thoughts.

"And for the national interest against petty populism-"

Tim's voice had been sharper, a little wrought.

"That is the case I will make every week, 'til May-"

_Because it's not fair to foist the state we're in on anyone else, now._

"A prosperous, secure future for our country depends on it. Thank you very much."

The applause breaks out. Nick glances down at his notes one more time, the same way he had when he'd heard Tim's words burst out on the other end of the phone, Miriam's eyes finding his as he sat in his study, wondering if you could actually feel a party disintegrate, and he tries to soak in the applause from all these people for whom party disintegration is the last thing on their minds.

He tries. He tries his best.

* * *

 

Nicky and Sajid have given the same warnings, quieter but just as important.

_Hammer it home._

_The economy._

_Stick to the argument._

"So, at a time of global economic instability, there's a simple choice facing the British people in May" Sajid is saying, quietly, but looking around at the whole room. "Stay on the road to a stronger economy with David Cameron's long-term economic plan, a plan that is securing a better future for Britain, for hardworking taxpayers, ah-for our children."

That's something they know Miliband will stick in, George remembers-the Conservatives hate young people, etc.

But of course, it's easy to promise all the things you'll give to young people when you're not in power and the money's just a fantasy.

"Or...Ed Miliband" and even Sajid manages to sound contemptuous. "Offering no economic plan for the future-just more of the same wasteful spending, borrowing and higher taxes that got us into this mess in the first place. In short-"

Sajid pauses and George can hear the words, the words that Lynton wants hammered home through every speech now, every line.

"Competence-" Sajid lets the word linger. "Or chaos."

George feels himself relax a little. Competence vs chaos. Competence vs chaos.

Cameron vs Miliband.

That's what they've got to bring home.

Robinson's up with the first question-of course he is, and George bites his lip, remembering some of the anecdotes David's regaled him with about Robinson in his university days. The first part's just something about some specific promise that George will pull something out about in a minute and then the second-

"One other question-before Christmas, at times, it looked like you were focusing on an election against each other after defeat at the General Election. Are your minds on winning this or the next Tory leadership election?"

There's a couple of laughs, but George feels a surge of pride that no one jeers or catcalls at Nick. Labour might say the Tories are the party of image but at least, George thinks, they know how to conduct themselves.

He leans forward, the way David has a tendency to, which Lynton loves. _Looks relaxed, almost like you can't be bothered with the question._

"Well, first of all, we're very focused on making sure that Britain's economic recovery continues-that requires a Conservative government and our long-term economic plan under the strong leadership of David Cameron-"

George isn't stupid-he knows what David has planned. That one day, he'll stand down graciously, go out in a blaze of glory, and then walk George in to take his place. He knows David might not even be aware of this himself-that it's just the glimmer of an idea, albeit one that's been seized on by almost everyone they know and most people they don't.

It might be David's plan. George just doesn't know if it's his own.

But this is the second thing Lynton wants them to emphasise and George has to fight a twitch at his mouth and an urge to thank Robinson-he's actually just done them a favour with that question, allowed them to kill two birds with one stone.

"Now in _our_ party, _our_ leader is one of our strongest _assets_ in this General Election-" He can feel a smile hovering. "In the Labour party, _their_ leader is one of their _weaknesses-"_

There's a few indrawn breaths and then a scattering of laughter, and then-George has to fight the urge to arch his eyebrows in surprise at the small round of applause that breaks out at that-not just from his own party, he realises, glancing around, but from-bloody hell, from some of the _press._

Christ, they knew Miliband was _unpopular_ , but that's something _else._

* * *

 

Andy is fairly used to watching Ed do speeches but doing them when the Tories are just up the road doing the same thing is a little different.

It's also a little different when he's almost knocked over by Rachel Kinnock, looking both more flustered and more hysterically dangerous than he's ever seen her.

"Hey-" He steadies her with his arm. "Everything all right?"

Rachel hisses. In Andy's general experience, it's rarely a good sign when women hiss.

"What is it?" He glances up quickly at Ed, mindful of the fact they're surrounded by media.

Rachel glances about, curses, then grabs Andy's arm. "You've got Balls' number, haven't you?"

Andy blinks. "Yeah, 'course, but-"

Rachel sighs. "Well, usually, I'd get hold of Alex, but you're here. Get hold of him and tell him he might have to start working on figures. The Tories have gone to fucking town on this dossier thing-they've just done a press conference full of bullshit that could grab every headline and make Ed look like a fucking idiot."

Andy blinks. "I'm not sure that's the usual function of bullshit, but-"

"Did you miss the part where I mentioned Ed looking like a fucking idiot?"

"OK, OK." Andy would point out that Ed might be his leader, but everyone is painfully aware of the elephant in the room, which is that the person most capable of looking like a fucking idiot is, in fact, Ed.

"What is it?" he says, already texting Katy to get hold of the other Ed as soon as possible. "What are they saying about the dossier now?"

Rachel hisses, looks away, then back and then leans up, whispering in Andy's ear. "They're still saying the £20 billion worth of unfunded promises thing, only now they claim to have figures backing it up, there's Osborne, May, Hague, and two others there, and they've nicked half our media."

"WHAT?" Andy nearly jumps out of his skin, spinning to look at her. Rachel grabs his arm, as half the people nearby turn to look at them.

 _"What?"_ he manages, in a fierce whisper this time.

"Yes, _what-"_ Rachel hisses and Andy steps back, warily. "Don't you dare step on my fucking foot-"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Yes, _what_ and _yes_ , it's going to make every fucking headline, and _yes_ , it will mean their release gets twice as much coverage as ours, and _yes_ , it hits us right on the economy, which, _yes_ , is where we're weakest." She folds her arms. "And now we might have to get Balls working on a rebuttal, since that bloody Guardian article didn't work-"

"It had better not be true!"

"Of course it's not _true-"_ Rachel almost spits the word. "It's just more twists and exaggerations-" She glances at her phone. "Oh _great_ , Morgan and Javid, _that's_ the other two they've got up there-" She shakes her head, curses. "I've got to go backstage, I'm supposed to be there when Ed gets off-oh, get your mind _out_ the fucking gutter, Burnham-"

Andy finds it easier to do this than he should, partly because Rachel's shoes are rather worryingly near his foot and also because his mind has already latched onto something she just said.

Rachel squeezes his arm. "And Ed-" She jerks her head at the stage. "Doesn't hear a word of this conversation." With that, she's gone, leaving Andy to stare for a moment after the blonde head retreating and then turn back to his phone.

"Fuck" he mutters, wondering if he should call Ed directly or Jon or the other John or just go straight for Alex. Perhaps all four.

And it's those words- _twists and exaggerations-_ that stick in his head and he can't help noticing that Rachel hadn't quite stretched that description to _lies._

"Norman Smith, BBC News" comes a familiar voice. Andy turns, but can't see him.

"Mr. Miliband, you've attacked the Tories for going negative in this campaign already, over the publication of the dossier about your spending commitments-"

Andy closes his eyes. Perfect.

If Ed's surprised, when Andy squeezes his eyes open an inch, he doesn't show it. Instead, he just keeps scribbling an answer and Andy stares at him, as Norman gets on with his question and it hits him-bloody hell, it wouldn't have been too difficult to give them all some kind of briefing to follow, for stuff like this-

Why the hell didn't they?

"Because you say it will be unrecognizable in five years' time, and yet Mr. Cameron has planned to ringfence the NHS Budget, an extra £2 million has been promised, and there has been no Winter Crisis-"

 _The NHS_ , Andy's brain supplies helpfully, if a few moments late.

"So aren't _you_ scaremongering over the NHS?"

The tide of jeers breaks out before Norman has even finished the sentence. Andy almost screams (which, incidentally, he hasn't done since he was very young and took a football in the wrong place.)

But, for God's _sake_ , this is what people are going to see on their screens. A bunch of bleeding-heart socialists booing the nice guy from the BBC. And Ed might be holding up his hand, but that's hardly enough, and the bloody question makes _sense_ more than anything.

So whose bloody side do they think people are going to take, people who don't have a clue about politics and wouldn't give a damn if you told them that guy could be the next Prime Minister-

 _Could_ being the operative word, whispers the voice in Andy's head.

 _Could_. Not _will._

Ed's answering the question and he's saying something about respect but, Andy thinks bitterly, the damage has already been done. People have already heard the reaction and, no matter how unfair Ed thinks it is, it will go down as Labour's reaction.

And, Andy thinks here before he can stop himself, he's not even sure if it's entirely unfair.

He only manages a slight grin when Ed mentions his name. The damage has already been done.

* * *

 

The applause is still dying down as Ed finishes his answer about the bedroom tax-and for God's _sake,_ what's Cameron _thinking_ with that, it's _blatantly_ unfair-

And he doesn't understand, he reflects, as he looks around the room. He doesn't understand because-

His own words to Alastair echo in his head. _Cameron's not cruel-_

And he's _not_ , so why can't he-

Ed drags his mind back to his current surroundings, reflecting quickly that he should take more media questions, scratching his cheek-

"I'm going to take some more-journalists-do I have any broadcasters here?" he asks, on a whim-if they can get a question on every channel, so much the better-

"What do I-do I have ITV or Sky-" He glances about. No. No.

"Maybe not-" That's a disappointment but-

"Right-err, yes-this lady here?" he points, and only then realises that maybe he shouldn't have narrated a search for the broadcasters.

As it is, he just has to focus on the question now in front of him.

* * *

 

It's on the last question that George has to try not to cheer, because it could have been written for him to demonstrate economic competence and he can picture Lynton's face when he hears it, when he hears the answer George starts to give, and so he pauses for a moment before he delivers one of the lines they rehearsed, in amongst the facts and figures that he knows will find a home in some people's minds, no matter what the left-wing press try to spin it as.

"But also you have, if you like.....ahh, a snapshot of what the Labour party are offering this country-which is chaos, ill-discipline-ah, lack of fiscal control-this is, of course, when they've been trying to pretend they, er, wouldn't necessarily spend more money-and, and I think they've been exposed today-"

Lynton practically hammers _economic competence_ through every speech these days. Rupert and Juliet had agreed furiously, as had Thea, with Lynton nodding. _That's what you've got to fucking emphasise. We're credible. They're not._

_Stick it in._

_That sounds rather unorthodox._

_Shut up, Osborne._

He raises his voice a little, smile twitching at the memory, feeling the silent support radiating from William and Theresa on one side, Nicky and Sajid on the other. "And that, in the end, is the choice facing this country-"

 _Status quo and improvement,_ Robert had said to both him and David. _Status quo and improvement._

"We either have a competent Conservative team delivering a long-term economic plan that is keeping us on the road to economic recovery-"

Emphasise it.

"Or we have the chaos of unfunded spending commitments, extra borrowing, extra taxes, that all the others offer."

_How many seats are we going for?_

_All of them._

"That's the choice, therefore-chaos and competence. And with the Conservative team, you get economic competence. Thank you very much. "

The applause breaks out. Theresa catches his eye and gives him a smile, which is a rare enough sight in itself. Only now as he steps back from the podium does George become aware of his heart, pounding against his chest.

But he can feel the smile trapped inside, fighting to get out.

 _There's the message,_ Lynton's voice echoes in his head. _There's the message._

And they've delivered it.

* * *

 

Lynton's leaning over a table with Andrew and Ameet. "So if we focus solely on these homes-"

"We've got a better chance of getting votes-"

"Yes." Andrew rakes a hand through his hair. "Rather than running about all over the place-"

"And Tom and Craig are working on the Facebook targeting-here, we'll have to check the fucking conference in a minute, make sure the message is getting out-"

The door bursts open. Stephen's standing in the doorway, out of breath.

Stephen is not the type of person who ever looks out of breath.

Lynton stands up straight, rolls up his sleeves. "What is it?" he says calmly, while running through all the disasters that could have occurred and all the contingency plans in place for all of them, as well as a few less predictable ones-George has fallen over the podium, Theresa has crowd-surfed over the podium, David and Miliband have fallen out of a window, anything that doesn't involve falling-

Stephen shakes his head. "One of the researchers was talking to one of Robinson's colleagues down at the conference-"

"And?"

Stephen glances around, then grabs Lynton's sleeve and whispers in his ear.

"What the hell's going on?" Dan mutters to Ameet. "Miliband died or something?"

"Oh, Jesus-n _o-"_

"You never know-"

"Don't sound so fucking _hopeful-"_

They're cut off by Lynton slowly inhaling and exhaling.

Ameet eyes him doubtfully. "Lynton-"

Dan frowns. "Miliband hasn't jumped off something, has he?"

Ameet rolls his eyes and then stops at the sight of the slow, slow smile breaking over Lynton's face.

"Lynton?" Dan sounds just as, if not more, concerned by the smile.

Lynton closes his eyes and exhales again. Then, he opens them and claps Stephen on the arm.

"Come on" he says quietly. Stephen, beaming, follows him to the door.

"Oh-" Lynton turns back to Ameet. "Do me a favour-"

Ameet blinks. "Sure-"

"Go under my desk." Lynton beams, beams insanely. "And get me a kangaroo."

Ameet and Dan stare at him.

Lynton claps Stephen on the shoulder once more as they head out the door.

"The fucking largest kangaroo you can find."

* * *

 

"So, Stage Three in preparing for the Princess of Darkness-"

David shakes his head. "Don't say Princess" he advises Philip, through a mouthful of oatcake. "It'd be like saying it to Harriet."

"Oh no." Graeme shakes his head, as does Philip's Graham. "Harriet would just chew you up for a while."

"While Merkel would expel you in a fiery speech" adds Gabby.

"Consisting of your entrails" concludes Hayden.

Clare glances up. "I'm going to go out on a limb and suppose I shouldn't put any of that in the speech-"

Craig's phone rings and David reaches for a blue sharpie as Craig answers. He doodles on the piece of paper and glances up at Philip. "Well, if Europe's on the agenda-"

"Excuse-" Craig's holding out the phone. "Prime Minister-Lynton for you-"

David frowns, reaches for the phone. "Lynton? It's David-"

Philip glances at Craig. "Something wrong with George?"

"Start the list-" mutters Hayden. Gabby pushes his arm gently.

"David-" Lynton's voice sounds as though it's stretching over a smile. David honestly can't tell if that's good or bad. "How do you like to receive good news?"

David frowns. "What, the "dodgy dossier" stuff is good news?"

"Oh, forget the dodgy dossier stuff. It's gone. It's out the window." Lynton's laughing and David sits up straight again. "What?"

Lynton cackles. "Remember that interview with Robinson Miliband did a couple of months back-mini conference sort of thing-"

David casts his mind back. "Ah-vaguely-" He remembers Miliband mentioning something about it before Christmas, when David had told him that he had an interview with Robinson-after the last PMQs session, it had been-

Lynton chuckles. "You know how Miliband's little pet complaint rather tends to be the NHS?"

The entire office is now watching him. David grips the phone a little tighter. "Yes-"

"Well, Miliband has just grabbed the NHS, turned it into a giant sword, and rammed it, with a big, fat grin, up his own arse."

David blinks. "Aside from the fact that's almost definitely not literal-I hope-"

 _""Weaponized",_ David" Lynton says, with a grin David can hear. "That's what Miliband wants to do to the NHS."

David blinks. "I'm sorry?"

 _"Weaponize."_ Lynton stretches the word out. "That's what Miliband told Robinson he wants to do. Well, Robinson and a whole room full of journalists. He told them that for their campaign strategy, he and Labour are planning to _weaponize the NHS."_

There's a long moment while the words sink in. David sits back. "What?"

"Yep." Lynton's beaming, David can tell from his voice. "And you, Prime Minister, are going to sit on that little piece of information, and keep it nice and safe under your arse, until you are ready to throw it in Miliband's face at PMQs on Wednesday."

David has to sit very still for a moment, his mind still reeling from how Miliband could possibly have been so stupid as to use the phrase, let alone in front of a room full of bloody journalists, but then he manages to clear his throat. "I see."

He tries to say something else, but all he can manage is "I see."

The letters are there in his mind, vaguely, but suddenly he can feel the cold metal of bars pressed into cheeks, the hardness of a tiled floor through his knees. The tiny knuckles of his son's hand, the tip of his finger running over them again and again. _Hey, Ivan_ over and over.  _Ive-Ive,_ hoping that his son can hear somehow, even as his breath rasps at his throat.

_Weaponize the NHS._

Something hard and cold is curling in his stomach.

"Can't imagine that'll play well with the electorate" Lynton's saying, his voice curling up around a smile. "With doctors, nurses, being used as Miliband's political weapon-"

The doctor gives Sam a squeeze around the shoulders, a nurse offering quietly to take her to the canteen, _rest up and take turns here._

"Not to mention all the parents of sick kids-"

David hears a muffled exclamation on the other end of the phone, the sounds of something like a scuffle, and then, very clearly, a furious hiss of _"Shut up!"_

There's a pause then, "Shit- _shit_ , David-"

David shakes his head, because it's not how Lynton meant it-

He knows it's not how _Lynton_ meant it-

"Shit, David-sorry, I didn't mean it like-"

David finds his voice from somewhere deep in his throat. "It's fine" he manages, quickly. "It's fine. I know you didn't mean it like-"

"Of course not-"

"I know. Lynton, it's fine, honestly. I know you didn't mean it like-"

 _You_ didn't-

But he-

There's a pause, then "But anyway, that's what he's said." Another pause, then "If you don't want to use it-"

 _Weaponize the NHS-"_ We're using it."

It bursts out his mouth before he can even stop it, the cold hard curling in his chest fanning into something hot and furious, something that makes him grip the phone tighter, his heart suddenly hammering. "He's not getting away with that. We're using it. And besides, people deserve-"

It lances into him, suddenly, the certainty-people deserve to know. They deserve to know what Miliband thinks of it.

"Are you sure? We-"

That's what Miliband thinks of-

Thinks of-

A political _weapon-_

"Yes" he says, his voice suddenly low and fierce and quiet. "Yes, I'm sure."

Lynton's saying something else now, but David's breathing hard, his heart hammering. He knows he's looking out at his office, but all he can see is his own hand, one finger poked through a hole in a tank, his son's tiny grip curled around it.

He could do this, he'd thought then, numb from sitting in a chair for hours, eyes stinging with tiredness. Even now, Ive could do this one thing everyone else can do.

_Weaponize-_

"Who else can I share it with?" he asks, his voice suddenly stronger now, almost trembling.

"Aides and ministers. And George. Breathe one word to the fucking press and we're dead, he'll mount a defence. And I want to see Miliband become a fucking deer, staring into the biggest pair of headlights he's ever seen, come Wednesday lunchtime."

After David ends the call, he lowers the phone and takes a deep breath, before raising his eyes to meet the sea of confused faces in front of him.

Craig's brow is furrowed. "David-"

"What's happened?" Graeme's voice is low, and Hayden and Philip exchange the briefest of worried glances. Gabby is already up, heading around the desk towards him.

"David-"

"Can I sidetrack for a moment?" It comes out strong. It doesn't come out trembling.

Philip nods slowly. The rest of them exchange glances.

David tries to force a smile. It doesn't come as easily as usual.

But it still comes.

He can see Ivan's little face, a bluish tinge around his lips.

_Weaponize._

He clears his throat. "I have something to tell you."

* * *

 

"Well, Rupert says Labour are already peddling the "dodgy dossier" headline" George says, with a quick glance at Sajid. "Just imagine what the _Mirror_ will do with that. They'll probably be blown away by the concept of alliteration-"

"Which Labour probably want out of the National Curriculum" Nicky mutters, and George sniggers.

"It's probably Baldwin's idea" Sajid points out, texting frantically. "Used to work for them, remember."

"Oh, so _that's_ why he thinks he's the next Campbell" William says, with a grin. "I wondered why he seemed like the vastly inferior sequel-"

"I didn't know you were aware of the term _sequel,_ William-"

William gives Nicky an amused warning look and George reaches for his phone, which is once again vibrating in his pocket, wondering what Rupert neglected to tell him that's become a matter of vital importance in the last few minutes.

"Anyway, wasn't it the _Times-"_ He lifts his phone. "Hello-Lynton?"

Two minutes later, Theresa taps William's shoulder. "We'll need to get back soon. David's rather going to need help preparing for Merkel-"

"Doesn't everyone need help preparing for Merk-" William's voice trails off as he turns back to George. George is slowly lowering his phone, a strange expression descending over his face.

"Chancellor?"

Sajid and Nicky both stop and look back slowly, confusion dawning on both their brows at George's expression.

"Chancellor?" William touches George's arm. "Have you just discovered that the deficit has magically fixed itself in the last few minutes-"

"Or doubled" Theresa remarks, eyeing George the way one would eye a foaming dog. "We can't really tell, from that look-"

Theresa's voice is cut off by George starting to laugh. He stands there, the eyes of Theresa, William, Sajid, Nicky and most of their aides on him and laughs, furiously, until he's wiping his eyes and his chest is aching.

George stands upright, scrubs at his eyes once more. He takes in the crowd around him, then motions to Theresa and William, who are watching him as though rather fearful for his sanity.

"Chancellor-"

George shakes his head, feeling a grim smile make its' way to his mouth, the word _weaponized_ ringing in his ears and furious, righteous triumph kindling in his chest. "I have something to tell you."

* * *

 

Nick waits until the others have left the room before he remarks "George looked happy."

For a moment, a slightly wry smile flickers at David's mouth. But then he just remarks "Did he?"

Nick knows David rather well, and he knows when David's hiding something, but at the moment, his mind is more on the way he and George had avoided each other's eyes for most of the meeting. Fortunately, Danny had more than made up for it while the rest of the Cabinet had seemed, mercifully, not to notice.

Though, technically, they are only a Cabinet for the next two months, now.

"You know that things are going to be tense, don't you?" David says, a few moments later. Nick isn't shocked. He knows David, the way he irons out pleasantries over whatever less pleasant information he has to give.

"Well-" he says, aiming for a lighter tone. "I suppose so. Given _"Who knows what they say-""_

David's brow furrows for a moment, then clears as he laughs a little. "Oh-Marr." He smiles, but it's a little sadder now. "Well-yes. We heard your speech."

Nick smiles, or tries to.

"Well, we just wanted to clarify-"

 _We_ , thinks Nick. It's you telling me, but it's a _we._

"That this doesn't get in the way of working together-"

David keeps his hands carefully separate. Nick is used to that, knows it's a sure sign that David's guarded, careful, waiting.

We're a _We,_ he thinks again. An Us and a Them.

Out loud, he says "Of course not. We're grown ups."

David grins, though a little smaller this time. "Good-I mean-we've done good work together. It would be a shame to squander it now-"

Nick clears his throat, and that letter feels like a weight in his chest. "Though-about the TV debates-"

David doesn't say anything, but raises an eyebrow.

"Well, we've heard quite a bit from your side-" Nick keeps his voice light, carefully. "That you're still not planning on taking part."

David doesn't look shocked-instead, he just nods. "That's correct, yes."

Nick clears his throat. "You do know that could play rather badly for you? Against Miliband-"

David laughs. "It's not about whether it plays badly for me. It's not a fair debate if all seven parties aren't included-"

Nick shakes his head. "Don't give me that" he says. "You know it's nothing to do with fairness. If you debate Miliband-"

David's eyes narrow for the slightest moment and Nick can't quite tell whether he's annoyed or impressed. But then, his brow clears. "You've seen the records" he says, fairly easily. "You know what the likelihood is if someone's lagging behind in the polls-"

"But if you don't participate-" Nick laughs himself, because the idea that the public won't even get a head-to-head debate between Cameron and Miliband-"Aren't you concerned-you know, the effect-people thinking you just don't want to defend your record-"

David laughs. "You mean people will say I'm running scared?"

Nick raises an eyebrow. "It's not improbable, but the thing is, you're the one who-" He flounders for a moment. "The debates in 2010 were welcomed. And you pushed for them. If you refuse to do these, it could turn a lot of people off. Piss off a lot of voters."

David laughs again. "Nick, do you _really_ imagine Lynton hasn't considered every inch of this-"

It's the Cameron side coming out. The Cameron side. Nick's all too familiar with the Cameron side.

He sets his jaw. "It could be seen as undemocratic if you won't debate Miliband-"

David bursts out laughing. When Nick stares at him, David just stares back, laughter still shaking his chest.

"You must be kidding-"

"I'm not-"

David's laughing again. "Have you _seen_ Ed Miliband's poll ratings recently?"

Nick has to admit that he can see why they'd be a source of hilarity for the Tories.

But there's something there, clinging to Miliband's name in David's voice-a sort of fierce triumph, a sort of-

A sort of viciousness.

"The guy is like-" David gestures with one hand. "A boxer who is on the floor."

"David-"

David grins, sits back in the chair. "Why on earth should I give him the chance to get back up?"

Nick knows that David-their David-and indeed, James, will want him to get Cameron on board. But then-

This is about Cameron and his own interest, and he's being-

Well.

Nick just hadn't expected him to be so clear about it.

But he is, and that leaves Nick with very little he can appeal with because if he's honest with himself, no TV debate with Ed Miliband would probably be the best option for David. And whatever Nick's offering can't top the prospect of a boost over Labour.

Even though, without TV debates, other parties are likely to do substantially worse. Including the Lib Dems.

Perhaps especially the Lib Dems.

Nick swallows. It's an election.

David stares at him and then, in a slightly bewildered tone, says "Nick, I have no interest in letting these debates go ahead."

Nick frowns. "Miliband" he says on a whim, and David's jaw seems to clench-

Just for a second, his jaw clenches. His eyes narrow.

Then, just as suddenly as it happened, the look's gone. "What about him?"

Nic opens his mouth then and realises he has no idea what he wanted to say.

Just that-the way David laughs with Miliband, sometimes, their eyes darting to and away from each other-

But then, Nick reminds himself, they've worked together for five years. And that doesn't make a difference.

It's an election.

He meets David's eyes. "Nothing" he says, and it's far easier than it should be.

* * *

_Playlist_

_Together We'll Ring In The New Year-Motion City Soundtrack-" I'm not smiling, behind this fake veneer/I am often interrupted or completely ignored/But most of all, I'm bored/I'm trying to find out if my words have any meaning/Lackluster and full of contempt when it always ends the same....Heads up, Damage Control/There's a ring around her finger/Last chance for changing lanes/And you missed it by a mile"_

_This kind of reminds me of Ed spending his new year with Justine's family and how out of place he generally feels, along with his more hidden distaste for how his children are treated and how he's expected to treat them._

_Banana Pancakes-Jack Johnson-" We could close the curtains/Pretend like there's no world outside/We could pretend it all the time/And can't you see that it's just rainin'/There's no need to go outside"_

_In contrast, this reminds me of David's relaxed, warm, loving family atmosphere, and them all curled up in bed together, reading in the early morning, as well as their general closeness with one another._

_Debate Exposes Doubt-Death Cab for Cutie-" thinking (pretending to read) about the impossibility of one to love/Unconditionally and the words that we drive into the ground, their repetition/Starts to thin their meaning...I tried to choke my stare at the perfection that others would kill for/But all of the parts are the same on every face (few variables change)/The differences pale when compared to the similarity they share"_

_This kind of reminds me of everyone's constant repetition of "their side's" key messages and some of the similarities underneath them all that they'd prefer by far to ignore._

_Money Changes Everything-The Smiths- this one's an instrumental but it's one of those recurring songs in the playlist that just reminds me of the Tories' campaign in particular, and their insistence that no one forget how Labour mangled their response to the financial crisis._

_Hysteria-Motion City Soundtrack-" That said, it was no different from the others/Except that this is now and that was then and everything/Seems to repeat in a cyclical pattern/I hum myself to misery and wish these words against my pillow/..... I fall apart, I fall apart, I'm back where I began/If I were anybody else but you, I would not be afraid/A total calamity, the choices I have made/Come help me figure it out/Come help me, get it right this time around/If you can figure it out/Then you could help me loosen up, get me off the ground"_

_This song just exactly reminds me of a campaign beginning, as the three parties launch their speeches, as well as the arguments they're designing against each other. The whole thing just sounds like a song you'd play getting ready for an argument, as well as how all-consuming the arguments become._

_Heavy Soul-Clarkesville-" I've got nothing else to say to you/I'm all out of reasons and lines/I don't care about your problems/Most likely, you don't care about mine/You say you're sorry, no offence intended/But your contempt is plain to see/You're so quick to play the victim..I'm so tired of being everybody's runaround...And I'm tired of hearing everybody put me down"_

_This song kinda screams Nick Clegg to me. It just suits him perfectly, considering how he's basically trapped between a rock and a hard place._

_Running Up That Hill-Placebo/Kate Bush-" You don't want to hurt me/But see how deep the bullet lies/Unaware I'm tearing you asunder/But there is thunder in our hearts/Is there so much hate for the ones we love/Tell me, we both matter, don't we?....It's you and me/If I only could/I'd make a deal with God/And I'd get him to swap our places/Be running up that road, be running up that hill/Be With no problems/See, if I only could, oh/...You, it's you and me/It's you and me won't be unhappy"_

_This is another recurring song (the original is by Kate Bush, the cover is by Placebo, they're both amazing.) It reminds me of David and Ed partly, particularly when they manage to rip each other apart without even knowing how much they're hurting each other. But on a far sadder note, the chorus reminds me of David's thoughts about Ivan, when he hears Ed's comments about "weaponizing the NHS" and how distressing the comments are to him._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary is David's mother. Sarah is Florence's godmother:http://www.tatler.com/article/sarah-vine-interview-exclusive  
> David & Elwen at the Tour de France: https://goo.gl/images/eaEjzT  
> https://goo.gl/images/E15GCv  
> https://goo.gl/images/eHAfDz  
> Alex James, from Blur, whose NYE party David and his family attended:https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/news/4784/pm-new-years-eve-is-all-a-bit-of-a-blur/ Geronimo, Artemis, Galileo, Sable & Beatrix are his kids.  
> Stewart & Margaret are Justine's parents-she eventually lost her case:https://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/profiles/justine-thornton-no-ordinary-political-spouse-10107571.html  
> The story about Daniel & Richard Desmond is real:https://www.buzzfeed.com/emilyashton/ed-miliband-made-a-speech-and-he-was-actually-quite-funny Ed in the pub is real, & David M in Times Square: http://www.dover-express.co.uk/ed-miliband-visits-deal-new-year/story-25796844-detail/story.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/ed-is-caught-short-at-nigels-local-v89vdpvxttp  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2893810/Oceans-apart-Miliband-brothers-New-Year-David-mixes-stars-Times-Square-Ed-finds-Farage-s-local-Kent.html  
> The book is one they read :https://graziadaily.co.uk/life/opinion/election-exclusive-justine-miliband-isnt-role-applied/  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/generalelection/general-election-2015-ed-miliband-buoyant-labour-leader-says-hell-be-as-radical-as-attlee-wilson-and-10170294.html  
> The Tories pouring champagne when Ed became leader is genuine, as is George cheering. David and Ed M were called "Mili Major" and "Mili Minor." Nick and Tim's conversation May 2014.  
> David's kids are Modern Family & Harry Potter fans:https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2013/jul/01/david-cameron-wants-to-be-harry-potter  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/camerons-just-a-sad-dad-to-his-daughter-t0w3m8j6876  
> Steve was Steve Hilton, David's former adviser.  
> David's family live in New York, where David's head of the IRC:  
> https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/louise-miliband-reveals-i-chatted-david-246865 https://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/david-miliband-an-englishman-in-new-york-far-from-the-maelstrom-of-british-politics-9862240.html  
> David was friends with David M when he was LOTO & worked with Ed on climate change-Ed was Climate Change Sec. David M was talked out of toppling Brown by Ed & others in 2008:https://www.standard.co.uk/news/ed-miliband-begged-and-begged-brother-david-not-to-topple-gordon-brown-6479219.html  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/silent-assassin-how-ed-miliband-plotted-against-his-brother-for-months-2298702.html  
> Ed winning the leadership: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Jobo0dgRNg  
> The conversation at the end of the chapter is a real conversation Nick had with David in early January 2015 about TV debates-David's dialogue about Ed's poll ratings is genuine, according to the book "Coalition."  
> Ed's NHS comments are genuine. Maya is Craig O's eldest daughter-Joanna is his ex-wife:  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/10709373/David-Camerons-aide-Craig-Oliver-splits-from-wife.html  
> The Tory campaign had props of empty notebooks with Ed Miliband's Policies on the front-David gave spares to Flo to colour in.  
> The account of deciding to target Lib Dem seats: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11991550/Camerons-choice-let-Lynton-Crosby-destroy-Nick-Clegg-or-spare-him-for-another-coalition.html  
> William was Tory leader in the '01 election, which the Tories lost-George was one of his advisers. David Laws uncovered a note Labour's chief secretary left for the new government "Sorry, there is no money." It became a symbol of the previous government's record.  
> David begins his campaign: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11321914/David-Cameron-Putting-Ed-Miliband-in-Number-10-could-trigger-economic-chaos.html  
> http://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/interior-shots-of-prime-minister-david-cameron-walking-news-footage/467917980  
> http://www.gettyimages.co.jp/detail/動画/interior-shots-of-prime-minister-david-cameron-making-a-speech-ニュース動画/467917982  
> The interview: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2895612/David-Cameron-fixing-U-bend-making-Boris-wait-asking-Sam-saving-hostages-biggest-Election-generation.html  
> The poster: https://goo.gl/images/ekbkNz  
> David's interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grmoT4kmBEM -Marr  
> Ed's interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNBtYvFaCcM  
> Ed's campaign launch:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nj685hL2-XA  
> Nick's campaign launch: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-30679967  
> Tory Press Conference:: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CONRJMfYNNc


	14. A Windfall of Weaponizing, A Foreshadowing Of Freedoms And The Culinary Delights Of The Nocturnal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which Ed discovers weaponizing can be weaponized, there is a visit from a person who may or may not secretly rule Europe, hoodies can be comforting, and late-night hot chocolate is good for precipitating conversations."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So this is the start of me having shorter chapters but more of them, so posting more frequently-and it's working quite well, so far. :) Once again, thanks to all the great comments, kudos, etc.-keep them coming! I read every one.  
> TRIGGER WARNING: There are mentions of a terrorist attack in this chapter (specifically the Charlie Hebdo attacks.) While the attack is "off screen" there are a lot of ruminations on the attack. Just in case any of you are sensitive to that-I debated whether to put it in, but it was such a huge event, from 7-9 January 2015 that it seemed a little unrealistic not to. There is a documentary about the Charlie Hebdo attacks here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BerGOnVrboc , but I would advise you to exercise discretion watching it if you're sensitive or easily upset by that kind of thing.  
> The Daniel mentioned is Daniel Finkelstein, a journalist and Tory supporter, formerly a Labour supporter, and very close friend of Cameron and Osborne. The "Alex" mentioned in this chapter is Alex Belardinelli, Ed Balls' Communications' Director. (Ed M mentions briefing Douglas and Yvette because, at this time, they were the Shadow Foreign Secretary and the Shadow Home Secretary.) Graham is Graham Hook, one of Hammond's Special Advisers. "Liz" is Liz Suggs, Cameron's Director of Operations.  
> Ed did make the "weaponizing the NHS" comment to a number of journalists in November 2014, which caused huge issues for both his own credibility and Labour's: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11338695/Ed-Miliband-said-he-wanted-to-weaponise-NHS-in-secret-meeting-with-BBC-executives.html  
> John and Fraser are Gordon Brown's sons-they can be seen here leaving Downing Street with their parents after Brown's resignation in 2010: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gaecADNkWLY  
> The filming Nancy remembers was one of the only times David allowed his childrens' faces to be shown in public, when they were filmed at home in 2008, when he was Leader Of The Opposition: https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/664141520  
> https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/664148732  
> David and Michael's children did attend the same primary school: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/camerons-daughter-wins-place-at-top-state-school-two-miles-from-home-while-browns-son-goes-to-7244873.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/educationnews/11154466/David-and-Samantha-Cameron-look-to-send-daughter-to-inner-city-comp.html  
> If you want to ask me anything about this or any other fic, you can send me an [ask](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) or message me on Tumblr. If you want to read any of the articles linked, but can't, just send me an ask!  
> Leave a comment if you like it!

_"How unfortunate given I have decided to loathe him for eternity!"- Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen_

__

_"Didn't even feel guilty about it" Craig said. "Does that make me, like, a psychopath?"_

_"Probably" I said. Nikki laughed and laughed.- Girls On Fire, Robin Wasserman_

__

_Phil: Look-your whole life my job's been to protect you-a job I kinda love. And I feel like I'm being forced into early retirement. I just needed to find you and know that you're OK.....for as long as I'm still allowed to do that._

_-Modern Family , s3ep6, "Go Bullfrogs!"_

* * *

 

 _"They actually think-"_ George sticks out a hand, talking through his nose. _"That thith is as good as it gets?"_

"He didn't lisp quite that much" Michael says from where he's leaning back in a chair. "Usually, he's just talking like he has a cold."

David snorts, taking a fierce kind of glee in the slightly vicious edge to the words. Miliband's words ring in his head- _Weaponize the NHS._

He can almost hear them in that nasal voice, lisp clinging to the last letter, and he grinds his teeth.

Gabby reaches for a cherry from the bowl between them. "He'll sound like he's got more than a fucking _cold_ when you throw that weaponizing line across the floor" she says, almost spitting out the words. It's another fierce surge of comfort in David's chest, strengthened by the smile Gabby gives him and the touch on the arm and Michael's fierce nod, the way it's been strengthened over and over by the fierce, silent fury radiating from all his team after they'd heard Miliband's words.

"Anyone want to picture his face?" Michael dons a look of stunned incomprehension. David shoots him a grateful look-Michael's face had whitened when he heard the words, his mouth twisting as he ground out "That little bastard", his hand tight on David's arm and David had remembered Ivan's christening, Michael bending to kiss the baby's head so tenderly, as he recited his duties as the godfather to this child, to always protect and watch over.

 _"Well, Mr Th-speaker-"_ George mimes stammering frantically and Michael collapses in laughter, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

David feels a wriggle of something a little uncomfortable in his chest as Michael launches back into the lisping. He looks down and reminds himself fiercely of the hard, furious feeling he'd lain awake with in his chest last night, seeming to coil tighter and tighter around his ribs, that feeling of _How dare you say that, how dare you-_

He can see Miliband suddenly, on Christmas Eve, arms wrapped around Flo. _I don't think you are-_ pulling her back onto his knee. _I don't think you are-_

The stab of fury is sharper, hurts more, and then David sees Ivan's little face, in one of its' rare smiles, staring up at him.

 _Political weapon_ , stabs into his brain before he can stop it. _That's all Miliband thought._

Craig squeezes his shoulder. "At least _you're_ not going to lisp over _weaponized-"_

"Does _weaponized_ even have an "S" in it-"

George throws his hands up. "For Christ's sake, Michael, you were the bloody Education Secretary-"

"Good day for this, as well-" Craig points out with a grin. "Given Jeremy's got to answer Burnham's little question right afterwards-I'd like to see Burnham try to take the moral high ground on the NHS after this-"

"Oh, would everyone just _focus-"_ Graeme wriggles back into his chair. "Now, if Liz comes in we're going to get to tell her that the Prime Minister spent the last few moments ridiculing the Leader of the Opposition-"

"Isn't that what he does anyway-"

"The Prime Minister-" David points out, without looking up. "Has done nothing."

Graeme clicks his teeth. "Yeah, that's what Miliband's going to say."

 _"Hath-"_ George says with a grin. _"Hath-"_

David smirks and shoves away the prickling of discomfort viciously.

"Of course, Miliband might be peering around for a TV camera-" Craig says, with a grin.

David snorts, recalling the moment that Miliband had peered out anxiously into the audience, eyes narrowing a little.

 _Maybe not_ , David had heard him mutter, a tinge of confusion in his voice, and that had sent a strange pang through his chest, as well as something like-

Well.

Just the way Miliband had said the words in that voice of his-

It had left David strangely unable to concentrate and now he shouldn't even be thinking about it-

 _Weaponize,_ he reminds himself. _Weaponize._

_That's all he thinks-that's all he thinks of-_

"Then again-" Michael laughs, adjusting his glasses. "Ms. Merkel might say the same-"

"Oh, we won't let her frighten you" George assures him. "Terrible Eurosceptic that you are-"

"Is _that_ what we're going to say to Miliband?" asks Gabby, reaching for another cherry.

David's about to agree, even as a horrible surge of something like confusion rises in his chest at the sound of Miliband's name-

There's a sharp knock on the door at the same moment that George mutters "My phone's buzzing" while David nods at Graeme, frowning-people don't usually interrupt PMQs prep, unless it's pre-arranged-

"Come in" Graeme calls and the door is pushed open almost before he's finished speaking.

Hayden almost falls into the room. David scrambles upright, alarm flickering immediately in the back of his mind. "Hayden-"

"Sorry to interrupt, Prime Minister-Philip sent me, he wasn't sure if you knew yet-"

It's at this exact moment that George's hand flies to his mouth. "Oh, Jesus."

David feels sickness grip his stomach, cold and tight. He takes a deep breath. "What is it?"

George's hand is at the back of his neck now, his eyes wide and dark as they meet David's. "We need to turn on the BBC-"

David looks past the rest, whose phones, he now notices, are buzzing similarly, to Hayden, whose chest is rising and falling a little more rapidly than usual.

David swallows. He focuses on his heartbeat, over and over, constant, pumping urgently. "What-" he manages, through a mouth that's suddenly too dry. "Is it?"

Hayden meets his eyes. "It's Paris."

* * *

 

"NHS" says Spencer, pointedly ignoring Tim, who's pointedly ignoring him, while Anna pointedly ignores both of them and they pointedly ignore her. Rachel is pointedly ignoring everyone but Bob, Greg and Ed, while Balls is pointedly ignoring her. Ed is trying not to pointedly ignore anyone while no one is pointedly ignoring Bob. Everyone is pointedly ignoring Tom.

"You need to hammer them on the NHS" Stewart says, who seems to be wondering whom he should pointedly ignore. "You've seen the figures-and we talked to Alastair, who thought it was a pretty good fucking line-"

Bob's phone rings, and at the same moment, so does Alex's. Balls stares at him and Alex pats Balls's arm. "It'll just be-"

"Shit" Bob says and at the same moment, Tom's phone buzzes. "Oh Christ-"

Ed's head spins. "What is it?" he says, his mind already running over the list of disasters it could be-it'll be the "dodgy dossier" stuff, the Tories will have got hold of some bunch of figures they've decided to release right before PMQs-

"Turn on the BBC."

Ed blinks. "What?"

The phone rings-Ed blinks again, torn between the TV and the phone. It's Spencer who saves him, diving for the phone, while Greg snatches up the remote control.

"It's a fucking _terrorist attack-"_ Tom yells, even as the channels flicker across the screen.

"What?"

"It's a _fucking terrorist attack-"_

Ed's stomach seems to drop through his knees. "In London?"

Tom doesn't say anything.

"In _London?"_ It comes out almost as a shout.

 _"No-_ no, fucking, no-"

"Paris-shit, shit, it's Paris-" Stewart has his hand over his mouth. "Oh Christ, they don't know how many yet-"

"How many-"

"Ed-" It's Spencer gripping the phone and covering it with one hand. "It's Wilson-"

"Wilson-"

"Wilson, Cameron's guy-"

"Oh yeah-"

"He wants to know if you've heard-"

"Yes, yes, we've-we've heard, we've-"

Gunshots ring out behind him and Ed spins round to find himself facing what looks like a video of an empty street. More gunshots ring out and Ed flinches.

"It's the magazine, it's-"

"The _magazine-"_

"Cameron can't speak-" Spencer's saying, scribbling on a notepad. "He's briefing-"

"It's fine-" Ed manages barely.

"Charlie Hebdo!"

"What?"

"Charlie Hebdo, it's Charlie Hebdo-"

_"Shit-"_

More gunshots ring out onscreen.

"Cameron doesn't think they can cancel PMQs-"

Ed blinks. Then looks at Spencer, barely.

"This-ah-yeah, it's too close, probably, Jesus-"

Ed barely knows what he's saying. He's too busy staring at the screen, hearing something about gunmen.

"Yeah, he's being briefed with Hammond and May-"

"Tell him-" Ed shakes his head. "Tell him to get them to brief Douglas and Yvette, too-"

He can hear Spencer relaying the message, but all he can focus on is the sound of gunshots, ringing out one by one.

* * *

 

"How many? So far?" David asks, because being the Prime Minister sometimes entails you asking the questions no one wants to ask.

Philip shakes his head. "They haven't briefed me yet-" he says, glancing at Theresa, who's staring at the screen they're all gathered around, her eyes moving quickly back and forth.

"Charlie Hebdo-" She glances quickly at David. "If this is who everyone thinks it is-"

"We can say their name" says Hayden. "They are the fucking bigoted twats who are shoving their flag everywhere-"

"We need to contact Hollande" Liz says, who has returned from a quick snack break to find everyone gathered around the TV screen, phones consistently buzzing. "He's made a statement-"

Gavin lowers his phone. "Graeme says Miliband agrees it's too late to cancel PMQs-but we're going to have to say something, put out a statement-either now, or in the chamber-"

David nods. "Christ-Angela's here and we'll have to-"

"You're meant to be making the-going to the British Museum-" George is leaning his head on his hands, eyes narrowed and dark, zooming from one side to the other.

"Yes, I know, I _know-"_ David shakes his head, stares at the screen.

George leans over his shoulder, peers at his email. _"It looks bad,_ oh well, thanks, Graham, for that-"

"We're going to have to-"

Gunshots ring out from the screen. David has to close his eyes for a moment, ignore the way his chest holds tight.

"We're going to have to call Hollande" he manages, when he can speak. "We're going to have to do a joint phone call, if we have to-"

Philip snatches up his phone. "I'm going to contact the Embassy over there, see if any-"

His voice trails off but he doesn't have to finish the sentence.

David keeps his eyes closed. He's not stupid. He doesn't expect them all to like him. But the idea of any of _their_ citizens being caught up in this-

 _His_ citizens-

Sends a curl of something fiercely protective, snarling tight in his chest-

But he's the one in charge.

He opens his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Yeah" he says to Philip. "As soon as possible. And we'll have to go to France."

* * *

 

"Mr. Speaker, I'm sure the whole House will want to join me in condemning the barbaric attack this morning on the office of a magazine in Paris, in which it's reported that ten or more people may have been killed-"

The latest figures, briefed to him two minutes before he had to leave. The latest figures, set to rise.

"The details are still unclear. I know that this House and this country stand united with the French people in opposition to all forms of terrorism and we stand squarely for free speech and democracy-"

The tide of affirmation drowns out his words for a moment. It's a welcome sound.

"And these people will never be able to-to take us of these values-"

He hurries on a little, to drag his thoughts ahead, because there'll be more information afterwards, and now he has to focus, because he knows, knows for a fact that Miliband's going to lead on the NHS, and it's one of the few times he's been glad for poor NHS figures-

(It's horrible, that he has to drag them ahead)

(But he has to.)

(It's his job.)

Jeremy's sitting next to him and even as he rattles through the opening remarks and the first questions, he plays over and over in his head the order they've devised- _Leave it to the end,_ George had said. _The weaponized line-build up to it, we want it to make the headlines-_

"Mr. Ed Miliband."

David barely hears the cheers. Instead, he finds himself staring at Miliband over his papers, unable to quite take his eyes off him.

His teeth are grinding and he can hear those words in Miliband's voice, those words- _Weaponize the NHS-_

And he hasn't seen him in over two weeks, comes through his head at the same moment.

And there's a weird jolt of something-something almost like _comfort_ in suddenly having Miliband there with him again, like that's where he belongs, under the harsh, clawing feeling in his chest of _that's what you said-that's all you thought of him_ -

"Mr. Speaker-" David drags his mind back to Miliband's voice, glance catching the bags under his eyes and that patch of grey in his hair- _Badger_ , David thinks, and the word feels strangely absent and it takes him a moment to realise he usually thinks that word with something like affection.

"I join the Prime Minister in expressing horror and outrage about the unfolding events in Paris-"

_Ten dead, ten dead, how many more-_

"We stand in solidarity with the people of France against this evil terrorist attack by people intent on attacking our democratic way of life and freedom of speech-" Miliband's looking around and David forces his mind onto the arguments, because they're going to destroy him. They're going to rip Miliband to shreds with this.

It's still strange to go from noticing the grey in his hair to this, this fierce, coiled tension in his chest, this longing for Miliband to come out with something in that bloody smug, self-righteous voice, so that David can just- _grab_ those words and tear them to pieces-

"We are united in our determination to defeat them." Miliband looks down as the brief murmur rises around them, and then David's heart beats faster than usual, waiting, waiting-

"Doctors, nurses and other NHS staff are doing a valiant job, but 90,000 people in the last quarter waited on trolleys for more than four hours-"

Jeremy presses his leg to David's in a touch almost too quick to see.

"Ten hospitals have, in the last ten days, reported major incident status and _one-"_ Miliband looks up. "Had to resort to Twitter to appeal for medical staff-" Miliband looks up at him, the familiar look of exaggerated concern on his face. David's nerves are frayed and maybe that plays a part but that look chips sharply and irritatingly at his chest.

Miliband meets his eyes. "Does he agree with me that our NHS is facing a crisis?"

David prepares himself carefully as he gets to his feet. He's familiar with this type of question from Miliband-deceptively simple, congenial. But David knows him too well.

He starts carefully, all the rehearsed words in the back of his mind. _Ease him in, bait him, make him start attacking you.."_ Well, our NHS is facing huge pressure this winter, especially in A&E units, but-I think that the point it's important to make is this-" He turns away, raises his voice a little. Draw him out-

"The NHS is _facing_ this winter with more doctors, more nurses and more money than it's ever had in its' history-"

Jeremy's nodding next to him.

"I think what is important is that we recognize the pressures that are there and we put in place plans for the short-term, the medium-term and the long-term, but recognizing with the massive increase of people going to A&E, any health system in the _world_ would struggle to cope with some of that pressure."

A deceptively simple answer. And one that will draw Miliband out.

"Ed Miliband-"

Nick shifts a little as David sits, and as he glances at his papers, his own words from the previous day come back sharply. _Have you seen Ed Miliband's poll ratings recently-_

He'd meant it. They are unbelievable and a few times, David has found himself wondering if it surely wouldn't be less painful for Miliband-and his party-if he just resigned.

He remembers his muffled _Happy Birthday_ to Nick this morning, how Nick's smile had twitched sadly as he inclined his head. David's never been fond of January and Nick's always said that it's the one month he wouldn't have chosen to have his birthday in. He just hopes Nancy doesn't agree.

"Mr. Speaker, in June, in June 2011, this was the Prime Minister's solemn promise-" Miliband's glancing up at Bercow in a way that sends irritation prickling up David's spine. He looks like a child waving his hand at a teacher, to bleat out tales in that stupidly nasal voice, and David feels a grim stab of something like satisfaction at the thought of what he's going to throw in Miliband's face in a moment.

"And I quote-"I refuse to go back to the days when people had to wait to be seen for hours on end in A&E, so let me be absolutely clear, we won't."" David finds himself noticing the way Miliband's eyebrows arch and dance as he talks, like two excited caterpillars.

The laughter rises behind Miliband, but today, it doesn't irk David. Or rather, it does irk him, but with a harsh stab of something that's almost pleasure underneath, at the thought of what Miliband's got coming-

_Make him wait for it, build it up-_

"Will he now apologise to patients across the country for having broken that promise?" Miliband sits down again, and David feels the grinding of the words in his chest, desperate to throw them at him-

_Better if you wait-_

And the ghost of that same anger that first stirred when he heard the word _weaponize_ breathes too, as he gets upright, taking in the wide-eyed look on Miliband's face, all that compassion he knows Miliband just wants to believe-

 _Just wants to believe is there_ , jabs in David's head. _So Miliband can look at himself in the mirror and tell himself he's actually doing some good in the world._

Perhaps it's that that sharpens David's words, sends the adrenaline too, sharper through his veins as he gets up, leans on the dispatch box, and begins to speak.

* * *

 

Ed always wonders exactly how Cameron can come up with an answer each time. It irritates Ed that he wonders, but he wonders.

But this time, he's given him the figures-they've got the figures there, Cameron _can't_ just wriggle out of it, Andy's _checked-_

"I-I do regret any patient who doesn't get a good service but let us be absolutely clear about the number in terms of people accessing A&E-"

"Here we go" mutters Harriet next to him.

"Today, compared with four years ago, over two and a half thousand more patients are seen within four years-"

Harriet laughs and Clegg, but Cameron's already corrected himself. "Within four hours than there was four years ago. That's what is happening. Now, we knew there was pressure on our NHS-"

Something about the slip-up rankles in Ed's chest, rankles darkly under the amusement, because Cameron's just recovered himself and no one will pick him up on it. If _Ed_ had done that-

"And that is why, over the last year, we've seen over 1,800 more doctors in our hospitals, 4700 more nurses in our hospitals and two and a half thousand more _beds_ in our hospitals-"

That prickling of indignation is there again because even after that slip-up, Cameron _still_ gets to pull up facts and figures, even when he's got it wrong, and he doesn't _have_ to get it wrong, he's not _stupid_ , _that's_ the infuriating thought-

"Now, there's _more_ that we need to do-" Cameron's saying. "But let us recognize that our health service in every part of our United Kingdom facing these challenge-" Even when he mangles his words, Cameron doesn't slip up. "We must go on giving them the money, the resources and the people, so they can go on providing a great service."

Ed's scrambling up even before Bercow's finished saying his name.

"As far as I can see, he's not apologising to patients, he's _blaming_ the patients-"

Cameron just smirks, even as the cheers rise behind Ed, and it infuriates him, because he's _right_ , he _knows_ he's right, and Cameron just doesn't _care-_

It's childish and whining, the thought, and that just makes him angrier.

"And the-and the-and the pressures on A & E-" He can't get his words together and that just makes it all worse and the anger coils into a tight knot in his chest-

"And the pressures on A&E are not just happening on his watch, but are a direct result of the decisions he's taken-" Ed swallows, because he's right, he _knows_ he is, and Cameron just doesn't want to listen-

"When he decided to close almost a quarter of walk-in ces-centres-" because it's just another example, and _that's what you need to get across, it's a choice between us and them_ -"Wasn't it blindingly obvious that if people couldn't go to a walk-in centre, it would have a big impact on A&E?" He can already sense Andy nodding furiously on Balls' other side.

Cameron doesn't even look ruffled as he's called upright, as though everything Ed's pointing out just glances off him.

"We've got a thousand more doctors in A&E-" Cameron just ignores the noise and Ed's fingers whiten on his papers, because it sends something like irritation and something like fury through him and Cameron just looks so infuriatingly _calm._

"And we're spending £13 billion more on the NHS-" Cameron glances round at his own benches, as if sharing the joke, like that's all all Ed's attempts to make people see that things don't have to be like this are. A joke.

"When four years ago, _his_ Health Secretary said it would be irresponsible to spend more money-"

Ed feels his teeth grind together because he knows it's all too conceivable that Andy said it, because they wouldn't _use_ it otherwise-they've dug up a quote from somewhere and everything they've done, him and Andy, to prove they can be trusted on the NHS, and now Cameron just gets to _derail_ it all with one fucking quote-

"But isn't it _interesting_ , Mr. Speaker-"

Ed's knuckles whiten even more and to distract himself, he glances at Andy. It doesn't help-Andy's shaking his head, and Lucy next to him is looking at Cameron over pursed lips, as though anticipating the next blow, ill-deserved as she thinks it is.

"Here we are, Question Three on the NHS-" Cameron's voice is louder now, slowing a little over the words. "And he's got _no solutions_ to put forward-"

Ed glares for a moment. He can't help it, because bloody _Cameron-_ he's _twisting_ things, the way he _always_ does, and the way he _always_ gets away with-

"And that only says to me-" Even as the tide of noise rises louder, that grin's poking out at the corners of Cameron's mouth. "That only says to me-while we are interested in improving the NHS-" Cameron leans forward a little. _"He_ simply wants to use it as a political football."

The applause and cheers and yelling is rapidly rising now and Ed almost leaps upright because something niggles in his chest at those words, something more worried than it should be, and he's not sure why-

"Mr. Speaker-Mr. Th-speaker-" _Fuck._ He can hear Balls laughing behind him and he tries to let it spur him on, even as he spots Osborne's languid, vaguely amused look.

"This-this _is_ about politics-it's _his_ politics and they have _failed-"_ It's not quite as strong as he means it to be, even when bolstered by the roars of the backbenchers, and Cameron's just _smirking-_

"No answer on walk-in centres-let's try him on another decision he's made-that's been the cause of the crisis-" He's losing his way a little and he has to keep looking down because every time his eyes meet Cameron's, some sort of-

Some sort of _jolt_ goes through him, has him gripping the edge of the dispatch box for control or calm or-

And he can't concentrate whenever he looks at Cameron, because he's-

He's so-

 _Angry,_ or something like it-

"When he decided to reduce the availability of social care services-" He can hear his own voice getting louder, breath tearing more harshly at his throat. "So that 300,000 fewer older people are getting the help they need-wasn't it blindingly obvious-"

 _Hammer that in_ , Stewart had said. _Make them focus on obvious choices, common sense-_

"That if people couldn't get the care they needed at home, it would have a big impact on A&E?"

He sinks down and as Cameron climbs to his feet almost lazily, Ed feels a rush of _something-_

He thinks it's anger. It should be anger.

But it makes his hands clench and his pulse hammer rapidly and something sharp and furious rise in his chest so that he just wants to-

 _Grab_ Cameron-

Just _grab_ him and-

Ed has to grind his teeth, and he turns and hisses something at Balls-even he's not sure what, just to _shove_ some of the feeling out-

It barely helps, even with Balls' fierce nods and the firm, watchful silence of Harriet on his left. He feels almost sick with it, and his chest's almost aching with how fast his heart's beating.

Cameron's voice is still curled, languid, and even through the clenched teeth and heart pounding, Ed has to catch every word of it and he can't ever decide if it's because it's his job or not.

* * *

 

David loves the outrage that rises from the Labour benches, especially when he knows he's got the upper hand.

He supposes some might agree with the "imp in his nature" remark, but on this occasion at least, he thinks it's rather justified.

Now, he watches Miliband as he climbs upright-casually, knowing it will only serve to irk Miliband more-and runs through the order in his head again. _Political football_ had worked better than he'd thought, drawing Miliband's voice louder, and introducing the topic without actually mentioning it-

 _Save it until the end_ , George had said. _Until there's one more question._

The words had almost exploded out of Lynton's mouth. _Fucking perfect. It'll have a bigger impact and the whole country will get to watch him squirm._

David knows Miliband well, and so he chooses his words carefully.

"Again, absolutely no solutions-"

He bites back a grin at some of the shrieks that erupt from the backbenches.

"So presumably, if he _had_ any solutions, he would have implemented them in Wales. Now, he raises-"

He waits until the noise dies down a little. He doesn't look at Miliband, savouring the moment where he can picture the look on Miliband's face. "He raises the importance of social care-"

Vaguely relevant to the question, exactly the sort of thing that gets Miliband riled.

"And I agree, and that is why from the 1st of April, we are putting £5 billion more into social care via the Better Care Fund. Up until-up until now-"

He raises his voice a little. _Distract him, make him come out with something-_

"The Labour party has told us _not to introduce_ the Better Care Fund-"

 _Patronize him a little_ , he can hear Lynton saying. _You know what Miliband's like, make him want to prove himself-_

"I assume from that that they now support this important investment."

Miliband's up almost before he's down and David knows even before he glances at him that he's hit the jackpot, even as Miliband's words spill out, too fast, wavering and angry-

"OK, there's one very simple solution-" His finger stabs the air like a child and David regards him with a vicious pang of amusement, the way his eyes are glimmering ominously, like a toddler not sure whether it wants to cry or not.

Miliband's finger stabs again, a little frantically. "Get rid of this _useless_ Prime Minister-"

David bursts out laughing, even as the Labour benches cheer. He's not the only one-George is creased in mirth, especially when his gaze roams to Balls across the chamber, taking in the sight of his eyes bulging. William too, is laughing, as is Jeremy, who nudges David even as Miliband glowers at them.

"And today irony was lost" intones Jeremy in his ear and David snorts with laughter, while Theresa's shoulders shake.

Miliband, for all the cheers, is tripping over his words.

"N-no-no-no answer-no answer on care for the elderly-no answer on care for the elderly-"

"This really is rather the definition of sad clown" William says over Nick's shoulder and David, who had been regaining control of himself, promptly collapses again in laughter.

"When he decided-n-next-next thing he did-" Miliband looks furious with himself, which makes David grin more, just to irritate him.

"To ignore the pleas of doctors, nurses and patients-" Miliband's finger's waving again. David takes a deep breath to calm his own laughter, running over the words in his own mind. This is it, now-next question-

"To plough ahead with his damaging top-down reorganization-"

"I'd yawn" Jeremy mutters into David's ear, over the cheers behind Miliband. "But it'd probably send him into cardiac arrest."

David snorts.

"Wasn't it blindingly obvious that if you dir-divert £3 billion out of patient care, it would have a big impact on A&E?"

Miliband actually steers himself round into a defence position, as if they're fencing. David has a job not to choke on his own laughter.

But he doesn't because that was Miliband's penultimate question and so he's getting up and this is it.

"Our changes have cut bureaucracy and saved £4.8 billion" he says, getting the figures out of the way first. "That is why there are 9,000 more doctors, there are 3,000 more nurses, there are 6 million more people getting patient appointments-"

The clamour of noise rings around him and David just lets it carry his words higher even as he takes a breath. "But you can see it plain as-"

"Order!"

Fucking Bercow.

"Order-there's too much noise in the chamber on both sides." Bercow glances at him and David has to begrudgingly admit that Bercow might have just done him a favour-it will give his words even more impact now-

"The Prime Minister's answers must be heard. The Prime Minister?"

David gets up, leans on the dispatch box. "But you can see this-"He gestures at Miliband- _as if you can't even be bothered to point at him_ -"As plain as you like-"

He raises his voice, all the better to let the hacks in the press gallery catch his every word.

"The Leader of the Opposition-apparently said to the Political Editor of the BBC-"

A few "Aahs!" break out from their side. David feels the anticipation rise, thrumming in the air, for what his own next words will be.

He takes a deep breath.

""I want to _weaponize_ the NHS!""

The outrage smashes over the words, flung from the heights of the backbenches. There isn't a pause or a breath-fury floods over the chamber, as if they'd known what David was going to say, which most of them hadn't.

 _"Shame!"_ The cry echoes a few times around the chamber, genuine outrage cracking in their voices, and David feels that well of fury he'd felt two days ago, felt over and over again over the last forty eight hours, rise again in his chest, and he feels for a moment the cold bars of that hospital bed, the rattle of breaths, each one struggling in and out of his little boy's lungs.

The words snap out of his mouth, more loudly now. "That's what he said, and I think that is _disgraceful-"_ He almost spits the word out.

"The NHS-" He spares Miliband the briefest flicker of a glance.

"Is not a _weapon-"_

Miliband's brow is creased, his eyes narrowed. But David knows him well, knows his looks too well, and he sees the slight widening of the eyes, the slightest tightening of his lips.

He did say it. The knowledge slices sure and sharp into David's chest, the slightest steel-edged cut of certainty. Not that he'd doubted Nick's word or Lynton's-but to see the proof of it in front of him-

Something seems to squeeze tightly around his ribs.

He _did_ say it.

"It's a way we care for our _families-"_ The support swells behind him, cheers and roars rising in a wave that completely drowns out Labour's benches. "It's a way we care for the elderly! It's a way we look after the frail!"

The cheers are ringing in his ears now. His eyes catch George, but George is staring up at the press gallery, with the slightest smile playing at the corners of his mouth. David doesn't need to follow his gaze to know that Lynton's excitement has been proved more than justified.

"So perhaps when he _gets_ to his feet-" His eyes are on Miliband now, even as Balls shouts and Harman murmurs worriedly to Eagle.

Miliband isn't looking at him. Miliband isn't looking at him at all.

And somehow, that just makes the words snap louder from David's throat, some untouched fury cracking the letters into pieces-

"He will _deny_ that he said he wanted to _weaponize_ the NHS-"

He summons up every last bit of bile he has, from the moment the words had first sunk in, the coldness of those hospital bed bars reverberating in his chest.

"A _disgusting thing to say."_

And with that, he sinks down in his seat, the cheers rising furiously around him, Jeremy nodding, fierce support next to him, hand touching David's sleeve in a silent gesture. David grits his teeth, smiling as best he can, even as his heart beats painfully loud in his ribs and his smile feels stretched drumskin tight.

* * *

 

"The Leader of the Opposition-apparently said to the Political Editor of the BBC-"

Ed's mind flounders for a moment, searching for whatever he can have said, whatever he said to Nick that's relevant to the NHS-

It's bad, he knows very suddenly. It's bad and he can tell, just from the look on Cameron's face.

Cameron waits barely a breath, and Ed feels and resents the anticipation that climbs higher, and then Cameron says it.

""I want to _weaponize_ the NHS!""

The words hover there, ringing, and Ed struggles to grasp them for a second. What? _What-he-he-_ He's shaking his head, but his mind is scrambling, catching at Nick's name, grabbing at whenever he last spoke with him-

"That's what he said-" Cameron's still talking and even as Ed's shaking his head, Balls yelling something next to him, some knowledge jolts surely into his chest, the utter certainty in Cameron's voice-Cameron wouldn't sound so certain unless he _knew-_

"And I think that is _disgraceful-"_ Cameron's still shouting and there's a bite of anger in the tone that makes Ed flinch, cold in his chest, and he wracks his brain harder, desperate to remember-his last interview with Nick had to be before Christmas, November even-

"The NHS is not a _weapon-"_

Capitalism, responsible capitalism, health spending, they talked about-

"It's a way we care for our _families-"_

The strategy, they talked about the strategy, and they went through their arguments, their weapons, their-

Oh. Shit. No. No. _No-_

"It's a way we care for the elderly-" Cameron's throwing his hand about on each point now, the tide of noise welling around him.

He remembers that room, Robinson and a bunch of others around him, and it had been more casual by that point, Robinson joking about his Rubix Cube, and he'd just been going through it all, Robinson asking what arguments he planned to put forward-

_And how's that going to work? How's that going to prove that you're better placed than the Tories to manage the economy? To be in Number 10?_

And he'd talked about how they'd be fighting the cuts, changing the austerity culture, that they'd be targeting the-

Twin threats, that's what he'd called them. Cuts and privatisation, and the damage they were doing, the twin threats of the Tories, and the NHS-the NHS was a prime example, he'd told Nick, warming to the theme, because it was, this was an example, the NHS was _crumbling_ under the Tories, and he told Nick that he wanted to show that, to hold the NHS up as an example in his arguments-

"It's a way we look after the frail-" Cameron's shouting and Ed can still hear the outrage from the Tory benches and there's less of the manufactured fury there, Ed notes somewhere in his brain, vaguely. There's outrage ripped raw, genuine and jagged and furious-

He said it. He said it and Rachel had been fielding another question and Bob had been making notes and Anna had been nodding along, and none of them had noticed.

But Nick had, of course. Nick had, and Cameron's found it out. He's got hold of it and he's waited until now, and now no-one will even listen to the rest of the argument because Ed's not stupid enough to think that this won't be the headline.

Balls is yelling and Harriet's murmuring something, but not to him, and her face is pulled tight, and Ed can't even see Andy's face, but he knows it's bad, it's bad-

"And so, maybe, when he _gets_ to his feet-"

Ed's eyes flicker up before he can stop them and the sight of every hack in the press gallery typing furiously on their phone is like a punch in the chest.

He can almost feel it, the words being scribbled out in jagged biro on a white page and punched out in digits and code scrambled together to form letters on a screen and slapped black at the top of a paper tomorrow, screaming in a flat, loud, unmissable headline.

Cameron's done that to him, and that's all anyone will make of his arguments now.

"He will _deny_ that he said he wanted to _weaponize_ the NHS-"

Cameron's eyes are on his now and Ed hears, all too clearly, the bite of triumph under the judgement. He hears the triumph and underneath, he hears a snap of real fury, broken and spat out, and maybe that makes it worse.

(Because Ed did say it.)

Cameron glances at him and Ed meets his eyes and catches the challenge there, the dare that Cameron knows he won't be able to accept, because Cameron _knows-_

He wouldn't have said it if he didn't.

Their eyes meet with a jolt. In that moment, Ed hates him. Viscerally and with that almost sickening jolt, he hates him.

And under it all, he remembers his son's arms around Cameron's neck, and shoves that away, with another jolt of something like nausea, because that person cannot be the same one who he's staring at, wanting-

Hatred rises in him, an irrational wavering in his chest, and the impotency of it just makes it more fierce.

"A _disgusting thing to say_ -" Cameron almost spits the words out and sits down, not even looking at Ed.

He doesn't need to. The adjective's done his work for him, like the verb and the phrase and both their voices, accidental and deliberate.

A bitter hating roils in Ed's chest, wild and furious, at Cameron and the cameras and those words in his own voice-

He's already upright, even before Bercow's finished saying his name, even though he knows that's the headline, that Cameron's made it the headline, that he probably planned the whole thing out-

"I'll tell him-I'll tell him what's-" The anger seizes hold of his throat. "I'll tell him-I'll tell him what's disgusting-I'll tell him what's disgusting-" His eyes meet Cameron's and the look on Cameron's face makes the fury flare higher, furious and frantic and wild-

"I'll tell him-" The words sputter out helplessly, and when Bercow interrupts the chaos, it's almost a relief. Ed barely hears whatever he says. He's breathing too hard, clutching his papers too tightly, too aware of Balls muttering to Andy and Osborne smirking at him across the chamber, tapping his wrist pointedly.

"Tick tock" Osborne mouths and the gesture doesn't even make anything worse.

Cameron's not looking at him because Cameron doesn't have to. He's just looking down with his perfectly smooth hair and his perfectly practiced smile and his perfectly polished words that are ripping Ed's arguments apart.

Ed grits his teeth and suddenly, without wanting to, he's seeing Cameron's arms around Daniel, the way he turned over Daniel's Peso toy, and he's feeling the weight of Cameron's chest pushing into his, the smell of his aftershave and soap and his own eyes wanting to flicker closed-

Bercow's saying his name. He's upright and that image is all there is now, and it just makes it worse, makes him want to _grab_ Cameron and-

"I'll tell him what's disgusting-" The words crack in the air, harsher now, and Ed wants to throw something at him, do something to _shatter_ that unruffled look-

"It's a Prime Minister-" The edge of a lisp creeps into the words. "Who said people could put their trust in him on the NHS-"

He feels Cameron's arms around his shoulders then, the brush of Cameron's hair against his fingers and sees that smile on Cameron's face when Ed had grabbed his hand to stop him taking the book back-

(His sleeve.)

(Grabbed his _sleeve-)_

All of it stabs hard in his memory, sinks into his chest, catching his breath.

"And he has _betrayed that trust."_

The words are spat out and Ed feels like a child as he turns away, as though he's screaming furiously, throwing an impotent tantrum.

And when he thinks of Cameron in his house a few weeks ago, Flo on his own lap and Cameron's hand in Sam's hair, Ed feels a strange, sad, sick feeling sink into the pit of his stomach.

"He is in _denial_ about the crisis in the NHS-" He stabs the words out with his finger, can feel Balls' frenetic nodding behind him.

"This is a crisis on _his_ watch, as a result of _his_ decisions-"

He can already hear Alastair's voice in his head. _You're not fucking denying it..._

He can't.

And that knowledge makes his voice louder, as though that might somehow strengthen the words. "That's why people know if they want to get rid of the crisis in the NHS, they have to get _rid_ of _this_ _Prime Minister._

He moves back too quickly and the words come out too quickly and all he can hear is _weaponize._

And himself not denying it once.

And as Cameron climbs to his feet, he knows, and he knows Cameron knows, that's what the public will hear, too.

Ed almost bangs himself back into the seat, not even caring about the childish pang of satisfaction it sends through him.

He's so busy staring at Cameron he almost forgets his own papers, so he grapples for them at the dispatch box, even as Cameron leans against it almost casually, his voice infuriatingly smooth.

"If ever you wanted proof that they want to use this issue as a political football-" Cameron's voice is curled and there's a smirk playing at his mouth. Ed fights the irrational urge to just-

Reach across and-

"You've just seen it."

Cameron spares him one glance, flickering quickly under his eyelashes.

"Ignore him" Harriet mutters.

Ed tries to nod, wraps his hands around his knees.

"And stop looking like you've been _kicked_ , Ed, you're on bloody _camera-"_

Ed tries to smile. His hands tighten around his knees. He's not sure how well it works.

"And-and-and if Labour-if Labour has an answer to the NHS, can they explain-"

Ed's heart sinks.

Cameron's voice is louder, rounded with its' own confidence. "Why they cut the budget in Wales by 8%?"

The cheers rise louder as Ed's knuckles whiten around his knees.

"That is where Labour is in charge-" Cameron's voice is surer now, stronger. "All parts of the United Kingdom face a health challenge-but-"

Cameron turns to him. "The _real_ risk to the NHS is the risk of _un_ funded spending-spending commitments, bringing _chaos_ to our economy-"

The economy line again.

"Which would _wreck_ our NHS." Cameron's finger is stabbing the air now, the shouts rising around him. "And that is why the choice at the election will be stick with the people with the long-term plan-"

Cameron leans forward. His cheeks are flushed, his voice louder now, and Ed feels a strange rush in his chest-something like excitement and dread. Like being on a rollercoaster.

"Not a Labour Party, which would _wreck_ our economy and _wreck_ _our NHS."_

Cameron sits down but the cheers just go on and Ed becomes aware that his heart is beating painfully hard. He swallows, and then Balls says "He didn't say it a second-"

"He didn't have to." Harriet's voice is flat and Ed's stomach lurches.

He tries to say something, something to reassure them all. He's meant to be calm. He's in charge, it's his job.

But he said it. He can feel it from all around him, the silent thrumming in the air that no one on their side will say out loud. He said it.

Ed, almost before he realises, follows Harriet's gaze upwards and grimaces. The hacks are frantic, chattering, phones to ears, and Ed knows, somewhere gut-deep _knows_ , that it isn't good, or that at least, it isn't good for him.

His gaze falls on Cameron, Cameron who's done this with one quote and that urge surges, sharp and sudden in his chest to just-

Reach across and just-

 _Grab him,_ or-

And the worst bit is that _he's_ the one who did it, who gave Cameron the words, and that just makes him seethe silently and stare all the more and he doesn't know if all the fury tangled and choking in his chest is for Cameron or for himself or, in some strange way, for them both.

* * *

 

David knows he's won as he sits down and Scott's question is just the icing on the cake, even as the anger pulses in his chest.

(It would be easier if it was just anger. Instead, it's painfully wrapped up with the fierce, aching triumph of watching Miliband squirm and the harder, colder fury underneath that leaves a vague feeling of nausea gripping his stomach.)

"-asking to join us and also saying that the only people fit to run the economy are the Prime Minister and the Chancellor-" Soctt waves away the roars from the Labour side. "The _surprise_ was that the gentleman was the ex-chairman of the Ilford North Labour Party!"

David doesn't even have to try, letting his first attempt at an answer be buoyed by the cheers that rise around him.

"I'm sure that's the first of, ah-four million conversations he'll be having-"

The laughter breaks out before he's even finished. "In the coming elections, as I-"

He grins at Miliband. Grins deliberately, even before he takes in the look on Miliband's face, the narrowed eyes, the worrying at his lip. Grins, because it sends a sharp stab of satisfaction through him, sharper than the cold sick anger that slices through his chest.

 _"His_ month's going well-" he says, as an offhand comment, and looks away to say something about the economy.

_Keep mentioning the economy._

As they predicted, most of Labour's questions are on the NHS, and as they planned, David makes it work for the Tories.

Over and over again, he brings up their work, points out Wales and then, in a question from Mahmood, gets the chance to throw one last parting shot (Lynton's idea-"Get it into the hacks' heads one more time"-), and so after he rattles through what they're doing to make things better-and manages to bring the Simon Stevens plan in this time-he raises his voice a little.

"But, Mr. Speaker, people around the country will have been able to see-there is _one_ part of this House of Commons working to _improve_ our NHS for all its' users-"

He doesn't mind almost shouting the last part, still louder than the clamour of noise rising from the Labour benches. ( _Because they're scared,_ he can almost hear Lynton smirking. _Keep going with it, you've riled them now.)_

"There is _another_ part of the House of Commons that wants to _weaponize_ the NHS-"

He doesn't even spare Miliband a glance.

"In the most _disgusting_ phrase I think I've heard in politics-and that wants to treat it like a political football-"

He leans closer to the dispatch box, aims his last words at Labour. "And I _know_ they'll reach the right conclusion."

And with that, he sits down.

He knows he's won then. He knows and so does everyone else and when Bercow calls for order, and Jeremy begins preparing his notes, David turns to pat him on the back, only to find George already doing the same thing.

"You'll be great" George says, with a quick wink at David.

"Don't praise me, will you?" David gives him a grin, but pats Jeremy's arm. "You'll be fine. "

"After all-" and George now raises his voice loud enough to let it carry across the chamber. "Burnham's basically _nothing."_

None of them even look across at the opposite benches while Theresa rolls her eyes at their antics.

"Tories'll be cheering you on" David assures Jeremy, with a squeeze to his shoulder. "And we've got Lynton."

Jeremy extends a hand and they shake. Jeremy gives him a grin. "See you on the other side?"

David looks around for Nick, but he's already gone. William's there, though, joining David to pat Jeremy's arm.

After a few more moments of wishing him good luck, David gives George a quick wink. "After all-" he says, letting his own voice carry across the chamber this time-"Now, everyone knows what _they_ think of the NHS."

He laces the _"they"_ with as much venom as he can possibly muster.

He's only watching out of the corner of his eye, but he sees the slightest flinch braid itself into Burnham's face.

He doesn't look at Miliband at all.

It's when, with a final squeeze to Jeremy's shoulder, he leaves the chamber for a few moments with the others following him, that it rushes back to him, and he takes a deep breath, as, he knows without looking, George will too.

Neither of them mention it until a short while later up in David's office, surrounded by Philip and Theresa and advisors, and then David takes a deep breath, the triumph of PMQs already fading. "So" he says. "What's the latest from Paris?"

* * *

 

"Tell me you didn't fucking say it" is the first thing out of Balls' mouth the second they reach Ed's office. He folds his arms. "Tell me Cameron's gone deranged with spending time with you or he's fucking lying or it's a case of bloody mistaken identity for all I care, just _tell me you didn't fucking say it."_

Ed looks at the assembled faces. Balls, Yvette, Harriet, Stewart, Lucy, Spencer and Tim.

He swallows. "I-"

Balls almost howls. "For fuck's _SAKE-"_

"Ed, this is bad" Harriet says, predictably calm. "In fact, this isn't just bad-"

"Well" Lucy chips in. "It's not campaign-ending bad. Or election-losing bad. But it is quite bad, yes. Rather bad. In fact, very bad. It's-"

"Here's an idea, Lucy" suggests Spencer, with a sniff. "Why don't you just devise a little scale of how bad everything is. Maybe we could start off with quite shit, really, progress to complete fucking shit, and then maybe if it's really-"

Balls is turning away. "Oh, for fuck's sake-"

"Rev it up to ultra complete and _total_ fucking shit-"

"All right-" Stewart has his hands between them while Yvette appears to be slapping Balls on the arm.

"How about dickhead?" Lucy remarks.

Spencer blinks. "What, as one of the levels?"

Lucy arches an eyebrow. "No."

"For God's sake, I'll phone Greg in a minute-" Harriet almost whacks Stewart on the arm. _"He's_ meant to be one of the people in charge-"

"Fucking _Andy-"_ Balls almost erupts as he spins round to face Ed. "Andy's still fucking in there against fucking _Hunt_ and he's got to sodding defend us on the NHS after _that."_

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it again.

Balls makes an incoherent sound and turns away. It isn't as enjoyable as it should be.

"Ed-" Harriet's got her hand on his arm and Ed almost flinches.

(He can't stop thinking of that smirk at Cameron's mouth and the thought makes his fists clench in something that feels hopeless, something like anger-)

"Ed, we need to get out a defence and stay calm." Stewart meets his eyes. "And we need to find out what's going on in Paris."

 _Jesus._ Of course.

Ed squeezes his eyes shut, struggles to order his thoughts. "Paris" he says, because of course, Paris, Paris, because that leaves everything else in the dust as it should do.

Spencer, who's still sulking, grimaces as he reads his phone. "Oh Christ-"

"What?"

"I'll tell you fucking _what."_

Oh God.

Ed turns round slowly, as though that might make the sight that awaits him any more welcome.

Tom storming down the corridor towards them with a face like thunder still remains one of the least welcome sights that Ed has ever seen.

 _"Weaponized_ is what. _Weaponized_ is what is on every fucking hack's lips. Fucking _weaponized."_ Tom looks as though he might kick something. Ed resists the urge to step back.

"Where's Bob?" Stewart asks, jaw working, mouth tight.

"Briefing." Tom almost stamps his foot. "He told me to come up here. Haven't got a fucking clue why."

"I could take a guess" mutters Lucy.

Tom's eyes narrow.

 _"Brilliant."_ Balls throws his hands into the air. If Ed was in a better state of mind, he would note that it is probably a cardinal rule of life never to let Tom and Balls within seven feet of each other.

Yvette smacks Balls' arm again and Harriet tells Stewart to call Greg and Tom's still yelling at Lucy while Lucy yells back and Spencer is staring at his phone and all Ed can think is how much Cameron would love to see this.

The thought makes his fists clench but it also sends another pang through him, something that aches and twists in his chest. Something that hurts.

* * *

 

David smiles, Angela's hand in his, Twenty hours earlier, his main thought was whether or not he could get Angela to budge even the slightest inch on the EU and free movement.

("No" George had said, when David had bemoaned this to him on the House of Commons terrace a couple of nights before. "Let me break it down for you. No, she's not quite evil, but she's in that dangerous territory."

"The dangerous territory of not being evil?"

"It's an underrated hazard.")

Now, with the cameras flashing and his smile aching a little, David notes with an edge of bitterness that this might be one of the few times he has known for certain that he and Angela are thinking exactly the same thing.

It's when the door closes behind them and Angela turns to look at him and they both speak at once that he knows it again. "MI5-"

"Your security services-"

They share a smile. A very small smile.

It's little comfort that, for once, their priorities are the same.

* * *

 

Ed heads to Andy's office after hovering for fifteen minutes in the corridor-which pisses him off because he doesn't fucking _hover_ and because it meant every five minutes he'd have someone else in his face asking if he thought Miliband actually used the word _weaponized_ or not.

Andy's slumped at his desk when Ed walks in. Ed rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on, Burnham. Life could be worse. You could be fucking Miliband right now."

Andy's head flies up. Ed rolls his eyes. "Fucking being an _adjective_ , Burnham."

Andy blinks. Ed winces. "Christ, you've made me _think_ of it now."

The slightest hint of a grin appears at Andy's mouth, which spurs Ed on a little. But all too quickly, the smile vanishes and Andy rests his head on his hands.

"Hunt got away with it" is all he says and Ed rolls his eyes, takes a seat across from Andy's desk. "Hunt always gets away with it." He'd known Hunt was going to get away with it from the moment Cameron came out with those sodding figures, that were aimed at Andy.

 _Did you?_ he'd asked, turning to Andy quickly, just to be sure, but he'd already been sure. He was always sure, with Andy.

 _No_ , Andy had said, with a slightly incredulous laugh, their eyes locking as they sat pressed against each other, and that had been enough for Ed.

"It's not _him."_ Andy almost grinds the word out through his teeth. "It's Miliband."

Ed blinks.

Andy lifts his head so he's looking Ed straight in the eyes. "Hunt won because that's all anyone's going to bloody say about us and the NHS for the next three weeks. Because Miliband fucking said _that."_

Ed doesn't bother denying it. "How many were talking about it?"

Andy snorts. "When I left, half the hacks I went past were saying something about _weaponized._ Unless Osborne's said they're going to weaponize the economy in the last hour, I think it's a pretty safe fucking bet it was us they were talking about."

Ed lets his head fall back, and rocks the chair too. "Fucking Miliband" he says, mostly to the ceiling. "What the fuck was he thinking, not picking up on that?"

"What the fuck was he thinking _saying_ it?"

Ed snorts. "You know what he's like-probably one of Stears' stupid phrases. "Oh, _yah_ , let's weaponize the NHS-it sounds sophisticated, you know, like a plan of action, yah-"" He shrugs. "I'd have told him if Yvette hadn't basically assaulted me-" Off Andy's look, Ed snorts. "Oh shut up, I've had a hard day."

Andy snorts this time. _"You've_ had a hard day-" He rests his head on his hand again. "God knows how you managed not to punch him when you heard that."

"I was focused on not punching fucking Cameron, actually."

"Why?"

Ed almost chokes. This is quite an achievement, as the only substance present to choke on is air. _"Why?"_

Andy shrugs. "OK, not _why._ More-" He shrugs again, meeting Ed's eyes. "You know we'd have done the same thing."

Ed glares at him. He glares more because Andy's right.

"We're allowed to be fucking pissed off, you know, Burnham-" he says, letting his chair fall forward with a bang. "You know he only used it because he couldn't answer the fucking question-"

"No." Andy's voice is quieter now. "He used it because he knew it would work."

Ed glares again.

"Because it's _bad._ If that's what he said-"

"Yeah, it is pretty fucking bad." Ed resists the temptation to pull out his phone and check just how much utter shit is being rained down upon them from the lofty heights of Twitter profiles.

"Yeah." Andy meets his eyes again. "But not just-bad _electorally._ It's just-" Andy sighs and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, sadder. "Really fucking bad."

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it again, because the fact is, Andy's _right._ It's not just bad for _them-_ it's bad that Miliband _said_ it, because-

"Do you think he means it?" Andy says quietly and Ed draws in a breath to answer before hesitating, eyes locked with Andy's.

If Miliband said that-well, was unguarded enough to let it slip, even for a moment-

Well-

He meant it on _some-_

Ed sighs, suddenly feeling fucking exhausted and it's only the third day back.

He scrubs a hand across his eyes. "I don't know, Andy" he says quietly and that's all he can say.

He knows from Andy's face immediately that this isn't enough, not nearly fucking enough, and he feels a surge of fury at Miliband, Miliband and his weaponizing-and what a fucking _poxy_ comment, as well, when you think about it-for managing to make Andy look this fucking-

He looks _crushed._

Ed watches him for a few moments, then takes a deep breath. "Mate" he says, a phrase he picked up from Andy without even knowing it, and he reaches out and tugs at Andy's sleeve. Andy's eyes widen only the slightest bit. "Come on. Let's go and eat."

"I'm not-"

"Come on, Burnham, it's not going to help the NHS if you give them an extra fucking patient, is it?"

Andy stares at him for a moment and then, for the first time, a real hint of a smile breaks across his mouth.

It's when he gets up, reaching for his suit, draped over the back of his chair, that Ed says "I mean, if we had to choose them an extra patient, we could just give them fucking Miliband."

Andy's smile dimples his cheeks and he laughs then-an uneven, smaller laugh, but a laugh all the same.

It encourages Ed. It might not be as strong as it should be, but it's still there.

He only wishes he could apply that kind of hope to other parts of politics and yield similar results.

* * *

 

"Mum said no cushions" Nancy says, as Flo scrambles onto the couch. Elwen rolls his eyes.

"That was _once_ " he says, holding up a hand. "Nearly a _year_ ago. And it was pillows."

"What was-what was I-" Flo's dangling on and off the couch and Nancy takes her hand, tugging her down gently. "Calm down, Flo-"

Past her little sister's head, she can see the police on the TV screen and she feels as though her stomach is squeezing itself tightly.

Flo doesn't notice, burbling the lyrics to "Let It Go" to herself, ponytail bouncing.

"Flo, you need to be careful-" Elwen grabs his sister under her arms and lifts her back onto the couch. "Ms. Merkel's going to come in, so you have to be good-"

Flo squirms back and forth against Elwen's knee-Elwen isn't quite big enough to hold her, so she slips loose. "What was I-when-where-"

"When where what?"

"When we had-the pillows and-" Flo grabs for a cushion. Nancy grabs it back.

"When we went on holiday to Germany, remember-Flo, be _careful-"_ Elwen grabs her again as Flo wrestles herself around the couch.

"Why's there loud men?"

"What are you talking about, _loud men-"_ Elwen manoeuvres his sister back onto the couch.

 _"Loud men-"_ Flo points at the screen. "Telly-there were _bangs-"_

Elwen's eyes find Nancy's over their sister's head.

"That was just the telly, Flo" Nancy says, and then she says "You know, like Dad's films?"

Flo's eyes widen and she nods. " _Yes-"_ she shrieks, almost launching herself off the couch. "Yes, yes, _films-"_

"Flo-"

"Right, so when Ms. Merkel comes-" Gita walks in, carrying two dresses. "She's going to be greeted by-"

Flo throws herself at Gita's waist, nearly knocking her glass of orange juice everywhere-Elwen rescues it at the last moment.

"Not that-" Gita lifts Flo anyway, passing the dresses to Nancy. Flo burrows her face into her neck, before kissing Gita's cheek happily.

"Where's Mum?" Elwen moves Flo's glass further onto the table, while Nancy reaches up to play with her sister's ponytail.

Gita rolls her eyes. "Emily and Isabel wanted her to try on one more dress. She's counting the seconds until she can come and hug one of you. Any one of you, don't get cocky."

A few minutes later, Florence has had her hair pulled into two neat pigtails and is beaming in her dress, while Elwen's in a white shirt and Mum's brushing Nancy's hair, carefully tugging her dress lower.

"You can take it off later, after the dinner" Mum says, so just Nancy can hear her. "Put on that hoodie of yours'."

Nancy manages to laugh but Mum's hands still at her neck and she says "Are you all right, Nance?"

Nancy doesn't look at her mum. "Yeah" she says, quietly.

Ahead of her, Elsa spins around on the TV screen, blonde hair spinning with her. One of the songs is playing-Nancy isn't sure which. In the back of her head, she thinks she hears another loud bang, but when she looks back at the screen, all there is is the film and Flo laughing.

It's only then that she realises that Mum's still waiting and Nancy could tell her, but she listens to Flo laughing and thinks of Dad downstairs and then hears those gunshots again, echoing at the back of her mind.

"Yeah" she says again, and swallows, and then the door's opening, but Mum still watches her, even when she lets go, Nancy's hair falling over her hands.

When Ms. Merkel comes into the room, Flo opens her mouth and immediately has her hands simultaneously squeezed by Nancy and Elwen.

Dad steps in behind her and Mum hugs him and kisses his cheek while Ms. Merkel looks at Flo. Flo dimples and Ms. Merkel just watches for a moment, before she smiles back slowly, and Nancy feels Flo relax a little, and feels a wave of gratitude herself towards Ms. Merkel for returning the smile.

"And you remember my children-" Dad ruffles Elwen's hair and Flo peeps round her brother's elbow, grinning.

"Of course-"

Ms. Merkel isn't the sort of grown up who ignores kids-she crouches down and holds out her hand so Flo can shake it. "I hear you want to be Elsa, Florence?" Her accent sharpens the words.

Flo's dimples deepen at being remembered. " _Yes, yes, yes-"_ She claps her hands even as one is still being shaken.

Mum laughs and touches her shoulder. "Sorry-"

Ms. Merkel says something but Nancy's too busy tidying Flo's pigtails to hear properly.

"And Elwen-" Ms. Merkel smiles, the way she did when Elwen nearly smashed an ornament with his football and Dad went mad and shoved him on the naughty step for sixteen minutes, which is twice the number of minutes for each year of Elwen's age-

"You still smash things?"

Elwen laughs politely and shakes her hand and Nancy's suddenly struck by the realisation that Elwen actually looks a lot like Dad when he does that.

"We are not stealing you for Bayern Munich?" Ms. Merkel is laughing and Elwen beams, Flo chipping in with "He wants to play for _Chelsea."_

Ms. Merkel, Mum and Dad all laugh and Flo beams at Nancy. Nancy hugs her tightly, feeling a sharp squeeze of affection for her little sister. She thinks of all the noise on the TV and hugs Flo more tightly still.

"And Nancy-" Ms. Merkel's eyes twinkle now, the way they had last time when Mum had been telling them off again about the pillow fight and Nancy had told her that it was a healthy expression of conflict resolution.

"Hello-" Nancy holds out her hand and smiles, the way Dad does.

"You're still writing stories, I hope?"

"I'm writing an opera, now."

"Nance is pretty creative-" Dad squeezes her shoulder and Nancy nestles into his side as he kisses her hair.

"I can see." Ms. Merkel winks at her and then says so just Nancy can hear, "As is her way of resolving conflicts."

Nancy beams. Flo giggles and huddles into her side, the words going over her head. It's only when Dad claps his hands together and starts talking quietly to Ms. Merkel about France and Paris that Nancy glances back at the TV. Elsa's spinning around, singing a song that no one can hear, and Nancy hears those gunshots again, echoing one by one.

* * *

 

"We're sorry" is all a Prime Minister can say to a President when something like this happens.

"I'm sorry."

"We'll help you."

"We've been briefed."

(Alex and Andrew, telling them the latest death toll. Both him and Angela looking away, so neither has to see the flicker of emotion that the other knows can't help anything anyway. The death toll so far ringing in their ears. _Ten to twelve. Probably higher. Copycat attacks expected._

_And we haven't caught them. We haven't caught them.)_

"We'll do whatever we can to help."

The cracks in Hollande's voice on the other end of the phone. The way his and Angela's eyes catch for a moment, each of them looking at each other, seeing their own expression reflected on the other's face.

Both of them looking away, knowing the same thought is flickering in the other's mind. _Thank God. Thank God it wasn't us._

He knows they're both thinking it later, as they stand side by side, the cameras flashing, each behind their own podium, the British and German flags hanging behind them.

"Obviously, all our thoughts are with the French people, following the barbaric attack this morning-"

_How many are there going to be? How many of them had children? How many of them knew they were going to die before they did?_

"The German Chancellor, Angela, and I have spoken to Francois Hollande this afternoon, and offered our full support-"

_How can we help him when this has happened in his capital city, how can we do anything when he'll know all the time that these were his citizens, they're his, they're his, and he couldn't do anything, he couldn't do anything to stop it-_

"Any assistance our intelligence agencies can give to the French at this vital time-"

_What can't they see? What can't we see? What is there, going on right now-are they thinking of something right this moment? Is there an office? A hospital? A school? Full of people who don't know that they're the ones who've been picked out-who'll be staring at this and not know what's coming-_

"And we stand absolutely united with the French people against terrorism and against this threat to our values, free speech, the rule of democracy and respect, and it's absolutely essential that we defend those values today, and every day."

_How long is it going to be, how do we defend against this, how many others, how many others will be breathing one day and not the next-_

Islam's first question is about the attacks- _Prime Minister, this seems to be a different-horrifying events in Paris-a different type of attack, a different quantum of attack_ -and he gives the answers, the terror levels, collaboration, looking at free movement-

But there's no answer, he says. No single answer.

And there isn't, and there isn't and the attacks linger there, under every question, the way it will for God knows how long afterwards, when he looks at his own children's faces over dinner tonight, and sees them for a moment, the way he does in his nightmares, their eyes closed, their bodies sprawled unnaturally still, their little faces smeared with ash and tears and blood.

* * *

 

Nancy's still awake when the hand pats at her shoulder. She can feel the breathing behind her, the little hand patting at her cheek.

Without turning round, she pulls back the duvet and feels Flo's warm little body scramble up behind her and pat at Nancy's arms, as though reassuring herself that her sister's still there. Nancy doesn't turn round, but pats Flo's hand gently, squeezes once.

Within a few minutes, her sister's breathing has evened out, and Nancy lies still, staring into the dark. When she's sure Flo's asleep, she flops over onto her back so she can stare up at the ceiling.

She thinks about the news again and the way the shots had gone off, one by one.

She tries to picture what it's like to be here one moment, breathing and working and drawing and then to just be-gone. Not there. Wiped away.

Does it hurt? Does someone feel it when they die? Do they know when they're gone that they're gone? Do you know where you're going?

Nancy knows Ivan was asleep when he died, but no one on the news today was asleep.

She doesn't like to think about Ivan at night, but she bunches the duvet up between her hands and looks at Flo, sleeping next to her. Her chubby cheeks are smooth and soft in the glow of the nightlight.

She wonders if any of the people working at the magazine had a little girl.

She wriggles out from under the duvet and gives her sister a quick glance, but Flo's fast asleep.

Nancy crawls down to the end of the bed, rescues her hoodie from the chair, and, bare feet finding the carpet, pads quietly out of her bedroom.

* * *

 

David doesn't often lie awake at night, but after attacks, he does.

A part of him, a small part, has Merkel's words on a drumbeat in his head-not just about terror-

 _We'll need free movement_ , he'd said. _If we go for a referendum-_

And they'll have to go for a referendum. He's got at least fifty backbenchers who'll be breathing down his neck, and this is the only way to shut them up.

Angela had looked at him. And shaken her head.

_David, this could be a nightmare for you._

He'd spread his hands. _It's already a nightmare. And with UKIP-_

Angela had shaken her head. _Not just for you. All of us._

_By all of us, you mean-_

_The EU._ Angela had watched him sternly, head on one side. _They will not like this and they will not pretend that they like this._

_I don't need them to like it. I need them to agree to it._

He'd expected another form of _They won't agree to it,_ but Angela had just tilted her head to the side, a warning tone entering her voice.

 _They might agree to it,_ she'd said. _But agreeing to concessions would be skating on thin ice._

_For them?_

Angela's expression hadn't changed. _For all of us._

And now, lying in bed, that's one conversation he hears.

The rest of his thoughts spin and circle around gunshots.

He thinks of two men with guns, two men who could be heading for the French border even as he lies here, breathing slowly, his mind teeming.

And he thinks of the people lying in the offices. People with pens in hands and sentences half-typed and drawings half-coloured. Lives that had been half-lived or a quarter-lived or not even that, lives that were just barely breathed into.

He thinks of them and he thinks of a hundred questions he'd be advised not to think of.

How long did it take? Did they die straight away? Did their phones ring? Did people ring their phones and wait for them to answer?

Will it be us next?

And the images, the images he can't even tell Samantha about-

A school, crumbling. Desks turned over. An electric whiteboard, riddled with bullet holes. A child's coat strewn across the floor, sleeve trailing in a puddle of blood. Worksheets dotted with red and black with smoke.

Children, in their little school uniforms, spread out on their backs. Matchstick legs. Tears staining their cheeks. Little mouths too silent. Hair dampened with blood, strands sticking to their faces.

And always, his eyes roam to their faces, and his knees will buckle and vomit will twist from his stomach and grab at his throat, the horror slamming into him, emptying him out, everything out of him-

He looks at their faces, their little bodies sprawled out where they'll never move again, too still, too quiet, stained with blood, and he sees them.

Nancy. Elwen. And Florence.

(And still, sometimes, Ivan.)

He's learnt to bury his face in the pillow when he wakes up after an attack now. And he'll always wake up with the sick knowledge lodging itself in his chest that for some of them, it isn't a dream.

He doesn't know whether he hears a noise or just decides to get up-it's the middle of the night, the time when everything feels vaguely unreal anyway, and it's then that, careful not to wake Samantha, as he slides his glasses on and opens the bedroom door, he hears a sound.

He stops, automatically tensing, mind running through the variety of options as to who it could be, reminding himself that they are currently in one of the most secure places on earth, that any security breach is near-impossible, and that-

He hears another noise and this time it's coming from the living room. David sighs, pushes his glasses higher, and heads off to investigate-he'd bet on it being Elwen, if he had to, though he's fairly sure his son has grown out of his nightmares by now.

But when he rounds the corner into the living room, already lowering his voice in preparation to guide his son gently back to bed, he finds himself squinting at a hooded little figure on the couch, which, on closer inspection, is not his son, but definitely bears a decided resemblance to his eldest daughter.

"Nancy?" He frowns, moving to the couch when the name yields no response. "What are you doing-"

Nancy is curled up in the corner of the couch, one of her hoodies pulled up around her. She's got her arms wrapped around her knees, and her hair hangs over her eyes, in a mess, as though she's been running her hands through it.

"Nance, it's past two in the morning-"

Nancy remains silent and for a moment, David wonders if she's asleep. But when he gets closer, he can see her eyes, bright and sharp in the darkness.

"Nance?" David sits beside her, slides an arm around her shoulders. "Are you not feeling well, darling?"

Nancy shakes her head the tiniest bit, but she exhales in a tiny little sigh, and David takes a deep breath, knowing he has to proceed carefully.

"Is that, no, you don't feel sick, or no, you're not feeling well?"

There's a pause, then "No, I'm not feeling sick." Nancy's voice is almost a whisper, but at least, she's speaking.

David looks at her for a moment, then slides his arm further around her shoulders. He can smell her shampoo and he presses a kiss into her hair, partly touching her forehead. He remembers suddenly the day she was born, the way he'd held her tiny, warm, squirming little body and pressed his mouth into her little scalp, breathing in her warm, baby scent and how he'd kissed her little forehead so hard her eyes had opened to stare back at him, even then, he thought, a little knowingly.

"Feel like helping me make some hot chocolate?"

Nancy is silent for a moment, then slowly nods.

David's always found it easy to bake with Nancy. When she's her usual lively self, they use the time to argue back and forth as they pass each other ingredients, and he holds her under the arms while she stands on a chair, stirring the delicious mixture in the bowl, her little hands wrapped tight around the spoon.

When she's quiet or sad, they can pass each other their favourite ingredients silently and he can let her lick out the bowl, tying her hair back carefully, the way he used to do when she was tiny, and her school uniform swam on her, sleeves too long for her little arms.

Now, next to him, Nancy kneels on a chair, while David spoons the chocolate powder into two mugs. Her eyes drift, looking so downcast that David reaches for the whipped cream. "Open wide."

For a moment, he wonders if his daughter actually will, but then Nancy arches an eyebrow, closes her eyes and opens her mouth.

David promptly sprays whipped cream into it.

Nancy's eyes open and for a long moment she just looks at her father. Then, slowly, a smile crinkles her eyes a little for the first time David can remember in a while.

David holds out the whipped cream can and Nancy promptly sprays it half in his mouth and half on his face.

"Right." David almost tackles his daughter for the whipped cream.

It's a silent struggle, in mind of Samantha, Elwen and Flo all currently fast asleep in their beds, in which David makes use of his ability to tickle his daughter and Nancy laughs for the first time that David can remember since the New Year, laughs and giggles as David sprays more whipped cream into her mouth.

It's when David says "All right, all right-", carefully setting the whipped cream down and ripping off some kitchen roll to wipe at her mouth, that he becomes aware that Nancy's holding onto him very tightly.

"All right, Nance-" He chuckles and hugs her back, expecting her to pull away any second, but her arms just tighten a little if anything, and it's then he realises she isn't laughing anymore.

"Nancy-"

David moves one hand to her hair, the food fight forgotten. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just strokes his daughter's hair, letting her hug him.

He only realises she's crying into his shirt, when he's been holding her for a while, and then he tucks her hair behind her ears and it feels like his heart is being squeezed slowly into his ribs, the same way it has done every time she's cried in her life, right from when she was a baby and he had to walk her up and down the stairs, shushing her over and over.

He takes a deep breath, then another, because it's his job to be in charge.

(It's always his job to be in charge.)

He bends down and cups his daughter's damp little cheeks in between his hands. He waits until her breath shudders a little, a sign that she's calming down, before he crouches down so that he can look at her and says "Let's go and sit on the couch."

It's not until David has placed a mug of steaming hot chocolate on the table in front of his daughter and sat down next to her that he says quietly "Tell me, sweetheart."

Nancy tugs at her sleeves and scrubs one absently across her face-David reaches for a tissue, meaning to hand it to her, but he ends up wiping her face for her, instead.

Nancy bites her lip and David puts an arm around her, pushing her hoodie down. "If you don't tell me, I can't help, sweetheart." He kisses her hair and Nancy takes in a sharp, shuddering breath.

"Is it about-" David's about to ask if it's about the election, but then remembers that this probably doesn't occupy everyone else's minds as much as it does those in politics, let alone the mind of an almost-eleven-year-old girl.

But then the election _has_ occupied his mind recently, perhaps more than it should.

"Is it me, Nance? Is it-I've been working a lot lately, is it-"

He stops. Nancy had tensed when he'd asked if it was about him, but she'd relaxed the second he'd moved on to working too much.

So it's him.

"You're not-not working too much-" David watches as Nancy leans forward and takes a sip of hot chocolate.

"Careful, you'll burn yourself-"

Nancy sips a little more carefully. David, despite the tear stains on her cheeks, fights a smile as he has to carefully wipe away a whipped-cream moustache from her top lip with his thumb.

David knows he has to tread carefully. "Is it school-"

Nancy tenses again.

David speaks very slowly. "School and-"

Nancy sighs and gives him a fairly impatient look.

David arches an eyebrow. "I won't tell Mum. Or Gita, if you're worried there might be another incident with a parent-"

Nancy smiles the tiniest bit. David presses his advantage.

"Uncle Boris. I could get Uncle Boris-"

He reconsiders. "Then again, only if he doesn't have a stuffed toy with him."

Nancy glances at him. "Has Mr Crosby not given him another kangaroo, then?"

David stares at her for a moment and then laughs. Nancy's mouth twitches in a small smile.

"Nance." David touches her hand, then, and he says it quietly. "I want to know, darling. I want to-"

Nancy takes in a deep, shuddering breath. David's reminded of the first time he persuaded her to let her surfboard go in Cornwall, the way her hands had clenched white-knuckled on the edge of the board, her eyes wide.

The scars under his arm seem to tingle and for a moment, he's ten and his face pressing into the pillow, his hand wedged under his arm, but the burning spreading through his fingers, no matter how hard he presses them into his skin. He's screwing his face up and pressing it into the pillow but the tears come out, hot and stinging, staining his cheeks.

"Dad-" Nancy's voice is quiet. "You know how people-people don't like us?"

* * *

 

Nancy hadn't known she was going to cry until she was doing it.

It had been the fact Dad was hugging her and she'd thought suddenly that this was just _her_ dad-her dad, who made her hot chocolate in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep.

And this was her dad and they were going to just say-

Now, she's looking at Dad and Dad's got his arm around her. "What do you mean, people don't like you?"

Nancy tugs at her sleeve again. "Not me-as...All of-" She gestures with her finger, like that might make Dad see what she means.

"All of us. Me and Mum and Elwen. Flo. You. Uncle George. Uncle Michael." She swallows. "People don't like us."

She waits for Dad to say something, but he's just looking at her.

"People-" She hates saying it, but Dad'll work it out anyway now, and it's her fault-"People say things about you."

Dad opens his mouth then, like he's going to say something, but instead, he just takes hold of her hand.

"They-"

It's the thought of some of the things on the ipad, some of those Twitter people-real people out there, saying these things, typing things about Dad and Mum, and Uncle George-about things they want to happen to them-

"It's like they _hate_ you." It comes out a little like a shout. It comes out sad and torn.

Dad doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, he looks at her quietly, his voice clearer, the way it always is when Dad's making up his mind about how to do something.

"Nance-" he says and then stops for a moment. "Nance."

Dad squeezes her hand again. "The fact is, Nance-" he says, with a tiny smile. Or it's trying to be a smile, anyway. "A lot of them probably do hate me."

Nancy feels a lump swell in her throat.

Dad puts an arm around her. "Actually-there might be a better way to explain it-" He frowns, pushing his glasses back, the ones he often wears at home with them. Or here, in the pretend home.

"They don't really hate me" Dad says, after a moment, and then looks at her. "Or-well, maybe some of them do-" He smiles a little now, and it's more like Dad's smile. "But most of them-" he says, keeping his eyes on hers'. "It's not me they hate. It's a person they think is me."

Nancy frowns, because maybe Dad's just trying to be profound, but-

"I mean, Nancy-" Dad puts a hand on her shoulder. "That-they only see one side of me. They see me-making decisions. And sometimes-they're decisions they don't like. And they-that's the only- _person_ they see." He puts out a hand. "They don't see Uncle Craig or Mr. Crosby or any of the people who help-and they don't see me with you, like this-" He gestures between them. "They just see that one bit that they don't like-and they think that's me. But they don't dislike me. All of me. Do you understand? At all?"

Nancy frowns because Dad's looking at her, and she _does_ understand, but still-

"But it's not-" She's going to say _nice_ , but decides that that isn't enough. "Like with Beatrice-" she says and Dad's jaw tenses.

"Yes" he says, slowly. "That was wrong, what happened with Beatrice. But-" and he lifts her hand carefully. "Auntie Sarah talked to the school, remember? And her teacher said sorry? So we can sort things out."

Nancy wriggles. "But it's still-" Her voice bursts out a little angrily. "They act like Labour people are the only good people."

"Who does, Nancy?"

"Anyone. Loads of people." Nancy kicks at the carpet. "And they all act like you and Uncle George are horrible and anyone who likes you is horrible and _they're_ the ones who are stupid."

Dad's mouth twitches a bit. "I hope you don't tell them that."

"Well, no, obviously-"

"Because you might find yourself-well, on the receiving end-"

 _"No,_ only because I don't _know_ them-" because she doesn't care what Dad says, she _would_ hit anyone who had a go at Dad, and so would Elwen, they made each other promise-so did Beatrice and William-

"Well, Nance-"

"But it's that-they say horrible _things_ about you." The words are torn out of her throat and she stares up at Dad, wanting him to understand. "They say horrible things and they're not even _true-"_

"I know, Nancy." Dad's got his hand on her shoulder. "I know. But you know why people have to be allowed to say what they think-"

"I _know_ , freedom of speech-" because she did a whole story about it for school, which her teacher said was "gripping"-"But it's not just-they say things about us."

She doesn't want to tell Dad. But she needs him to understand, and-

"They say stuff about me. And Elwen and Flo. Online. How we're. You know. Spoilt and that kind of thing."

Dad takes in a breath and the words come out almost before Nancy can stop them. "And Ivan."

Dad goes very still, then. Nancy bites her lip and pulls up her knees.

Dad doesn't say anything for a few long moments.

"Sorry" Nancy says, though she's not sure what for.

"You don't need to be sorry." Dad's voice is a little lower than usual, but when Nancy glances at him, he doesn't look _sad_ , exactly.

He looks something like sad.

Something like angry.

Nancy's not sure if it makes her feel better to see it or not.

"Nancy." Dad doesn't look at her for a moment, but when he does, his voice is a little stronger, a little louder. "There are some-not many, but some-very sick, very twisted people in the world. And anyone who says things about you or Ivan-" Dad doesn't even hesitate saying his name and Nancy feels herself relax a little. "Or Elwen or Florence, is one of them. And they're not anyone you need to listen to."

Nancy swallows. "They-" She catches sight of her hot chocolate and reaches for it, taking a sip more cautiously this time. "They say that it doesn't matter where people come from" she says slowly, testing out the fragments of knowledge she's gleaned from internet searches and eavesdropping on her father's conversations on whatever it is the Labour Party want. (Dad had kept calling it "the red team" until she told him that she wasn't _deaf_ and that she _heard_ him and Uncle George going on and on about the bloody Labour Party and that effing socialist, Miliband. She'd said this at the dinner table one night, which had made Uncle George nearly choke laughing on his glass of wine, so that Auntie Frances kicked him under the table.)

"Yes" Dad says now, looking at her with his head on one side, smiling a bit again. "That's what they say they want, yes."

"But they don't like _us_ because of where _we_ come from-" It comes tumbling out of Nancy's mouth at the same moment as it clicks in her head. "They don't like _us_ because you and Mum have money, that's what they say-and they don't like you and Mum because you have money, and that's just as bad." She hears her own voice get louder. "They're just as bad, they're just the other way round-"

"Yes." Dad's smiling a little more now. "I'm inclined to agree with you, there."

Nancy stares at him. "Well, that's just stupid" she decides, firmly. "You and Mum do jobs, and it's got nothing to do with Elwen and Ivan and Flo, anyway-" (She leaves herself out, honouring the fierce protective feeling that's suddenly sprung up in her chest.) "So why should they get to be nasty about it?"

Dad's definitely smiling, now. "Exactly."

"Well, I'm never voting Labour." Nancy takes a decisive gulp of hot chocolate to emphasise the point. _"Ever."_

Dad's smiling more now, so his eyes crinkle. "Glad to hear it."

Nancy thinks of all those people, the ones who think they can say nasty things about Dad-"I _hate_ them."

Dad's smile disappears, then. "No, Nance-" His voice is gentle, but a little firmer, lower. "You can't go hating people just because of who they want to vote for."

"Not just because-"

"You know Uncle Daniel, don't you?"

Nancy nods.

"He used to vote Labour. And Auntie Tania-"

"I know _that._ I mean, people who are _nasty."_ Nancy looks up then, another thought occurring to her, one that she's had a few times before, but hasn't really had any real significance until now. "Mr. Ed Miliband runs the Labour Party." It isn't a question.

Dad takes a sip of his own hot chocolate. "Yes, he does."

"So he's going to say things about you before the election, isn't he?" Nancy didn't know how certain she was about this until she said it, and then "He already _has,_ hasn't he?"

Dad doesn't look away from her. "Yes, he has." He takes another sip of hot chocolate.

"Have you said things about him?"

Dad still doesn't look away. "Yes."

Nancy looks away, nods and then looks up as another thought occurs to her. "Uncle Nick, too?"

Dad still looks. "Yeah, Nance."

Nancy nods quietly, and thinks for a moment.

"Isn't that weird?" she asks, reaching for her hot chocolate again.

Dad purses his lips like he's thinking. Nancy likes this about Dad-he doesn't just give her stupid answers or tell her it will be all right and nothing else when she asks questions.

"I suppose so, yes" he says, taking a sip of his own drink. "But that's what we have to do."

Nancy frowns. "Do you stay friends with them?" she asks bluntly, because it's late and she's tired and she wants to know.

Dad takes in a breath, and then stays quiet for a moment. "Honestly, Nance, I don't know" he says quietly, looking straight at her. "We've never had a coalition government-not since World War II-so I don't know."

"What about Mr. Ed Miliband?"

She thinks Dad goes still for a moment, but she can't be sure.

"I'm not sure, Nancy" is what he says and his voice is a little quieter this time.

"But-I mean-they won't be coming round and stuff." Nancy takes another gulp of hot chocolate and chews on a marshmallow reflectively.

Dad smiles, then, but it looks a little sad. "Probably not as much, Nance, no. Not for a while."

Nancy looks at him for a long moment. She wonders if Dad's thinking about Uncle Nick. She is. She's thinking about Flo's bedside cabinet and how Uncle Nick spent ages on the floor of her bedroom with Dad, helping to set it all up.

"It's weird" she says, then shakes her head. "Well-weird, like you said-"

"Like what I said-"

"You know. About people only seeing a bit of you." She chews a marshmallow, half-melted on her tongue. "It's just that-well, you know. When Mr. Ed Miliband says stuff about you-it doesn't seem like the usual him, either."

Dad laughs, sounding almost a little rueful. Nancy's heard that word a few times but she's never really seen it in action before now. "Some people might say it is" he says, almost too quietly for Nancy to hear, and when she frowns, Dad says "I suppose it doesn't, really."

"Not what he's like with us. With you-" She hesitates, because she's seen Mr. Ed Miliband with Dad and with his kids and Flo, and she's seen some of his speeches, ones on TV and things, and he's different up there. Dad is too, of course-their voices go harder, louder, and their eyes are harder too, sharpening their arguments. Their words build up into what would be called shouts anywhere else, but aren't there, somehow.

She remembers when Dad used to not be Prime Minister and Mr. Brown was-she remembers Mr. Brown, because they used to see him sometimes, at parties and things, and she remembers Dad asking her if she wanted to say hello one of the first times she met him, at a wedding, when even Mr. Brown wasn't Prime Minister yet, and she'd ducked her head into Dad's shoulder, but held her hand out and let Mr. Brown shake it.

He'd been nice, Mr. Brown, but his voice was all rough, like it was struggling out of his throat, and she thought he and Daddy didn't maybe like each other as much, though Mrs. Brown ruffled her hair and when she could run around with John and Fraser, they were nice, and John said that their daddies probably liked each other really, and they were just pretending.

It's different when Mr. Ed Miliband's with them, the same way Dad is, but he's different when he's with Dad, too. They look at each other, differently.

"He's different with you" she says, maybe without meaning to, and she thinks Dad goes still for a moment.

"I mean, here" she says and then "Though, Flo said-"

"What did Flo say?" Dad's voice is a little quick but it's late and Nancy grips her mug tighter between her hands to warm them.

"Just that they're not happy. Mr. Ed Miliband's kids. You know, Sam and Daniel."

"Oh." Dad blinks, looking something like surprised, but Nancy can't really see in the dark.

"But-he's different here." Nancy tugs at her sleeve. "Like on Bonfire Night."

Dad's gone very quiet next to her. Nancy frowns suddenly, remembering. "Though he didn't really get it when I tried to tell him."

She trails off, trying to remember what she'd told him when he'd come out of Flo's room. She can't remember if Libbie had gone home or not.

"Tried to tell him what?"

Nancy shakes her head and looks up to find Dad watching her. "Um. About this-" She takes another gulp of hot chocolate. "You know."

Dad's turning round to face her carefully. "What? That you were upset?"

"Yeah. I tried, anyway."

Dad's shaking his head. "And he didn't-"

"What?"

Dad's jaw's clenched tight and Nancy frowns, staring at him.

"He didn't tell me." Dad's voice is calm and level, but Nancy watches his hands slowly curl and uncurl. "He knew you were upset and-"

"Only because I-" Nancy interrupts quickly, because something in her dad's face is different-it's quiet and it's angry, but it's more than angry. A lot more.

But then Dad looks at her and his voice is firm and there's something-well.

Something _sad_ there.

"Yes" is all he says quietly. "Yes, he's different."

Something about the words is a little off and Nancy's just running them through in her head, trying to work out what, when Dad puts his mug down on the table and takes her arm, suddenly. "Nancy, listen."

Nancy swallows another mouthful of hot chocolate and meets her dad's eyes.

Dad doesn't look away from her. "I know there are people who say things-and people who might try and say things to you-but you have to remember, sweetheart-"

Dad tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, looks straight at her. "Those people can't do anything to you. Anything. And they're not right." He strokes her cheek gently. "They're not right, Nancy. You don't have to feel bad about me or Mummy or-the fact you don't live in a bloody box in the middle of the M62." He chucks her under the chin. "You haven't done _anything_ wrong."

Nancy nods, then nods again, a little more fiercely.

Dad doesn't look away. "You haven't done anything wrong, and you _don't_ need to feel guilty for being privileged." He presses a sudden, fierce kiss to her forehead. "Anyone who tries to tell you you should- _they're_ the ones who are doing something wrong." He strokes her cheek gently. "You and Elwen and Flo-you don't need to apologise to _anybody_ for where you come from. OK?"

Nancy meets his eyes, feels something sure and fiery flicker up in her chest. She looks up at Dad- _her_ dad, who knows what's good for people and puts up with idiots who say stupid things about him and even having to argue with people he could be friends with-and she feels suddenly, fiercely proud.

She wraps her arms around his neck quickly, in a fierce squeeze. "OK" she says. "OK."

Dad hugs her back-tight, very tight-and then he says quietly into her hair, "I'm sorry, Nance."

Nancy blinks, because Dad shouldn't be sorry. Dad shouldn't be sorry for anything. "Why?"

She keeps her face buried in his neck, and she remembers doing the same thing at Uncle Will's wedding, when she was scared to jump in her new dress and Dad had winked and said Mummy wasn't looking, and he'd catch her, and then she had and he had, and he'd held her tight, his laughter shaking against her shoulder and his arms holding her tight, protecting her from everything.

"Because-" One of Dad's hands is rubbing her back, gently. "I wish you didn't. Have to know about all this. Which doesn't make sense, really, Nance, but I'd rather like a world where you didn't have to worry about anything." Dad laughs a little, or Nancy thinks he does, but he's holding her tight, so she can't see.

"The fact is" and he sounds so sad when he says it that Nancy has to close her eyes for a moment, because her father should never sound so sad, he never should-

"I can't give you that."

She might be imagining it, but she thinks she feels his arms tighten a little around her. And hers' tighten around him.

"It's not your fault" she says-understanding, somehow, and not really understanding why, that she should tell Dad that.

Dad does laugh, then, but he holds her tighter. "I know, but-" He moves her back a little, so he can meet her eyes. "It would be rather nice" he says and his voice is so quiet, Nancy thinks, quiet and like he's smiling, but he's sad, too. "To think that I could protect you from everything."

Their cheeks are pressed together and Dad lets her lean back and press her forehead against his. Nancy presses her hands to both his cheeks, the way she used to when she was little.

"But you can't, right?" is all she says.

Dad looks back at her and he definitely looks sad this time. But all he says is "No, Nance. I'm afraid I can't."

Nancy nods and then nods again.

"Nance?"

Nancy bites her lip. Dad pulls her round then, so she can lean her head against him, like she's little, like she's Florence's age. "Tell me." He tucks her in against him, presses a kiss to her hair.

Nancy sighs and tugs at her sleeve but Dad knows most of it, now, and anyway, maybe he can-

She points at the TV, even though it's switched off, as dark as the rest of the room. She'd been going to switch it on when she first crept out of her bedroom, but she'd frozen at the last minute, thumb pressed to the button. Part of her had wondered about the noise, whether it would wake anyone. Another part had just wondered whether she really wanted to see any more of it.

"Paris-"

Dad cuddles her tighter. "What about Paris?"

"All the shootings and things-"

"Yes?"

Nancy turns round, still safely tucked into his arm, to look up at her dad. "Could that happen here?"

Dad takes a moment to answer this time and pulls her closer. "Well. We've got a lot of protection. A lot of people making sure that those types of people-"

But Paris had that, too, and anyway, Nancy meant-"But what about you?"

Dad frowns a little. "What about me?"

Nancy swallows. "The terrorists did that because they didn't like what the magazine were doing, that's what it said."

"That's right."

"But some people don't like what _you're_ doing." The words spill out of Nancy's mouth a little louder than she means. "You and Uncle George and Uncle Michael and everybody. And they say they want to hurt you."

She stares up at Dad and feels her hands knot in his sleeves, like she can hold onto him. "So what if one of _them-"_

Dad takes hold of her then, lifts her onto his lap like he used to when she was tiny. Nancy remembers that, being lifted onto his knee-one time she was very little and there were cameras there and she'd been scared, and Dad had just put out a hand and told them to stop filming NOW, and then he'd pulled her onto his knee and told her that none of these people with the cameras were going to hurt her and if she didn't want to have her picture taken, she didn't have to and she could have some time to think about it, if she wanted.

"Nancy-" Dad looks straight at her, pulling her round onto his knee. "Listen to me. We are the safest people in the _world_ , I promise. You know about all the protection, don't you?"

Nancy nods, because they'd always just been there. Protection teams and people to look after them and she'd known somehow, in some confused way that this was to do with keeping bad people away from them, but now-

She glances at the TV screen.

 _They're_ the type of bad people the protection teams are there to protect them _from_ , and she's never thought about them before. Not really, not properly.

"And all the alarms and the cameras and the guards?" Dad kisses her head gently. "They're protecting us. We're probably the safest people in the country, apart from the Queen."

He smiles but Nancy bites her lip. "What about everyone else? Uncle George and Uncle Michael and Uncle Craig and Chris and-"

"Well, Uncle George lives here, like us." Dad gives her another kiss on the forehead. "And everyone else has their own guards and protection. Everyone's very safe, Nancy. I promise." Dad chucks her under the chin. "Do you really think Mummy would let any of them ever leave if she thought they weren't?" Dad smiles, pushes her hair back behind her ear. "And Mummy. We've got Mummy, remember, Nance-"

Nancy feels a smile push at her mouth a little. Dad gives her a kiss on the cheek. "Can you really see Mummy letting any bad people near any of us?" He raises an eyebrow. "Or Auntie Sarah? Or Auntie Frances and Auntie Marina? Or Isabel? Or Auntie Emily?"

Nancy feels a smile creep out slowly at her mouth.

Dad smiles. "I think Mummy and Auntie Sarah would drop-kick them down the garden path."

Nancy feels a giggle explode out of her mouth and Dad grins back at her.

"And it might be cruel to let Gita get near them."

Nancy laughs, now, and Dad does too, letting her head rest on his chest. She lies there for a moment, laughter still bubbling out of her mouth, and it occurs to her, gradually as her laughter dies down, that for the first time in a long time, she feels completely safe.

Dad lifts her up after a moment, tilts her chin, so that he can look at her properly. "I know that doesn't make everything better" he says quietly. "But does it help a little bit?"

Nancy looks back at him and this time she can nod without feeling like she's lying.

Dad kisses her head again and then says "You've got big shadows under your eyes." He touches them gently with the tip of his finger. "You look like a panda." He presses another kiss to her nose. "Haven't you been sleeping well?"

Nancy shakes her head. Dad looks at her and then he suddenly wraps his arms around her and hugs her tight. "Maybe you should have a day off tomorrow. Have a rest-"

Nancy rubs her eyes and Dad kisses her head. "I'll talk to Mummy. Finish your hot chocolate and we'll go back to bed."

Nancy reaches for her mug, to take a last gulp of her drink. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

She looks at him over the rim of her mug. "Do you get sad about it? When people say things about you?"

Dad looks at her for a long moment and then the corner of his mouth twitches. And then he laughs a little.

"No" he says, and he's still laughing a little. "Actually, I don't."

He smiles at Nancy, tucks her hair behind her ears. And strangely enough, Nancy actually feels like she believes him.

This time, it's far easier to smile.

* * *

 

When Dad leads her back into her bedroom, he lifts her up like he did when she was little and tucks her into bed. Flo's still there, chubby cheek pressed into the pillow, lashes brushing her skin in her peaceful, childish slumber.

"Flo migrated again?" Dad whispers as he lays her down, and Nancy nods, feeling sleepier now as Dad's hand strokes her hair. Flo snuggles closer in her sleep.

"Go to sleep, now" Dad whispers. "You can have a lie-in, tomorrow."

Nancy's eyes are closing when she says it, the words slipping out before she can stop herself. "Dad, stay?"

She thinks she shouldn't have said it straight away-Dad always has to be up early and he has work, and he's got that speech with Uncle George tomorrow-

Dad looks at her quietly and then says "Sure." As if it's as easy as anything.

Dad sits down beside her bed, and one hand brushes her forehead. "Close your eyes" he says quietly, and Nancy does, curling into the pillow, the darkness warm around her like a blanket.

Dad's hand stays there, stroking her hair, and he shushes her every few minutes or so, like she's tiny and young, younger even than Flo.

As she drifts off, she remembers it suddenly, that day with the cameras. She'd had a think, sitting on Mummy's knee, while Daddy chased Elwen about and Elwen giggled, running about on his baby legs, and then Nancy had decided, and told Daddy that she didn't mind her picture being taken but "not close in my _face"_ and that she didn't want to have to "stop and smile."

Mummy had said something about "method acting" and everyone had laughed, but smiled at her the way she knew that grown-ups did when she did something right, and Daddy had just picked her up and cuddled her and put her on his knee, and she hadn't minded the cameras then, because Daddy had whispered in her ear that he'd keep any cameras she didn't like away from her, and then she'd been able to eat her breakfast.

Daddy had tickled her, then, under the chin, and she'd lain back against him, laughter shaking them both, and she'd felt safe, that's what she remembers now, as she drifts off, with her dad's arms around her.

* * *

 

_Misery Business-Paramore- "Well, I never meant to brag/But I got him where I want him now/Well, it was never my intention to brag/To steal it all away from you now/But God, does it feel so good/'Cos I got him where I want him right now/And if you could then you know you would/'Cos God, it just feels so good"-this is a meant to be a song about a love triangle, but to be honest, this reminds me of David in PMQs, particularly this PMQs when he feels genuinely vindictive and hurt in his own way by Ed's remarks._

_The Intro-The XX- this is an instrumental but it kind of reflects the amped-up feeling that began with the first of the year's PMQs and continued up until the election-and simultaneously, the tension and wariness that began in communities following the Paris attacks._

_Avalanches-A Fine Frenzy-" Well, don't be scared of avalanches/Tucked up in my snowy branches/I will/Oh I will/Oh I will/I will keep you safe"-this reminds me of the Cameron family's protectiveness towards the children as a whole but particularly David's conversation with Nancy and Nancy and Elwen's interactions with Flo in this chapter._

_Sunday Bloody Sunday-U2 -"I can't believe the news today/Oh, I can't close my eyes and make it go away/How long, how long must we sing this song/How long, how long..../And the battle's just begun/There's many lost, but tell me who has won/The trench is dug within our hearts/And mothers, children, brothers, sisters torn apart"-this is another one of those recurring songs in the playlist, and most of you will have heard it anyway. It's a song that was originally written about the Bloody Sunday massacre, but it could, in some ways, apply to a lot of terrorist attacks._

_Disarm-The Civil Wars- "Cut that little child/Inside of me and such a part of you/Oh, the years burn....I used to be a little boy/So old in my shoes/And what I choose is my choice/...The killer in me is the killer in you/My love/I send this smile over to you"-this is a cover of a song by the Smashing Pumpkins, but I had this playing when I was rereading David's conversation with Nancy. It sort of encapsulates his own flashbacks but the care with which he treats his own daughter and the way he comforts her, as well as their natural closeness, as well as the contrasts between this and the Miliband children's upbringing and David's own days at boarding school. (It is also a really lovely cover, so just listen to it.)_

_Holocene-Bon Iver-" And at once I knew I was not magnificent...And I could see for miles, miles, miles"-while there are quite a lot of recurring songs in the playlist, this is a) one of my favourite songs, and b) what I was listening to rereading the scene where David's lying in bed, thinking about the attacks and his own children. It's a song about realising how powerless people are in the world and it reflects both his own feelings at having that reinforced to him, and it's also a song about grieving. It's also brilliant._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 photos of David comforting Nancy as they leave Downing Street:  
> https://goo.gl/images/vXtUyK  
> https://goo.gl/images/eWKhar  
> Cameron was in PMQs prep when he was informed of the attacks-the email was a genuine response from an aide. They did consider cancelling PMQs.  
> One of the factors Cameron would later ask for Merkel's support in-and fail to obtain -was in renegotiating the terms of free movement as he tried to renegotiate Britian's terms for remaining in the European Union. He later considered this one of the key factors in Britain's vote to leave:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/germany/angela-merkel/11331589/Angela-Merkel-I-would-very-much-like-Britain-to-stay-in-the-EU.html br />  
> David does have baking competitions with Nancy-the pillow fight between the kids at Merkel's home took place when Merkel invited the Cameron family to stay in her home at Easter 2013:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/9991994/David-Cameron-and-Angela-Merkel-call-for-urgent-European-reform.html  
> https://news.sky.com/story/cameron-takes-the-diplomatic-family-gamble-10448886  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/cameron-and-family-head-to-berlin-for-first-diplomatic-visit-pxwb5lntwpq  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-3023033/Samantha-Cameron-s-major-interview-Dave-runs-country-school-run.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/samantha-cameron-unspun-khdqnq50k  
> Nick did help David with Flo's bedside cabinet:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11991630/How-David-and-Nick-made-their-first-cabinet-from-Ikea.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1313223/Thats-build-cabinet-David-Cameron-Nick-Clegg-reveal-formed-DIY-coalition-build-new-cupboard-baby-Florence.html  
> Nancy does put on amateur operas with her friends: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/event/article-2540767/David-Cameron-I-dont-drop-knees-divine-guidance.html  
> David does use "the naughty step": http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/7340468.stm  
> Beatrice did once see her teacher on the news with a "Gove Out" banner: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/uk/michael-goves-wife-my-children-suffer-hate-at-school-aimed-at-their-father-9417932.htmlhttps://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/educationnews/10850746/Michael-Goves-children-are-traumatised-by-hate-aimed-at-their-father.html  
> Ed Miliband's comments about "weaponizing the NHS" are genuine ones he made in November 2014, which backfired for him & for Labour's credibility on the NHS. Gove's reaction is because he was Ivan's godfather:https://www.politico.eu/article/michael-gove-the-brains-behind-brexit/ Gabby's response is due to the fact she also had a disabled sibling: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-4554684/Gabby-Bertin-reveals-campaigns-disabled-people.html  
> The hoodie Nancy is mentioned wearing can be seen here: http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/post/149324003294/a-rare-and-slightly-blurred-photo-of-david  
> The PMQs mentioned in this chapter can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRU2KN0WZrs  
> Cameron greeting Angela Merkel at the door of Downing Street: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZzvDommab9M  
> Cameron and Merkel's press conference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJ0y65MlgVU  
> The first wedding was the wedding of Alan Parker & Jane Hardman in 2007, which Gordon Brown also attended: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/1545092/New-Establishment-enjoys-its-honeymoon.html Nancy can be seen at the wedding with her parents here: https://goo.gl/images/bK79zV  
> The other wedding where Nancy remembers jumping into her dad's arms was at Samantha's brother Will's wedding, here: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1211521/Catch-David-Cameron-shows-safe-pair-hands-catches-daughter-Nancy-family-wedding.htmlhttps://goo.gl/images/ftFwpJ  
> https://goo.gl/images/us3a6d  
> https://goo.gl/images/18Ddf4  
> Nancy with Elwen (left) and their cousin Perry (right), with Will and Lohralee at the wedding: https://goo.gl/images/EK6R1Q  
> https://goo.gl/images/PgTs98  
> This was the Camerons' house before they moved to Downing Street, which they moved back to after they left: https://goo.gl/images/e3XdU1  
> https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/1348357/david-cameron-and-wife-sam-took-out-new-mortgage-on-their-3-5million-london-home-just-days-before-eu-referendum/  
> https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/2317673/david-cameron-splashs-out-100000-doing-up-posh-3-5million-notting-hill-pad/


	15. A Hassle Of Headlines, Maternal Musings And A Cumulative Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daniel thinks islands can be happier than home, Sam is dangerously skilled at throwing glasses, and David and Ed don't want to wish they knew whether they want to fight or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the amazing comments! I read and love all of them!  
> Remember, just to remind you: it's meant to be fiction, just bent around the facts that I describe in the notes at the end. :)  
> To the person who told me about the broken link: thanks! baepper-who is also [slytherintbh ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherintbh/pseuds/slytherintbh%22) on here, if you want to ask her yourself-recently changed her URL to [golden-eyed-boy](http://golden-eyed-boy.tumblr.com)so there's a new link to the post! http://golden-eyed-boy.tumblr.com/post/147241985288/mm-miliband-swings-a-little-higher-now-my  
> If you ever want to ask me anything about the fic, you can send me an [ask](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr!  
> If you want to read any of the articles at the end but can't, just send me an ask!  
> Leave a comment if you like the fic!

_Adele: He's not the problem. I'm all mixed-up. I'm crazy._

_-Blue Is The Warmest Colour (2014)_

_I have forgot why I did call thee back_

_Let me stand here 'til thou remember it._

_I shall forget, to have thee stand still there_

_Remembering how I love thy company..._

_-Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2, William Shakespeare_

_""I'm jealous of you" said Carys._

_"What? Why?"_

_"How'd you just....slide through life like that? Friends, school, family..." She shook her head."How'd you just slide through it all without fucking up."_

_I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out._

_"You've got so much more power than you think you do" she says. "But you just waste it. You just do whatever anyone else says.""- Radio Silence, Alice Oseman_

* * *

 

"I'm going to kill him."

"Who?" George glances up with some interest at David, who's barely managed to muster up a polite smile for the make-up artists.

"Lynton?" he inquires, faltering a little at the sight of the rather harassed looks on both Graeme and Craig's faces. "Not fed up of the kangaroos already, are you, you've got a lot of them ahead-"

David shakes his head, and the smile vanishes from George's face. "What's happened?"

"Miliband." David almost grinds out the name, even as Graeme hands him a bottle of water. "Miliband is what's happened."

David doesn't need to look to know George is frowning. "Miliband? What's he done? I mean-" David can tell his friend's already reaching for his phone. "All he's done that I know of is make some comment-or we should be preparing for him to make some comments about you not doing TV debates, after your little BBC thing this morning-"

David glances about, but there are no journalists back here. He lowers his voice anyway. "It's not-" he manages and the ache of his jaw informs him that he's speaking through gritted teeth. "Political."

He looks up to see George frowning. David sighs and leans closer. "It's Nancy."

George's brow furrows. "Nancy? Is she all right-what's that got to do with-" His face darkens.

"What's he done?" he spits out suddenly, and David feels an almost painful wave of affection at the fury on George's face, the immediate, utterly unwavering pitching of himself on David's side, the protectiveness that had reared itself the moment David had mentioned Nancy's name.

"It's not so much what he's _done_ , it's-" He sighs and beckons George a little closer. "What happened-it was last night-"

It takes a few minutes for him to recount the whole saga of everything that had occurred the night before, but at least David can know George won't spread it around. By the time he reaches the end, George is wincing. "Jesus. Poor kid-"

"That summarises things, yes." David rubs a hand over his face. "She's off school today. She hasn't been sleeping well. Sam and I talked about it this morning, and Sam's said she'll stay at home."

He doesn't include the way Sam's face had crumpled, the way she'd let her head slump into her hands for a few moments and cried, tears pressing themselves against her fingers, as David kissed her hair.

"How come I didn't see it?" she'd asked, suddenly, peering at David through her fingers. "I'm her mum."

David had shaken his head, leapt in with a hundred fierce reassurances, but he'd known, horribly and certainly, that the worry would embed itself in Sam's head and it could take far too long to dig it out, if they ever manage to.

It's just another thing he could murder Miliband for.

George leans back in the chair, puts a hand on David's arm. "Christ. Sorry, Dave-" George looks as troubled as David feels, and another pang of affection wells fiercely in his chest.

"But-" George's brow furrows. "What about Miliband-"

"He knew."

George blinks. "What?"

"He knew. Nancy told him. Well-not in so many words." David's jaw tightens. "But he knew she was upset. He saw her on Bonfire Night and he didn't fucking _tell me."_ The last two words are ground out through gritted teeth.

There's a moment of silence, then, "That bastard." David takes fierce comfort that the fury on George's face reflects his own. "That fucking-" George's dark eyes are narrowed."What kind of fucking father is he?"

David shakes his head, picturing Miliband's sons, scrambling into his own lap.

His stomach curls. He'd been there, giving him a present, the two of them talking, almost-

Almost like they were _friends_ , for fuck's sake, and now-

David feels sick and cold and furious, furious in a way that leaves him trembling, his hands shaking.

He remembers Sam's little voice- _Daniel right-we do have to eat in the basement-_and he hears himself bark out, harsh and loud, "Perhaps we _should_ fucking use that birth certificate thing Lynton wanted to bring up. Maybe that's just how he thinks of children."

George's hand squeezes his arm. "If he did this deliberately-"

That's as far as he gets before David lifts his head and meets George's eyes, something cold and icy gripping his chest-

It's beyond fury.

It almost frightens him.

Anyone else would look away from him but George just leans closer, his eyes darkening.

It takes David a long moment before he can speak. "If he has done this deliberately-" He says the words very slowly and carefully, carving out each one. "I will physically kill him."

In that moment, he means every word of it.

With Nancy's pale little face, those awful dark shadows under her eyes, hovering before him, he means every word of it.

The image dissipates and before him is George's face, paler than usual, dark eyes glittering.

"Good" George breathes, and David sees Nancy's christening suddenly, George's eyes earnest and quiet, but blazingly intense on David's little daughter, bending to drop a kiss on her head, as he promised to fulfil the duties of being this child's godfather, to protect and love her always.

David lets his head fall forward. "Am I a terrible father?" he asks George quietly, far too similar to the question Sam asked him this morning.

Because he didn't see this.

There's no escaping the fact. He hadn't noticed his own daughter-

"No." George's answer is simple, immediate and direct.

David raises his head to look at him.

George grins. "You're one degree _above_ terrible. Maybe not 100% awful-"

David elbows him. They both laugh, too shortly.

It's when their laughter dies down that George meets his eyes, and says, without a hint of embarrassment, "You're the best dad in the world."

Something swells in David's throat, and all he can manage is a small smile. But George knows and squeezes his arm.

Then, he frowns for an instant, before his face clears. "Of course, that isn't counting me. As, according to Libbie, as of last night, _I_ am the best dad in the world, courtesy of the successful procurement of some Taylor Swift tickets."

There's a moment of silence before David bursts out laughing. The sound's a little shakier than usual.

"Nancy's welcome to come, by the way" George tells him, a few moments later, as they regain some control of themselves.

David nods, and then, abruptly, his laughter trails off, and his eyes meet George's. "I'm going to deal with it" he says quietly, and George nods. "Good."

David shakes his head and George grips his arm. "Out there" he says, jerking his head towards the door leading to the podiums where they'll be standing for the next hour. "We'll fucking crush him, all right?"

David meets George's eyes and for the first time since last night, it's easy to smile.

He extends a hand. George grins. They shake on it.

"And then-" George leans back, smile still hovering, though David reads the fury in the tautness of his lips, the glimmering of his eyes. "You can crush him again, later."

David feels his hands curl into fists. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

Later. That's for later.

He forces the anger down, forces it into the words he'll be spitting out soon enough, that will send cracks filtering through Miliband's election campaign-and David thinks of that weaponizing comment that's still buzzing out there, that's crept into the headlines, and feels an almost sickening jab of triumph.

He pushes down the jab of something that leaves him aching underneath, something that feels almost like hurt.

"By the way-" George says, in a tone anyone who didn't know him so well might take as casual. "Did you tell Sam about Miliband?"

David snorts. "No."

George glances at him, the slightest smile twitching at his mouth. "Why not?"

David meets his eyes. "Because" he says, feeling a smile creep a little easier to his mouth this time. "I'd rather like to sort Miliband out myself. I don't fancy having to dig him up from wherever Sam's buried him first."

George's laughter is sharper this time, louder, and David relishes it, the sound jabbing sharply like the thought that right now, the idea of not keeping his hands off Miliband is suddenly, viciously appealing.

* * *

 

They corner him and demand an answer, and Nick just gropes for the one they've rehearsed briefly, only just drafted out the second they heard the news this morning, and he trips over the words a little.

"It's-it's-well, it's almost _comical_ this-ah-this idea that suddenly out of-"

There's no way to get out of sending that letter now, it hits him suddenly.

There's no way back from it now.

"Suddenly, that out of-er, out of _nowhere_ , there's this-" He laughs a little. "Great-ah- _alliance_ between the Greens and the Conservative Party about this-"

_Coalition. We're aiming for a second coalition._

It might not be his best response, but, the thought strikes Nick grimly, maybe no one's expecting the best from him anymore.

* * *

 

Ed is still rubbing his eyes as he clutches his phone between his shoulder and his ear. "Yes, I know he's said he won't do the fucking debates-" He's still struggling to fasten his shirt and, glancing at his watch, the thought flashes into his head: _For God's sake, Daniel-_

His son had shaken him awake at 5:30, little voice bleating: "Daddy, feel _sick-"_

He could have pulled the pillow back over his head happily, even as he'd managed to ask "Well, _how_ do you feel sick-I've _told_ you about this-"

Now, Justine's currently on her phone while Sam sits on the stairs, swinging his legs, pulling at one of his nursery shirts, while Daniel stands there, half in, half out of his school clothes, still saying "I feel sick-"

"For God's sake, this is some kind of blow to us-" Tom's bellow down the phone makes Ed wince and he turns away, clapping a hand to his other ear. "This is some kind of plan-Cameron wouldn't wreck his own credibility for no reason. This is because he wants us to look like fucking Tory-lite-"

"I _get_ that-"

"The sooner you get that bloody letter out the better-" Tom's voice lowers a little. "Have you thought any more about-"

"You only asked last night."

"I don't mean a decision. I mean, have you talked to Justine about it-you know, put it on the table-"

Ed winces, remembering Tom's words. _Soft-focus special. Just a video of you and her. But we'll need the kids. They'll add an extra touch._

_Humanise you. People want to know who they're voting for._

Ed swallows. "Not yet. She was home late, but I will-"

"Well, make sure you fucking do because-"

"Ed-"

Ed turns, wedging the phone between his neck and his shoulder, in time to see Justine kneeling in front of Daniel. "Do you really not feel well-"

Daniel sobs something unintelligible-Ed's only just realised he's half-crying-and Justine glances up at Ed. "Do you think we can ask Zia to stay? If we keep him off-"

Ed is torn between the phone, Tom's voice gabbling away, and Justine crouched in front of him, one hand on Daniel's shoulder like she's not sure quite what to do with it.

"Ah-I don't know. Probably-I mean, she's here Monday to Friday, that's the job, if you go down and ask-"

Sam's curled up on the stairs and Ed has the strange feeling that no four-year-old should be that quiet. That's the only thought he gets to have for his younger son, before he's turning back to Justine. "And my mum can come round if there's no-one else-"

Daniel looks small and pale and sick and sad, and Ed glances at Justine. "How long's he been feeling ill?"

Justine is already staring at her phone and she shakes her head. "I don't know-he-" She raises a hand, shakes her head again. "He said he was feeling ill last night, but I thought if he got a good night's sleep he'd be-"

"Well, he isn't, is he?" Ed hears the words bite out a little sharper than usual and he glances over her shoulder at his son.

"Is there no way you could take a day off-" he manages in a whisper, but Justine's eyes widen anyway, as she stares at him askance. "Ed, I can't just _take_ a day off-"

"You're-" He throws up a hand. "You're self-employed, for God's sake-you could take a day off to see them in that bloody Nativity-"

"That was _one afternoon,_ and I had to go back to work afterwards-I can't just abuse the privilege, Ed or the work wouldn't get done-"

"This isn't just _abusing the-_ it's not just _taking a day off-"_ Ed almost grabs her arm, jerking his head in Daniel's direction. _"Look_ at him-this isn't just-"

"Ed, this is an important stage of the case-"

"Yeah, and everything's a bloody important stage of the bloody case." It comes out before he even thinks twice about it.

Justine's brow furrows. "What's that supposed to mean, Ed-"

"Are you still fucking _there-"_ Tom's voice gabbles out of the phone.

Ed closes his eyes, unable to deal with all three at once. "For God's sake, other people at 39 Essex muth-st have kids-" He doesn't even care about the lisp, he's so focused on getting the conversation over with.

"Yeah, and other people don't abuse the privilege, they turn up to work-"

 _"You_ turn up to bloody work-"

"Ed, it's _not possible-"_

There's a retching sound and Ed springs forward to no avail. Daniel looks up from where he's managed to throw up over most of his shirt, tears crumpling his eyes. _"Told you-"_

Ed stares at him.

"Oh, for God's _sake-"_ Justine pushes her face into her hands, trying to take stock of the situation.

Sam pokes his face round the bannisters. "Daniel sick-"

"I can th-see, Sam-" Ed heads towards Daniel, since it looks like no-one else is going to do it. "Daniel, come here-"

One of Justine's hands had been running through her brown bob, tidying it back into place, as if it had never been rumpled. "Right, we're going to have to-if you go down and ask her to do his clothes as well, they'll have to be rinsed-"

"Daniel _sick-"_

"I _know,_ th-Sam-"

Tom's voice had jabbered furiously on the other end of the phone-"Ed? Ed, are you fucking ignoring me? _Ed?"_

A couple of frazzled hours later, Ed finds himself sitting, looking at Nick Robinson.

He's wondering whom he should channel the roiling wave of resentment in his chest towards, and knows deep down that it shouldn't be for Nick, that Nick's just doing his job and that he'd have done the same if it was Cameron who had told him-

But it wasn't Cameron. It was him.

It was him and today, it's every headline.

But Nick's asking him about Cameron and election debates and this is a chance, a chance to get Cameron on the back foot-

And he remembers Cameron's look yesterday across the chamber, that hint of triumph under that fury and the outrage and-

Ed isn't sure which of them was worse.

But now, he looks at Nick and says-

And some of that resentment grabs hold of his voice before he can stop it, strengthens it-

"This is a Prime Minister who is _running scared_ from these TV debates-"

Because he is, he _is_ , but it's worse than that-

 _He wants it to be free season on us_ , Bob had said succinctly, an hour before. _Get a couple of left-wing parties in there. Have them batter you for anything of his you've agreed with-_

_Make it free season on you._

Perhaps that's what makes his voice stronger, as he forces it out-

"He's trying to _chicken out_ of these debates, and he _shouldn't be doing it-"_

He can feel the fury again, rising higher in his chest, and he tries to think it's just for this, because then it's far easier to think of it as justified.

It's after the interview when they're shaking hands that Nick brings it up. "I think I rather got you in trouble at PMQs yesterday."

Ed takes a deep breath, reminds himself. It's not Nick's fault.

He tries to smile. It's not a forced smile, but it's rather more difficult than usual. "Maybe a little-"

Nick clicks his teeth. "Part of the job, I'm afraid."

Of course it is. It's a job.

Ed nods. "I know." He keeps a smile on, stretched drumskin tight over the angry, betrayed feeling roiling and prickling in his chest.

Nick shrugs and gives a grin. A _What can you do?_ sort of grin. A _This is the way it is_ sort of grin.

Ed can't really object to the grin, which is even more annoying, and he can't even really be annoyed at Nick, which consequently leaves him even more annoyed.

So he leaves the conversation, irritation still grating in his chest, and finds himself checking his phone over and over throughout the day, unable to determine if he wants to see Cameron's name or not.

* * *

 

Nancy isn't sure what time it is when she opens her eyes a crack and peers at the winter sunlight that brushes her bedroom ceiling. She does know, however, that she's tucked up in bed, that she can hear none of Flo's early-morning chatter or laughter, which means she's probably not there, and that she feels far less tired than usual.

She turns over and feels a piece of paper crumple under her cheek. Frowning, she sits up and turns the paper over.

I LOVE YOU, FLO stares back up at her in wobbly letters. Next to her little sister's careful printing is a small stick figure with blue scribbled over it, and a yellow plait.

ELSA, the caption reads.

Nancy smiles and presses a kiss to the piece of paper. She then tucks it safely under her pillow, only to look up and find one of Elwen's toy cars sitting on her bedside table.

She runs her finger over the toy and it's then that the door opens very quietly.

Mum's face appears in the crack, peering in at Nancy.

"Are you awake?" she says, with a smile, and then she comes in, carrying a cup of tea.

Nancy nods, scrubs at her eyes a bit more. "Yeah-"

Mum puts the tea on her bedside table and pushes Nancy's hair behind her ears, smiling at her.

"How come you didn't have to go to work?"

Mum kisses her head, curls up on the bed next to her and cuddles her, like she did when Nancy was little. "I took the day off."

"Oh." Nancy bites her lip, reaches for her mug. "Sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry, sweetheart."

Mum hugs her tight then, presses a kiss into her hair.

Nancy isn't sure why she starts to cry again. But Mum hugs her tight, nearly sloshing her tea over them both. "Shh, sweetheart, it's all right, shhh-"

Mum doesn't make her speak about anything. She just holds Nancy tight and strokes her hair, kissing her head.

When Nancy stops crying and sips her tea quietly, Mum just sits there for a few more minutes and cuddles her. When Nancy looks up at her, Mum tucks her hair behind her ears and presses a kiss to her cheek.

"Come on." Mum kisses her head and cuddles her tight. "Why don't we have a cuddle in our bed?"

Mum and Dad's bed in Downing Street is lovely and big, with a mattress that Nancy feels like she can sink into.

Mum gets in next to her, wraps her arms around her like Nancy's tiny, as little as Flo.

Nancy peers at her, tucking Flo's piece of paper tight in her hand and running Elwen's car over the pillow. "Did Dad tell you?"

Mum nods and strokes her hair.

Nancy shrugs. "Sorry" she says, since it's the only thing that comes to mind.

Mum kisses her head. "You don't need to be sorry, sweetheart."

She slides an arm around Nancy's shoulders, playing with her hair. "We've been thinking about talking to you a bit more about that side of things. You know, with the election coming up-" She brushes Nancy's hair off her forehead. "We don't want you to think there's anything you can't ask, Nance."

Nancy bites her lip, but if Mum knows anyway-

She props herself up on one elbow. "Do you get angry?" she asks Mum, looking right at her. "When people say things about Dad?" The words catch in her throat. "And Ivan?"

Mum doesn't look away from her, and she just tucks a strand of hair behind Nancy's ear. "I get angry, Nance" she says, very simply. "And it's all right if you want to get angry, too."

For some reason, Nancy feels immediately as though something's settled in her chest-something comforting and that makes her breath come easier, her shoulders relax a little. It's a little easier. A little better.

Mum keeps stroking her hair. "It's completely fine-" she says, still with an arm tight around Nancy's shoulders. "To be very, very angry at these people because, if any of them said those things face-to-face in real life, I'd hurt them."

Nancy's heart is beating hard against her ribs, but she feels better, stronger, looking at Mum like this. Mum's hand is soft and gentle on her cheek, but her eyes are bright. They're bright and crackling and fierce and Nancy feels a surge of love in her chest so strong that she presses herself closer to Mum, feeling her own fierce pride crackling too, underneath, like an electric current.

"Remember, Nance-" Mum's looking straight at her now. "Whoever is saying things about your dad, about me, about Ivan-they are _nothing."_ Mum almost spits the word out. "They are pathetic people with pathetic lives who want to take their jealousy out on children they've never met, because they're too scared of anyone else. They're too frightened to say it to anyone else, except anonymously, or to other people who are insecure enough to agree with them."

Nancy nods. "Dad said we don't have to be ashamed-"

"And you don't." And Mum has hold of her hand now, one finger rubbing the back of her knuckles. "This is very important, Nance. You don't have to be ashamed of where you come from. The same way someone who comes from a council estate shouldn't be ashamed of where they come from. You wouldn't ignore them, because of how much money their parents earn?" Nancy shakes her head fiercely. "Then why should they treat you any differently? You don't have to apologise to anyone, poor or rich, for where you come from." Mum kisses her forehead then, so hard that it feels like her lips are trying to press the kiss through Nancy's skin, into her blood to take with her.

"And Nance-" Mum catches her hand and meets her eyes. "Please don't look at that stuff anymore. I know you're curious, but don't. It's making you ill." Her mum traces under her eyes carefully. "It's not your job to worry, or to feel bad. Don't look at what people say, all right?"

Nancy swallows. Mum and Dad rarely make her promise anything. Whenever they do, she knows they're serious about something.

She looks her mum in the eye and thinks of Dad, hugging her tight last night, like when she was a little girl. "I promise."

Mum kisses her head in response. "We'll talk about the election, sweet pea" she says, pressing her forehead to Nancy's. "I promise. We'll always tell you what's going on. And if you need to ask anything, you ask me or Dad." Mum kisses her hand, then. "Don't be afraid of upsetting us, Nance. We're a little bit tougher than that."

Nancy feels herself smile a little.

"And we can get Uncle George and Uncle Craig and everybody to talk to you when the election starts, if you're confused about anything." Mum hugs her, reaching for the TV control. "If there's anything they find easier to answer."

Nancy nods, and feels herself smile a little more.

Mum kisses her head. "Now-" She winks. "Let's see if there's a film we can watch together, while someone brings us some breakfast."

Nancy snuggles in, as Mum switches on the TV, flicking through the channels.

"Dad said I shouldn't worry."

"Well, Dad was right." Mum grins at her. "And don't worry about what anyone says about us, Nance. They've got me and Auntie Emily and Granny to deal with."

Nancy feels her smile broaden a little.

Mum raises an eyebrow. "I'd drop-kick them down the garden path."

Nancy bursts out laughing, the sound crashing into the air, and as Mum pulls her closer into her shoulder with a kiss, for the first time in what seems like a while, Nancy feels like she can relax.

* * *

 

Daniel is bored. His head hurts and he feels empty and sick and his mouth tastes _horrible_ , even though their nanny's already brushed his teeth for him three times.

He's down here, now, in her flat, with the telly on. She's in the kitchen-it's nicer than their kitchen, but Daniel likes the one upstairs better, because when he's allowed in there, it means Mummy and Daddy are both at home.

It's been ages since Daniel was allowed in the upstairs kitchen.

Now, he sits back on the couch and curls up, hugging his hand nice and tight against his chest. He likes to do that sometimes, when nobody's there. It can feel like somebody hugging him, if he closes his eyes.

Not Mummy or Daddy. When Daddy hugs him, it sometimes feels _strange,_ like Daddy doesn't know what to do with his arms, or like he's always smiling at someone else, even when Daniel's trying to _talk_ to him.

Mummy's hugs, he doesn't really _like_ , because they're always a bit too hard or quick, whilst she's walking off to do something else, or something that just feels bad and empty.

Daniel doesn't know how to say it but when all his friends' mummies hug them, that's not what _his_ mummy hugging _him_ feels like. They all look _happy_ when they're being hugged by their mummies.

Mummy _sometimes_ hugs him when she makes him and Sam go on scooters with her and deliver leaflets, but that's only when people are talking to her, and then she always says that they're having a good time, but they're not, they're _not_ , Daniel doesn't _like_ pushing in leaflets, he wants to go _home-_

Daniel pushes the blanket back, then pulls it up again. He's hot and bored. He's even bored of _Octonauts_ , because he's watched _five shows_ of them.

Maybe Zia will give him a hug in a minute. She's given him _lots_ of hugs in the morning, since Mummy told her to take his clothes off and wash them, and she put him in pyjamas that feel clean and nice. Mummy had _sort-of kissed_ the back of his head before she went to work, but it had been _fast_ , like she wanted to get _out_ , and Daniel hadn't looked round because he _told_ Mummy he was feeling sick, and she didn't _listen_ , she didn't even stop _smiling_ last night, stupid _smile-_

Daniel rolls over and sniffs. He glares at the telly and then shuts his eyes so he doesn't have to look at it. He pulls the blanket right over his head and hangs onto his Peso toy.

Out of everyone at home, Daniel thinks he likes Zia and Sam the best. Once at school, they had to draw their family, and he drew Mummy and Daddy way off at the side of the page working somewhere, and he and Sam holding hands tight with Zia, and Mummy's brows had gone all creased when she saw it, while Daddy had bitten at his lip, though he tells _them_ not to do that, and his eyes had gone all big.

They'd shouted at each other later, Daniel had _heard_ them, and Mummy hadn't kept the picture, though she never does. He'd thought Daddy might take it to put in his office, because that's what Daddy sometimes does with pictures he and Sam do, but when he'd asked Daddy, Daddy hadn't really _answered_ , just sort of scratched at his head and asked Daniel if he wanted an ice cream, though Mummy never lets them have any.

Daniel thinks that Zia will come in a minute and give him a cuddle. He thinks that if he had to choose, maybe he and Sam could stay down here and live with Zia. Mummy and Daddy would stay living upstairs and Daniel and Sam could just go up and see them at weekends, like all the people at school who have parents who get _divorced,_ which is a big word. Their teacher says it means when a Mummy and a Daddy don't want to live together any more. Some other people say that it's when a Mummy and a Daddy start shouting, really _shouting_ at each other, and then one of them has to go away.

Mummy and Daddy don't shout at each other-well, they _do_ , _sometimes-_ but they don't talk to each other very much. Sometimes, they watch grown-up programmes together, but then they don't _talk_ to each other. But Mummy doesn't talk to Daniel or Sam very much, either. She just talks lots and lots to people at work.

Mummy and Daddy _do_ smile at each other when all the cameras are there and lights are going off, but then they stop when the cameras go away. Daniel doesn't like the cameras. He _hates_ it when Mummy tells him to look at them. He doesn't like Mummy, then.

Daniel likes Sam, though. Sam doesn't like the cameras, either, but Sam just goes quiet, very quiet, when he doesn't want to do something. Sometimes, he'll just sit down _right_ where he is and not _move,_ not even when Daddy or Mummy try to lift him.

He doesn't do it with Zia, but she always nods and _listens_ when they tell her things, and it's nice when she hugs them, nice, proper hugs.

Daniel likes shouting, likes to make Mummy and Daddy's faces go all crumpled like paper, and like they don't know what to do when they're _mean_ and don't _talk_ to them, but Sam goes quiet.

Sam's not quiet with Daniel, but he is with lots of other people. But if he's quiet with Daniel, it's a _nice_ kind of quiet, that feels nice and happy and like Daniel can _say_ things to Sam.

Daniel thinks it would be nice if he could take Sam away. Zia could come, too, and Flo, Sam's friend, Mr. Cameron's little girl. Maybe her big brother and sister too, but they like their mummy and daddy, and their mummy and daddy like them _lots._ Daniel and Sam's mummy and daddy like work better than them.

Daniel thinks about how some of the people at school say that _their_ mummies stay with them when they're sick and off school _-and_ one of their daddies-and suddenly, he feels very sad.

He cuddles up under the blanket and clutches Peso tight, so Peso can have a hug. "It's all right" Daniel tells him. "I'm here. I'll look after you."

He pulls Pinto up too and kisses both their beaks. He'll keep them both safe. They'll never be frightened or on their own. Daniel tells them a little story about how he and Sam will go off somewhere nice with Zia and they'll take Peso and Pinto with them and they'll always be happy. They'll always be happy and with the Octonauts, and they'll always get hugged, no matter what, and there'll be no _cameras_ , and Daniel will keep them all safe.

He keeps whispering under the blankets and holds them very carefully in his hands, until their beaks dig in and leave little marks, red, red little marks on his hands. He wraps his arms round his chest and tries to hum the Octonauts tune. If he closes his eyes and hugs very tightly, it feels like he's not on his own, like there's some nice grown-up person giving him a cuddle. His eyes feel wet and he chews at his lip and holds his thumb. He tries _very hard_ to think that there's a nice person there cuddling him, a nice grown-up person who doesn't like work more, just likes _him._

He can pretend a bit but his arms aren't quite big enough to hug himself properly. And he feels very sad then, and pushes his face into the cushion. He feels very sad because he can't hug himself tightly enough. So he just sucks at his thumb and peeks out at the screen under the blanket and wants and wants somebody to cuddle him.

Daniel would like to be an Octonaut. Everybody would like him there.

He stares at the screen, with the water and the music and the nice, bright colours, and hugs himself tight and tries to pretend it's real, and that they'd be people who'd really, really like him.

He just tries to hug himself tightly and pretend that there's someone there, but he feels very sad because he's on his own on the couch and there isn't any grown-up person who likes him best and wants to hug him.

* * *

 

Nancy likes spending the day with Mum.

They lie in bed together and watch films and she's even allowed to eat sweets in bed if she's careful. Mum plays with her hair and Nancy tells her how she's going to make her and El and Flo's costumes for World Book Day this year, and Mum says she'll hunt out some material and they can have a go on the sewing machine. Nancy tells Mum how she'd quite like to write a proper opera one day, a long one, and Mum says that next time there's one at the theatre she might like, they can go, just her and Mum, because Elwen and Dad hate that sort of thing, and Flo's too little for it, anyway.

They talk a bit more about _it_ , as well. "Is Dad angry?" Nancy asks, and Mum kisses her head. "Not at you."

Gita comes in at some point too, and sits on the bed with them, cuddling Nancy from the other side.

"Sometimes, I can't stop thinking about them" Nancy says at one point, when another episode of _Modern Family_ comes to an end. "The people who say things." She picks at her hoodie sleeves and Mum kisses her cheek.

"That's normal, Nancy. Just remember not to let them ruin the things you enjoy." Mum chucks her under the chin. "Let's not let them win, OK?"

"Yeah" Gita says, cheerfully. "And if you really can't stop thinking about them, just think about my fist slamming into their face."

Nancy bursts out laughing, and Mummy rolls her eyes, but Nancy's sure when she turns away that she sees Mummy's shoulders shaking.

It's Gita who goes to get El and Flo from school today, and when they're on their own, Mum kisses Nancy's hair. "Feeling any better?"

Nancy shrugs. "A bit."

Mummy hugs her. "We'll see how you feel tomorrow." Nancy huddles in and Mum turns over to a repeat of _Top Gear._ Nancy smiles at the sight of Mr. Clarkson-he lives near them in Oxfordshire, and whenever they see him, he ruffles Nancy's hair, and sometimes listens to her talking about whatever she's writing with a serious look, not looking away or thinking about work or looking at his phone, like some grown-ups do when kids are talking.

"Do Elwen and Flo know?" she asks suddenly, the thought only just occurring to her.

"Elwen knows you've been worried." Mum gives her another kiss in the hair. "But Flo just thinks you're sick. Did you get her card?"

Nancy pulls it out from under her pillow in answer. Mum smiles, tracing the letters.

Nancy props her head up on her elbow. "What did you tell Elwen?"

Mum strokes a strand of Nancy's hair back. "Just that you didn't like some of the things people said about Dad, and it meant you weren't getting enough sleep."

Nancy supposes that's all right. She nestles into Mummy's shoulder and stays there until there's the sound of a door opening and the clatter of footsteps down the corridor, and Flo's voice, raised into almost a shout- _"Hello, Nancy!"_

Nancy and Mum exchange looks as Gita promptly hisses _"Shhh."_

 _"Sorry-"_ Flo whispers, and then loudly enough to be heard through the closed door, hisses _"HELLO, NANCY."_

A second later, the door is slowly pushed open, and Gita's face appears with a questioning look.

Nancy nods immediately, and Gita pushes the door open, at which point Flo promptly dives into the room.

 _"Nancy-"_ Flo scrambles onto the bed, ponytail already coming loose. Elwen follows at a slightly more steady pace, pulling his school jumper over his head as he does so.

"Hey."

"Did you like my _card?"_

Nancy pulls it out to show her. Flo squeals, then catches her mother's eye, and shushes herself with a stern look down at her own hands.

Nancy runs Elwen's toy car over his arm in silent thanks. He glances at her, already distracted by the TV. "Oh-yeah-"

But he gives her a grin, and then flops down on the bed next to her and Mum. Flo's already curling up in Mum's arms, showing off a new sticker on her school jumper.

 _"Jeremy-"_ Flo points at the screen. "Mr. _Clarkson-"_

"Yes, it is Mr. Clarkson-"

 _"Top Gear-"_ Elwen pumps a fist in the air.

Nancy nestles between them. Elwen flops against her on one side and Flo cuddles up on the other. Mum's brushing Flo's hair with her fingers, and a few moments later, Gita appears with a tray of tea and milk, and promptly joins them.

Elwen elbows Nancy, then. "Yeah, so, you shouldn't worry about anything" he says quickly, in an undertone, taking advantage of their younger sister's momentary distraction by her sticker. "I mean, you know. Like Dad said. They're all stupid."

Elwen keeps his eyes on the screen as he says this, but he gives his sister a quick glance, and then pats Nancy's arm rather awkwardly.

Nancy pats his shoulder quickly, and in rather the same style. "Thanks, El."

They both stare at the screen for a moment, but then each turns to the other at the same time and they exchange a small smile.

They huddle against each other, Flo's head falling between them, and Mum's arm around their shoulders. They stay like that, curled up on the bed together, watching the TV, and for the first time in a while, Nancy feels like she doesn't have to worry about anything.

* * *

 

"Anything new?" David asks Craig, as he tidies documents away, handing some off to Gavin.

"From Lynton? No" Craig says, waving his phone. "Just the same thing, keep repeating the message you got out on the BBC and to Bradby-we're not doing any debates unless the Greens are involved."

David nods once, his mind already on the phone call he's been planning to make all day.

"You are sure that's possible, aren't you, Michael?" he asks, reassuring himself one more time.

Michael- _this_ Michael, not _their_ Michael, and a great deal calmer for it-nods without looking up from his phone. "Easily" he says, thumbs moving like lightning over the screen. "It's a valid argument. Plus, the very potential of a seven-way debate has the potential of pulling in a higher viewership, simply because it's never been done before."

David can see the wisdom of that-and even if he couldn't, he can't see Lynton being moved, anyway. And he has to trust Lynton.

It's not as if Lynton has ever let them down before, he reminds himself.

Michael spares them the briefest glance over his phone. "Don't worry" he says, with the ghost of a grin. "You've got a legitimate reason for refusing to go ahead with them. And it will be better in the long run."

David glances at his phone.

It's George who gives him a gentle shove. "Go and phone him" he says, and usually, his eyes would be glimmering, but today, his smile is grimmer, his jaw set. "Go on."

David glances around, not wanting to be rude, but then his daughter's face, pale and with shadows under her eyes, flickers again, and he hears that word, a whisper sour enough to curl his thoughts: _weaponized._

He _knew._

David gets up, excusing himself quietly from the room. Darkness has already fallen outside the windows as he glances briefly out at the late-winter sky. He turns back at the door to find George watching him.

For a moment, they return each other's gaze, a silent conversation passing between them. George doesn't look away, as a corner of his mouth twitches in a smaller, grimmer smile.

"Give him hell" is all he says quietly, and David feels an identical smile emerge at his own mouth, something cold and grim and furious curling into a fist in his chest that's so tight it aches.

He nods once at George, and walks out into the corridor, already scrolling for Miliband's number.

* * *

 

It's an unusual step for anyone to call Robinson at home. Certainly any political leader.

But, Ed reminds himself firmly, it's the people who do unusual things that win.

That's the way things end.

You have to break the mould. Be authentic.

So he calls Robinson.

It's after the greetings-Robinson's voice polite, cheerful, as if it's nothing out of the ordinary for Ed to call him on a Thursday night, when it's dark and any normal person would probably be sitting down with a cup of tea and the telly-

Ed shakes his head. He can't _be_ a normal person, he reminds himself sternly. The country needs him not to be a normal person. He has to push himself.

So he shakes himself and forces himself to lighten his own tone. "Actually-ah-I was calling about Cameron. And these TV debates-"

Nick chuckles cheerfully on the other end of the phone. "Yes, he's rather reluctant, isn't he?" It's not really a question.

Ed laughs a little too loudly. "Yes-well-" He thinks of Cameron's face yesterday, spitting out the word w _eaponized_ and he feels his fingers curl a little tighter around the phone. "I felt as though-almost as though I should a-apologithe for him really-"

He winces because it's come out heavier than he meant to, and God, why does it always come out _wrong-_

Nick laughs. "Oh, I'm sure you don't need to do that."

The trouble with Nick's voice, Ed thinks, is that his tone is so light it's almost impossible to tell what he's thinking.

"No, I th-uppose, but-" Ed takes in a breath. Tom would tell him to do this. And Bob.

He's got to be daring, Marc says. More radical.

"Just-don't let him get his own way-" he blurts out.

He winces immediately.

Nick's voice has a hint of confusion creeping in now. "Well, I don't think-"

"No-no, I mean, don't just give into him-I mean-make sure the BBC don't just give him what he wants-"

Because Cameron always _does_ -the thought lances into Ed sharply, bitterly. He always _does_ get what he wants, somehow, even when it looks like he isn't going to. He just wriggles away, wriggles and twists and-

"That's a little above my pay grade." Nick's laughing a little now. "Though it's rather complimentary-"

Ed swallows. "Yes-I mean, I know-but-"

Nick sighs, and the next words are a little lower. "I don't make the decision on this, Ed" he says, his voice suddenly a little too understanding. "I've got no power over what the BBC decide to do."

Ed swallows. "No. No, of course. I juth-just thought I'd-"

He hates the lisp that creeps through.

"Of course" Nick says easily, his tone light again. There's a pause and then, a bit lighter this time-"If it helps, I rather think the Prime Minister might find it a little difficult to sway the BBC this time. I can tell any of you that."

A little difficult.

Nick doesn't say they won't listen to him.

He doesn't say _He won't be able to._

In fact, Ed reflects as he ends the call, Nick might have said what he just said to any of them, but it doesn't actually tell Ed or anyone else anything. Which might, suitably enough, have made it a classic politician's answer.

This doesn't make Ed feel any better.

He tries to tell himself it doesn't tell anyone else much either, but he's not really sure why that should mean anything.

It occurs to him that he hasn't heard either of his sons since he walked into the house and their nanny had told him the boys were in bed, and that Daniel should probably stay at home again tomorrow, since he was still pretty sick.

Ed wonders now if he should go up and check on them, but glancing at the clock, he decides they're most likely both asleep, and he doesn't want to risk waking them up.

Justine isn't home and Ed's just debating whether he should call her and trying to remember whether she said she was going to be in a meeting or not when his phone rings in his hand, and nearly gives him a heart attack.

It's Cameron.

Ed debates whether or not to answer. All he can picture is Cameron's mouth, spitting the words across the dispatch box. _And I think that is disgraceful-_

The fury pulls tight in his chest.

 _But he said it,_ whispers the voice in his brain.

But _weaponized_ was every headline today and Tom's phone hadn't stopped ringing. Ed suspects they stopped telling him about the calls at some point and considering how many he was aware of, it's hardly a cheering thought.

And Cameron _did_ that-

(And Ed helped him do that.)

(Which makes it worse.)

But now he's staring at Cameron's name and he's noticing slowly that he hasn't spoken to Cameron since they came back to work. Not even texts.

Yesterday, he'd thought, maybe-

But then PMQs and Paris had happened.

Ed feels strange, almost a little empty. As though he's constantly waiting to hear Cameron saying something. Like seeing a shadow without a person

That irritates even more, but somehow-

Ed stares at the name, and then, before he can answer the call, the phone stops ringing abruptly.

In the few seconds of silence that follow, Ed stares at his phone and notes vaguely that Cameron hasn't even texted before ringing.

That's all he has time to note before the house phone starts ringing, and Ed's heart picks up then, worry twitching into life as though the sound is a shove in the back.

A terrorist attack-what if there's been another, a copycat after Paris-

He knows even before he reaches the phone that it can't be, that his phone would be going wild if that was the case, but something of the fear lingers, sharpens his voice as he snatches up the phone. "Hello?"

There's a moment of silence, then "Miliband."

It's Cameron's voice, rounded and level-but a little lower than usual. A little firmer.

Angrier.

Irritation surges, along with something else, something that could be trepidation, but-

"We need to talk. Tonight."

The words are brisk, snapped out one by one. Ed blinks at the lack of greeting, lack of even preamble-

"What?"

"I need to speak to you. Tonight. It can't wait."

"What-I'm at _home_ , and-" Ed can't help but feel aggrieved, especially given _he's_ the one who's got the right to be _furious_ with Cameron right now-

"Face to face. Tonight. It's non-negotiable."

Ed's eyes fly wide open and his own voice hardens. A shiver runs down his spine, a strange shiver at the _command_ in Cameron's voice-the utter-utter _expectation_ of being obeyed and Ed wants to take that expectation and crack it in two-

"It's non-negotiable?" He tries to laugh, but he's too _angry_ suddenly, anger welling in his chest and curling his fingers tighter around the phone. And something-something else. Something that's made his heart rapid and his hand shake a little, that leaves him suddenly off-balance, his stomach dropping as though he's missed a step going downstairs. He feels a little breathless.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" He almost spits the words out, that anger gripping them, sharpening them, and he waits for Cameron's answer, and it's only then he realises his heart's pounding.

He waits and a part of him almost expects Cameron to say _The Prime Minister._

It would be a Cameronish remark to make, but-

But-

The thought sends a strange shudder through him, something incredulous, something like fury, but-but-

Then Cameron's voice snaps in his ear, and the words are so tight, spat out so viciously, that they almost sting. "It's about my _daughter,_ Miliband."

Ed blinks, the words hovering there for a moment. Like yesterday, in PMQs.

What?

Cameron's _daught-_

Nancy? Flo?

"Your daughter-"

"Yes, _my daughter."_ Cameron's voice isn't level any more-it's shaking and all the more unsettling for that. "I swear to God, Miliband-"

"What's she-which-what's happened-"

"Ten tonight. The Commons. Portcullis House. Be there."

Cameron's voice is tighter, shorter again, as if not wasting any more time on Ed than he needs to.

It's only then that Ed realises he's shaking. Not just trembling-his whole body physically shaking. "What-what are you _talking_ about, Cameron-"

There's a sound then, on the other end of the phone, a sound that stops Ed in his tracks. It could be a simple furious noise, an inarticulate hushed yell. But it comes out as a laugh, and something about that makes the hairs stand up on the back of Ed's neck, because that sound isn't Cameron. That sound isn't Cameron at all.

He swallows. He tries to say Cameron's name again, but his mouth is suddenly intensely dry.

"If you did this deliberately-" and Cameron sounds almost calm for a moment.

He might sound calm, to someone who wasn't Ed.

"If you did-"

"If I did what deliberately?" Panic is sharp now in Ed's chest, choking the words in his throat, twisting his stomach. He wants to pace, but he can't trust his feet to move.

There's a pause and then "If you did a single bit of this deliberately, Miliband, I swear I'll kill you."

The words are soft, low. They could sound calm.

Ed feels his stomach drop, as if it's trying to crawl out of him. Cold is suddenly prickling all over his body.

He tries to make his mouth work, fruitlessly. "C-Cameron, what-"

"Ten o'clock. Portcullis House. Be there or-" And it's only then that Cameron's voice cracks, and the sound sends something through Ed, something worse than panic.

Cameron's voice is soft. "If you did this deliberately..."

Ed feels his breath catch in his throat.

There's a click and the sound of the dialling tone. It takes Ed a long moment to lower the phone, his fingers slipping on the buttons.

He stands there, alone in the hall, with only his own breathing and the hum of the kitchen light for any sound to hold onto. He tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry. His heart's pounding so hard it hurts now, a dull ache in his chest, or maybe that's just panic, a panic that's seeping through him, clouding his thoughts.

Ed stands very still in the hallway and focuses on breathing. In and out, as though counting his breaths. He stands there and he knows somehow he's going.

He can't explain it. There are a hundred reasons to refuse. The boys, Justine, the time, the fact Cameron sounds like he's just _snapped-_

He's never heard Cameron like that before.

There are a hundred reasons why not. He just can't think of one why.

But he's going and maybe it's the jolt that had gone through him when he'd seen Cameron's name on his phone screen and maybe it's the panic that's tightening his chest, sharpening his breath, and maybe it's that crack that was in Cameron's voice, that crack of something so raw and threatened and furious that it didn't know what it might do, or maybe it's all of it.

Maybe it's all of it.

* * *

 

Sam always likes to watch the moment when Dave steps through the door.

The truth is, there aren't as many differences between that Dave and the other one as people would like to think. That David is still her Dave, just with more polished words, with sentences that don't falter and scramble like everyone else's.

But there isn't as much difference as some of them might think between their dad, her Dave, and their David, their Cameron, their Prime Minister.

Sam loves that, the same way she loves that the Dave from their holiday still bleeds into the David today, the Dad to the kids, all of the Davids somehow the same and as true as each other.

But the moment he steps through the door, his arms open for their children, something completely open in his face when he sees them.

That's what Sam loves seeing. It's one of the things she loves about all of them.

Tonight, when David comes through the door, the kids scatter to him in pyjamas-ready for bed, Nancy changed into fresh ones, hair washed and dried.

And he hugs them tight, before he wraps his arms around Nancy and just holds her for a long moment, as if reassuring himself that she's still there. Sam feels a pang of love so strong she has to cover her chest with her hand and turn away before it twists her inside out.

The children and Sam have already eaten, so David joins them all in Flo's room, taking turns reading out pages, while Flo's eyes flicker until she's almost asleep.

Sam kisses her head and tucks her in gently, before they lead Elwen to his room and tuck him into bed. It's then that David touches Sam's arm and nods towards Nancy; and Sam understands without words, and leaves David to put Nancy to bed, to talk with her alone for a while.

Sam retreats to the living room, where she sits on the sofa and thinks for a while, tucking her hair behind her ears.

She still remembers that day, nearly five years ago now: sitting at the kitchen table, her stomach heavy with the baby that was Florence kicking every few moments, like little heartbeats. Nancy's legs kicking back and forth, as she wrote out sentences carefully, chatter spilling out bright as a ribbon. Gita had been sitting with them too, holding Elwen, winking at Nancy, pretending to mouth the correct answers to her.

Sam had known Dave was locked into discussions, was struggling to piece together a coalition with Nick Clegg, and they'd been waiting for what felt like much longer than a few days. The waiting was _there_ , locked into the air between them tight and knotted around every word.

Sam had focused the way she always did and does; on the children. The children, and the next hour in front of them.

Because no matter what happened next, Nancy still had school tomorrow and Elwen still had nursery and this baby was still going to be kicking in Sam's stomach, waiting to be born in a few months, whether David ran the country or not.

And so she'd pushed down the knots in her stomach, and she'd filled her mind with Nancy's sentences, adjectives, verbs.

When the phone had rung loudly, Gita had answered it, even as Nancy continued kicking her legs, babbling her way through a correctly spelt sentence.

Gita had handed the phone to her and Sam had heard Kate's voice in her ear. "Samantha?"

"Yes?" Sam had given Nancy a big smile as Nancy curled into her arms, pressing one hand over her stomach to feel the baby kick.

"Are you busy?"

"Well-not particularly."

"That's good." Kate's voice would have been calm to anyone else, and they might have thought this was any other day, any other message. "You're going to have to come down soon. David is about to form a government."

Sam had heard those words with Nancy on her knee, Elwen snuggling against Gita across the table, and Florence, whose name she didn't yet know, kicking away in her belly.

It was ten minutes later, ten minutes of a subtle wink at Gita, and Gita's arms tightening momentarily around Elwen, and a fierce refocusing on Nancy's homework, deliberately not changing her grip on her daughter at all, with three more sentences spelled out neatly, every tick of the clock like a heartbeat to Sam.

Then the phone had rung, Gita had almost dropped it as she passed it across the table, and Sam had reached for it, her voice tight with the effort of keeping her "Hello?" as quiet as possible.

"Samantha" and the tremble of excitement in Kate's voice might have been noticeable to anyone this time, and Sam's fingers had clenched tightly around the phone, waiting, waiting. "Get ready. You'll need to put your dress on quickly."

"Right-"

That was all she'd said and then there'd been the sound of the phone being passed over and then it had been David's voice on the other end and the words had crackled down the phone line, falling into her ear, one at first, and then the rest.

"Sam-" and then quicker, the excitement swelling in the words. "Sam, what are you doing?"

"Nancy's homework-"

"Sam, we've done it, we're in government."

The words had hung there and Sam had sat there, phone pressed to her ear, Nancy turning to look at her, the words sinking into her slowly, into her heart.

"You've done it" was what she'd said, quietly but she'd known David would hear it, the pride underneath the words, filling her up until she'd thought it would overflow out of her eyes, her mouth, drowning her. He'd done it.

"Yes." And his voice had been wavering with excitement. "You'd-ah-you'd better get a dress on, we might be going to the Palace."

Sam had covered her mouth for a moment and Nancy had frowned. "Mummy?"

Sam had taken a deep breath. The children. The children. She'd bent and kissed Nancy's head. "It's all right, sweetie-Daddy's just on the phone." She gives Nancy a big smile. "Something very good's happened, sweetheart-"

Nancy had been blinking, turning round to look up at her. "Daddy?"

"We're about to go and see the Queen" and those had been the words that had Sam sitting up straight, the words really sinking in and it had been her who said it to David then, the words quiet, falling between him and her and Gita and Nancy and Elwen and Florence, still kicking away, utterly oblivious to everything going on outside, in the world she was getting ready to come into. "You're the Prime Minister."

There'd been a pause, then "I'm the Prime Minister."

He'd laughed and in that split second before Nancy had squealed, knowing something had happened but not what and Elwen had clapped his hands and gurgled, knowing everyone was happy and Gita had hugged him tight and reached across and squeezed Sam's hand, and Florence had kicked and kicked away, Sam had just said "Well done", almost a breath down the phone, "Well done", just for him, just for them.

Now, she sits, curling her feet up underneath her on the couch, in their Downing Street flat, and she thinks of how Dave had cuddled Nancy tight as they all sat on Flo's bed together and suggested they all go out tomorrow since it was Friday, and he'd have to go to France on Saturday, and how Flo had bounced on the bed happily, clapping until they'd had to shush her back into sleepiness again.

David appears in the doorway and Sam feels some of the tension seep out of her shoulders at the sight of him.

"Is she all right?" she asks immediately, tugging at his sleeve a little as he sits down next to her.

David nods. "She's asleep. I've said she can have one more day off, but it's back to school on Monday."

"Cheek."

David takes her hand then."She looks better" he says, and Sam can hear the crack in his voice.

She still remembers the look on his face when each of their children was born; the way he'd cradled Nancy against his chest, the way he'd stroked Elwen's cheek very gently with the tip of his finger, the way he'd pressed a kiss to the tip of Flo's nose. The way he'd cuddled Ivan so gently, wrapping his arms around him as they'd stared at their first baby, wrapped comfortably in a blanket, peacefully asleep, and David had whispered about how he was going to be the happiest little boy in the world.

They hadn't known, for six days, and David had cradled him even more tightly when they knew.

Now, their hands curl around one another, and squeeze tightly, fingers intertwining.

"I think she's feeling a little brighter" she says, after a few moments, leaning her head against his shoulder. "We've had a few chats today, so hopefully-"

"I think we'll have to do more."

"Yeah- I think we do need to have more conversations with-I mean, with the kids, but with Nance, especially-"

"Well, she's older now." David presses a kiss to her hair. "If she feels she's in the dark-"

"I think she does, a bit." Sam just hopes they can rectify it. The thought of her daughter worrying herself into silent knots and not telling either of them is enough to leave her leaning forward again, closing her eyes as her forehead rests on steepled fingers. "I should have noticed how quiet she was-"

David's hand's on her shoulder, one on her arm. "You didn't know-you didn't do anything wrong. If Nancy didn't want to talk to us-you know she's clever-"

"We've always known she was clever." Sam hears herself laugh. It sounds like it could be a sob, but it's a laugh, just. "We shoved a book in front of her when she was two for a laugh, and ten minutes later she'd read it."

She feels David shake too, laughter vibrating through his chest as he holds her, and Sam lifts her head, his arm sliding further around her. But his eyes linger on the middle distance for just a moment. His jaw tenses. Sam can read David's looks as easily as she reads her own in the mirror.

"What is it?" She's already pulling herself round to meet his eyes. "Is it Nancy? Has she said something else?"

David looks past her and for a moment, Sam thinks he's going to attempt a denial. But then he shakes his head and meets her eyes. "Yes. Well. Sort of-"

Sam feels her stomach turn over. "What is it?" An idea flickers into life in the back of her mind. "Is it school? Is that why she wants another day off, people have been saying things-" Sam's already half-up off the couch. She'd been joking, earlier, about what she'd do to anyone who made comments to the children. Or she'd let Nancy think she was joking.

David clutches her hand, in a well-worn dance they've been performing since they met, almost. "No, no, nothing like that-" He takes a deep breath. "Just-let me explain a moment."

Sam sinks slowly back down, reminding herself that Nancy is safely asleep in her bedroom and does not need the vital hand of motherly revenge to be extended in the next few minutes, at least.

David bites his lip for a moment-a move he only ever does when he's concerned about one of the children. "The thing is, and I should have told you this earlier, I need to go out."

Sam blinks. "What-"

David sighs. "It's about Nancy."

"Nancy?"

"And Miliband."

Samantha simply stares at him for a long moment. "Ed Miliband?"

Sam doesn't quite remember her first meeting with Ed Miliband-not their first proper conversation, anyway. She remembers vaguely meeting him a few times at events, get-togethers, but he'd usually been one of a few MPs who she'd said hi to quickly, with smiles, maybe a shake of the hand or perhaps a quick press of lips to the cheek. She doesn't remember her first conversation with his brother, either, but there'd been more conversations with David Miliband, smiles and sometimes a few swapped stories about the kids. That was between her and Louise, too, at cross-party events, barbecues on occasion. Dave hadn't minded the elder Miliband- _He can see through Brown_ , he'd remarked on one occasion. _He can see he's a dead weight round the party's neck, which is more than can be said for the rest of them_ -and the first few times he'd mentioned Ed, it had been over climate change discussions. _Oh, yeah, we've been speaking with Miliband's little brother-_

The first time she'd met Ed Miliband as Dave's opposition, the new Labour leader-and that had been a strange enough thought at the time that she'd kept clinging onto and tucking into her pocket and taking out and examining with a shiver of delight, _Labour are in opposition again_ -might have been on Remembrance Sunday or maybe a couple of weeks earlier, there might have been some event-but she remembers taking Florence from Isabel, who'd been watching her, Nancy and Elwen standing quietly at her feet, slightly awed into good behaviour by the cameras, despite the fact that they were firmly kept out of sight-and then suddenly, Dave had been introducing her.

He'd shaken her hand and Sam's first thought had been that he looked far too young to be leader. Of course, everyone had said that about Dave, too, but it was a different type of youth, somehow. It was something in Ed Miliband's overlarge eyes, in the way he sometimes overemphasised his words as though trying to make sure they came out correctly, the lisp that had crept in.

He'd glanced at David a few times, then, Sam remembers, and there'd been a smile almost hovering at his mouth, as though he wasn't quite able to make up his mind whether he liked Dave or not.

Or whether he should like him or not.

Now, David's jaw is tensed and his fingers almost curl into a fist, a quick flicker of movement before he forces them to uncurl. Sam feels herself go still, recognizing the look, and her thoughts immediately sharpen.

"Yes, Ed Miliband" is all Dave says, but his voice is tight and Sam's heartbeat is suddenly audible.

"What's he got to do with-"

"Nancy told me-"

They speak at the same time and then stare at each other for a moment. David's words sink in slowly and Sam feels herself move before she knows she's doing it, scrambling upright.

"What's he done?" She doesn't realise that her voice has risen almost to a shout, until David shushes her, gesturing urgently in the direction of the childrens' bedrooms. Sam takes a deep breath, already forcing her voice lower, her thoughts into order, the way she's become used to. The way she's had to become used to.

"What has he _done?"_ The word is almost spat out, almost takes Sam herself aback with the way it trembles in the air. But she's seeing those shadows under her daughter's eyes and her own hands are curling into fists, because if he's touched her, if he's touched a hair on her head, _I'll kill him, I swear I'll kill him-_

David holds out a hand, calming her. "Nothing. He hasn't done anything. Not _to_ her. It's that-"

Sam breathes in, then out, holding onto this, this nugget of knowledge, that it's all right, it's all right, nothing's happened to Nancy, nothing like-

"She told him."

"What?"

David meets her eyes. "Nancy told Miliband she was upset" he says simply. But Sam knows the tone too well, knows there's something brewing, something she isn't going to like.

"When?" is all she says, her heart beating fast now, her own fingers flexing.

"In November. On Bonfire Night."

Sam almost chokes. _"What?"_

"I know-" and she knows from David's clenched jaw, his narrowed eyes that he does know, he does, and that sends a fierce rush of something through her, something like love, something like pride that they both know this, are both in utter agreement in their fury.

"She was sitting outside Flo's room" David says now, his voice firm and horribly level. "And she said she was upset-she asked him about his brother and-because she was worried about me-and he knew she was upset and-he didn't _tell us."_

David's voice cracks on the last words and then he grinds them out again, a little differently, the words shuddering with something dark and furious and fiercely primal and protective. "He didn't tell _me."_

Sam sits very still for a moment. Then, she scrambles upright. "Where are you meeting him?"

"Portcullis House _-no-"_

"I'm going to kill him."

"Sam-look, _I_ want to fucking kill him-"

"I'm going with you." She's already looking for her coat, eyes darting about the room-it will be in the cloakroom, of course-"We'll get-Gita will watch the kids, I want to see him-"

"No, Sam- _Sam-"_ Dave's got a hand on her arm, the way he did that time in Bristol, when he'd been staying in her flat when she was still studying and they'd only been dating a few months, and one of the guys in there, a friend of a friend, had made some crack after one too many beers over the pool table of _think you could beat us all, don't you-fucking posh twat-_

David's face had barely changed-just tensed for a moment, before it had relaxed into the grin Samantha could already have traced in her sleep. _Well. So much for making a good first impres-_

Dave had never managed to finish the sentence, because Sam had promptly reached out, grabbed someone's glass of beer, stormed over to the pool table, and poured it over the guy's head.

Dave had grabbed her arm, then, in the aftermath of the smashed glass and the guy spluttering while his friend collapsed in laughter next to him, and she'd looked up at her boyfriend with a raised eyebrow, daring him to challenge her, but something fiercely protective already unfurling in her chest, leaving her heart rapid, her eyes brighter. She could feel them, when she looked at him.

All Dave had said was "That was bloody impressive."

Sam had grinned, just a little. "Because I'm a girl?"

Dave had cocked an eyebrow. "No. Just impressive."

His hand had still been on her arm, and she'd stepped closer to him, sliding her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. She liked being here, she'd thought. In his arms, against his chest. Mouth to mouth with him.

Now they're standing in the flat above Downing Street, and her voice is lower, with the children in mind, always, always the children in mind.

"He knew this" she says, and then again, reminding herself. "He knew this."

"He-"

 _"He did this to my fucking daughter-"_ The words shake in the air.

"He didn't _do-"_

"He might as well have done." You don't have to actually do something-reach out, perform the action-to worsen the damage. Sam knows only too well. They both do, really.

David is holding her now. "I should have told you" he says, and he's holding her tighter now.

"Yes, you should have bloody told me." She spits the words out too harshly, because it's not Dave she wants to grab hold of, it's not Dave she wants to grab hold of at all-

Dave meets her eyes, his own wide, face free from guile and polish. "I'm sorry."

The words cling there, taking the wind out of Sam's sails. She puts her hand to her hair, grips once, twice.

"I should have told you" Dave's saying and Sam raises her eyes to look at him. "I know, I was trying to think of how I should tackle him. But I should have told you and I'm sorry."

Sam looks at him and then nods. She nods and nods and nods.

David slides his arms around her, and she nestles into his chest. She rests her head against his heart, listening to it, the strong, steady drumbeat, one of the soundtracks of their marriage, along with the children's laughter, hands slipping into theirs', and David's voice in her ear, saying "Ready?", as he slides his hand into hers', ready to walk out in front of whomever they need to walk out in front of, their fingers intertwining, as though tying themselves together, a shield against all the flashes and shutters and questions.

"It's not that I don't want you to scream at him" Dave says, quietly, into her hair. "I just don't want the kids to wake up and find neither of us there."

Sam takes in a deep breath.

"It's not that I don't want you to kill him." She can hear the smile in Dave's voice, as he hugs her tighter, burying his hands in her hair. "It's that I'd like to get some bloody answers out of him before you kill him."

Sam laughs. It's shaky, but it is a laugh. She holds onto Dave for another moment, soaking in the feeling of him, the scent of him.

Dave holds her tight and then pulls back a little to look at her. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. I just didn't want to upset you more than-"

Sam shakes her head, because her fury of a few minutes ago wasn't at Dave, and his words make sense.

They make sense and the children can't wake up to find one of them gone. They can't.

Sam takes a deep breath. She still remembers when she used to pick up a glass, storm across a bar, and throw it over the head of someone who criticised her boyfriend without a second thought.

When Ivan was born, she'd become an expert at _wait a moment._ Pulling in, taking a breath.

_Don't start screaming. Don't tear at your hair. Don't curl up and sob._

_Want to, but don't._

_Ivan needs you._

_The children need you_.

Everything changed with them. They live and breathe around them.

Someone has to be here.

Sam takes a deep breath, breathes in how angry she is, the part of her that wants to wrap her hands around Ed Miliband's throat and not let go.

She pulls back, so she can meet David's eyes, and nods. "Make sure you murder him for us" is what she says, and the slightest smile twitches at the corner of David's mouth, as she feels him relax against her.

They stand there for another moment, his arms tight around her. "Murder him for us" she whispers again, and he nods, the movement rocking both of them, arms wrapped around each other, both of them together.

* * *

 

Ed has been in the House of Commons at night before-an MP's pass is a valuable tool-but this time his heart is rapid, and there's a faint sickness at the back of his throat. He doesn't know whether he hopes to find anyone else here or not.

He shouldn't have shown up, he'd thought the whole way here on the Tube, the electric lights harsh and too bright. He shouldn't, he'd been thinking, even as he called Zia back upstairs, asked her to keep an eye on the boys, and left Justine a quick note that was perhaps curter than it needed to be.

He shouldn't have, but he'd known, maybe the moment Cameron told him, that he was going to.

 _It's about my daughter,_ the words harsh and furious.

Ed feels that panic rise horribly in his chest again and he wraps his arms tightly around himself, struggling to clamp it down, to _keep calm, keep calm, you don't even know what she's said-_

But what _could_ she have said?

And whatever she's said, will Cameron even believe him?

Ed shakes his head hard, as if answering himself. Cameron-Ed wraps his arms tighter around himself-

Whatever he thinks of Ed, Cameron surely can't believe for a second that Ed would-

 _Hurt_ one of his children-

But what if it was the other way round? What if Daniel or Sam had told him that Cameron had-

Cameron had _what?_

He doesn't even know what Cameron's so furious _about._

A vaguely paranoid part of Ed's brain wonders not for the first time, if this is all some kind of trick. But he reasons, as he has been the whole way here, that Cameron, no matter what they're fighting over, is very unlikely to lure him to Portcullis House to batter him unconscious. If nothing else, there's too much CCTV.

Plus, Ed can't really picture Cameron cleaning up blood.

Maybe ordering some minion to do it.

But then, even that thought isn't as entertaining as it should be because the fact is, it's harder and harder to shove Cameron into that shape in his mind. _Stereotypical, public-school, spoilt-_

It's harder than it should be, and it worries Ed a little.

He's standing here, chewing his lip, checking the time on his phone, thinking these things as a way to avoid counting down the seconds, until Cameron turns up and tells him what he's so furious about.

God, and _he's_ the one who's meant to be furious with _Cameron-_

Or he thinks he should be, really-

The door opens behind him and Ed turns to see Cameron standing there, watching him.

Ed's still in his suit from earlier in the day-he hadn't had a chance to change before he'd heard Cameron's message, and after, there'd seemed little point.

Cameron hasn't changed, either. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, his tie looser, and his suit slung over one arm. Ed pulls at his own self-consciously.

For a moment, they just look at each other. Ed can't make out David's expression in the dark. But he can tell from the tilt of his head that Cameron's scrutinizing him just as carefully as he's scrutinizing Cameron. It flashes across Ed's mind to wonder just what Cameron's looking for.

It's Ed who speaks first and he hates himself for it. "I'm here."

The words hang stupidly between them.

Cameron doesn't say anything. Instead, he just walks closer, until they're standing only a foot apart.

He pushes open the door to Portcullis House so hard the door bounces and Ed has to catch it with his hand to prevent it hitting him in the face as he follows Cameron into the dining hall.

It's a ghostly sight, the Portcullis Hall at night. Empty tables stand silently, ringed across the room. Half-darkness fills the place, so Ed can barely make out Cameron's face. He can see his eyes though, glimmering in the dark, and Ed's own roam back to them again and again.

"Do you-"

Ed almost laughs at his own voice, at the way his hand gestures hopelessly at one of the tables. He's not even sure why he asks the question-only, well-

Cameron _did_ suggest coming here.

Or maybe Ed just doesn't want to hear whatever Cameron's going to say.

Cameron's mouth twitches slightly into what could be a smile-could be-

(It isn't. It's the furthest thing from it.)

Cameron steps closer, so they're only an inch away from each other. Ed's thoughts reel at the sudden closeness.

"You say you want me to give you straight answers."

Ed blinks, unsure if he's somehow missed part of the conversation.

"I-"

Cameron's eyes meet his and Ed flinches.

"You always want me to give you a clearer answer."

Ed wants to argue, to object, but instead he feels himself nod silently. His heart's pounding and he's suddenly very aware of how close they are.

Cameron's lips tauten and then flatten, as though he's barely holding something back. Ed wonders madly if his own pulse is audible.

"Then perhaps you'll afford me the same courtesy" is all Cameron says and the words are somehow both more polished and more raw than usual.

Any other time, Ed would want to laugh at the words. Maybe any other time, he would laugh.

But now, he's staring at Cameron, and it's then he realises that Cameron's shaking. He can see it, just barely, but he can feel it almost against him, and Cameron never-

"What?" He almost doesn't recognize his own words. "What is it?"

Cameron takes in a breath, and for a moment-

For a moment, his eyes just go wide and he looks so _vulnerable._ So-

His eyes are big enough to climb into, Ed thinks stupidly.

And Cameron just shouldn't-shouldn't look like that-and Ed-

Ed wants to-

Reach up and just-

Brush that look off his face-just the tiniest, just-

And then Cameron's mouth tightens and his eyes narrow, and then he spits out so furiously the words hit Ed in the face. "Perhaps you can tell me why my daughter has been terrified for two bloody months, then."

For a moment, Ed blinks. The words twist and turn, refusing to make sense.

"Your-daughter-"

"Yes, _my daughter."_ Cameron's eyes are bright now, dangerously bright.

"Well-I don't know-" Something about the panic that's been rising in his chest slices into his voice, fans his own anger, so his words come out a little louder. "What the hell are you _talking_ about-which-"

Cameron leans in then, and his voice is a hiss. "Is there a reason you didn't bloody tell me what my daughter said to you on Bonfire Night?"

Ed blinks. "What?"

His mind scrabbles, trying to drag itself back to November, nearly two months-

"What-" He remembers tucking Flo into bed, but Sam had been there-and she hadn't told him-

"Nancy-"

Outside Flo's room-is that what-is that what Cameron's talking about-

"Yes, _Nancy."_ Cameron's voice is low, and Ed becomes aware that they've leant in towards each other, their breath harsh, audible.

"I-" Ed's thoughts are climbing over each other. "You mean-what she told me-when you were with Flo and Sam-"

"Fantastic. You remember."

Ed bites his lip to prevent himself spitting out sarcasm in response. "What do you-I didn't think, I-"

"Oh well, wonderful. My daughter's in bed sick because you didn't _think-"_

Cameron's sarcasm is the type that usually has Ed wanting to fasten his hands into Cameron's collar, and just-wipe the smug look off his face-

But tonight, Cameron doesn't look smug and Ed might want to grab him, but he isn't sure why.

He isn't even sure if he _should_ be sure why-

"What do you mean, she's sick-"

"She hasn't been fucking _sleeping_ , Miliband." Cameron's voice is suddenly louder, raw, and he's so close. Ed just stares at him, trying to recall exactly what Nancy said to him.

"She hasn't been sleeping because she's _worried."_

Now, he remembers-remembers vaguely-thinking he should mention something to David, but-

He hadn't-

It had just...slipped his mind.

He'd-

He can feel the colour rising to his cheeks.

"I-"

Cameron's standing there, staring at him.

"I forgot-"

The words hang stupidly in the air between them.

"You _forgot?"_

Ed winces.

"So it was so unimportant to you, you just _forgot?"_

 _"No-"_ Ed's surprised at the vehemence in his own voice, and for a moment, Cameron's eyes widen, as if he might be, too. Ed doesn't feel the usual stab of triumph that comes with surprising Cameron.

"I didn't-it wasn't that it was _unimportant-"_

"Just not important enough?"

Ed swallows. "You're twisting it-"

Cameron laughs, but the sound is harsh. As quickly as it began, it fades and then, before Ed can move away, one of Cameron's hands fastens in his sleeve.

"My daughter's not in _school_ because she's too tired to go out." The words twist themselves out of Cameron's mouth and Ed's stomach lurches. "I swear to god, Miliband, if you tell me I'm _twisting_ this-"

"I meant it's not ath-as though-" Ed bites his lip hard because there's a sudden surge of emotion in his chest and he can't let hot liquid prickle at his eyes, he can't-

"It wath a mith-stake-" and his lisp is breaking through, his voice thickening with the words. "A mith-stake-"

Cameron's lip curls and something snaps in Ed's chest. "Th-top it."

Cameron's head almost snaps round to look at him. "I'm sorry, _what?"_

"Th-top acting like I don't care about your children-" Ed doesn't even know he's going to say it until they're out of his mouth. "Or like it-" There's a painful spike of worry in his chest, and it flounders. "Or like it-I want her to be OK." It's got to be one of the most inarticulate explanations he's ever tried to give Cameron, but then this is different.

This is about their children, and that changes everything.

Cameron's staring at him, and again, the words come out before Ed can stop them. "How is she?"

Cameron blinks. Actually cocks his head to the side and blinks. "What?"

"How is she?" Ed swallows. "Nancy."

"As if you care." The words come out far more quickly, far more ragged than usual, and far more childish, and Cameron must know it, because he turns away a little too quickly, and so his fingers open a little too quickly, letting go of Ed's sleeve, which is when Ed notices just how long he's been holding onto it.

And then he's reaching for Cameron's sleeve, before he's even quite realised , and he's caught hold of it. "Don't say that-"

The words were meant to come out loud. They come out quiet.

Cameron's eyes meet his. Ed's fingers tighten on his sleeve.

And then Cameron laughs. "Why not? It's not as if _you're_ particularly fond of _me."_

A hollowness sinks into Ed's chest. He's hollow and aching and he has to swallow hard, past a throat that's suddenly swollen.

It's stupid, because of course that's what Cameron thinks. It's not as though they're _friends_ , after all.

For God's sake, he _despises_ the things Cameron believes in. So why shouldn't Cameron-

The words hover unspoken. _And I'm not particularly fond of you, either._

Ed opens his mouth, and closes it. Because he can't say _That's not true_ , because-

He can't say-

_You're not particularly fond of me._

Ed swallows hard and what comes out is "Is she all right-"

"Did you do it deliberately?" Cameron speaks before Ed's finished.

Ed just stares at him. _"What?"_ His hand tightens on Cameron's sleeve.

Cameron's eyes flicker up to his and they stare at each other. "Did you do it deliberately?"

For a moment, Ed's mind flails around the words, because he can't grasp them or doesn't want to.

And then he's staring at Cameron and his hand loosens and then tightens, because he, he-

How _dare-_

And then he's stepped closer and he's _dragging-_

His mouth's almost at Cameron's chin when he says "That's actually what you think of me?"

The words come out cracked. They quiver a little.

Cameron doesn't look away. Neither does Ed.

Neither of them speaks.

Cameron takes in a breath, but Ed hears his own voice, far smaller than usual. "Right, then-"

His hand loosens around Cameron's sleeve, but he doesn't let go.

Cameron takes in a deeper breath. "I didn't say that, Miliband."

"You didn't have to." Ed's surprised his voice is steady. He can't find it in him to be proud.

But Cameron takes in a breath and laughs, then. "Only you could do this." It comes out as almost an aside, as if to himself.

"What?"

 _"This-"_ And Cameron's closer now, so Ed can almost feel his chest rising and falling. "Turn it _round-"_

"Turn _what_ round-

Cameron's mouth quirks. For a moment, Ed thinks he's going to say something else, but then all he says is something that ends in"...should've known."

Ed wants to ask what. _What should you have known?_

But he doesn't, because Cameron wants him to, and he knows that somehow.

And he's still got hold of Cameron's sleeve.

Neither of them has stepped back and there's a strange ache in Ed's chest as he breathes Cameron in. His voice is low and Cameron smells good and _That's what he thinks of me_ , Ed thinks dully. _That's what he thinks-_

The silence is too heavy and too long, and Ed isn't sure if he speaks out of desperation or not.

"Tell Nancy I hope she get-th better th-soon-"

Cameron's head snaps up then, and he looks-

Well, he looks-

His eyes are huge for a moment and he looks as though Ed has _punched_ him. He looks _shocked._

But when he speaks, his voice is low and level. "That's really all you have to say?"

 _No_ , Ed thinks.

Instead, his mouth opens and closes and a part of him-the part braided with indignation and fury and that look on Cameron's face across the chamber-

Cameron laughs, and then he tears his sleeve free of Ed's hand, turns away. "Well." His voice is low, and spiked with that jibe under the smoothness that Cameron always seems to stroke over the words he knows will be the cruellest.

"I suppose we know your general opinion on childrens' welfare."

Ed freezes and in that moment, of all the things he can think of, it's Daniel's face, crumpled with tears, vomit staining the front of his school jumper, that he sees.

When he speaks, his own voice is louder. "What did you juth-st say?"

* * *

 

David has hung onto his conversation with Nancy tonight, ever since he'd walked in and seen Miliband standing there, waiting for him.

For a moment, he had to just watch him, to prove it to himself that yes, Miliband could stand there, Miliband could turn round to look at David and not tell him-

It had been different, looking at him. Now that he'd known-

 _Right, then_ is all Miliband had said, before David could answer, and his voice had been so quiet that David had wanted to _grab_ him, grab him and _shake_ him and-

Because Miliband has no bloody _right_ to look like that.

Maybe that's what made him say it, and now Miliband's staring at him.

He shouldn't be able to see Miliband's eyes so clearly, David thinks. They're too dark for that. But they're bright enough for him to see.

"What did you th-say to me?" Miliband's asking him again, and something in his voice makes David's chest tight.

He turns back, and meets Miliband's eyes. "I said that we got rather a fair idea of your opinions on children's welfare yesterday" he says, lightly, casually, the way he always does whenever he's tossing out words that he's sharpened into a barb, that he knows are going to cut.

He learnt it all too many years ago, when he was biting down on his sleeve, tears leaking out of his eyes, the skin stinging and too hot to touch, when he thought he'd die to stop the pain.

And their voices, smooth and polite and polished above him.

Now, he meets Miliband's eyes and forces himself to keep looking at him. "Then again, maybe children are only useful to you when they're some kind of _weapon."_

Miliband's lips part a little and his eyes narrow. David stares at him, those words in his head once again, _weaponize the NHS_ , seething in his chest.

And then Miliband moves. He's a few furious steps forward before the words crack out of his mouth. "Don't you _dare-"_

David laughs, because was Miliband actually about to _run_ at him, and because that all-too-earnest fury is there and because this is typical Miliband, to wrestle _himself_ back into the role of the victim.

The victim, the hero, the fairytale victor.

He's got a fair idea how Miliband sees himself. A David to a Goliath.

A David, ironically enough.

He laughs because that's better than thinking of how fragile his little girl had felt in his arms as he lay next to her tonight, watching until she fell asleep, the way he sometimes used to watch her sleep as a toddler, her eyelashes fluttering against her baby-chubby cheeks in peaceful slumber, and how he'd barely dare to trace her tiny hand with the tip of his finger, because she had to be a dream, this beautiful, miraculous little creature, she couldn't be his.

Nancy had looked at him earlier, as he tucked her into bed, and then just put her arms around his neck, the way she used to when she was tiny.

He'd hugged her back, as though he could hide her in his chest. Keep her safe forever.

He laughs, and then somehow Miliband's in front of him, and he's hissing at him, "Don't you _dare_ th-say that-"

And something about that feels good, because this is what he _does_ with Miliband, this is what they _do_ to each other-

"Why?" he says, and he keeps his voice smooth, level, the way he knows will infuriate Miliband the most, and he needs that because seeing Miliband like this feels as though it's drawing some of the bile from his own chest. "That's all you see the NHS as, isn't it?" He leans closer, not wanting to miss any of Miliband's reaction. "That's all people's lives are worth to you, isn't it? I suppose it's rather nice when you live in Dar-"

Miliband's hands fasten in David's shirt. His face contorts, wrecked and furious. "Don't you fucking _dare-"_ The words gash themselves into the air. "Th-say that to me-"

David becomes aware that his heart is pounding. That he can smell Miliband's toothpaste or aftershave or whatever it is.

And they're so close.

They-

"I'll say what I like to you-" and he hisses the words out, because their hearts are pounding almost against each other, and Miliband's cheeks are as flushed as his own feel. "So much for you being the party of the NHS-"

"You _know_ I didn't mean that it-" The words are bitten out and David's hands are suddenly gripping Miliband's suit.

"Do I?"

It's meant to be scathing. It's meant to be defiant. It comes out as more of a question than it should. Miliband blinks and he looks wrong-footed. "I-" and his voice is softer and it shouldn't be and his hands shouldn't be gripping Miliband's suit the way they are-

And it really should be easier to hate Miliband right now.

And Miliband's voice is too uncertain and so David hisses the words out again. "Then again, it shouldn't be a shock. Very easy to care about people when they're _useful_ to you." His hands clench and twist and Miliband's so _close_ and-

"Ithn't that your prerogative?" Miliband hisses back and David can see that his lips are chapped and he's seized suddenly by the bizarre thought of running his finger over them-

David feels his lip curl. "I would have thought that champagne socialists do it better than anyone else."

Miliband laughs, and Miliband shouldn't laugh like that. That kind of laugh, harsh and furious and desperate, is for him and them, not Miliband.

Then again, and he's laughing a little himself now, what makes him think he knows Miliband at all?

Miliband's laughter dies away suddenly, and he blinks at David. He seems to be scrabbling for words and one of his fingers brushes David's wrist. David almost shudders at the odd warmth of it, but then Miliband's pressing his lips together and his voice is oddly forced, as though he's trying to sound like his usual self, but isn't quite sure _how_ to. "The fact you say that juth-st _proves_ that-"

And that's it because David can't listen another moment, not to Miliband talk like that, as if this is another debate, another disagreement they're having, instead of something-

Something about them.

And David's hands twist in Miliband's suit and then he says "Shut up."

Miliband's eyes widen. "I-"

And then David's seeing Ivan's little face again, those little rasps for breath.

"Shut up" and his voice is low and fierce. "Just shut up, Miliband-" and it comes out a low, fierce warning. "I swear, _shut up."_

Miliband's eyes are far too wide.

_Weaponize the NHS._

"It is not your weapon-" and then, almost pulling Miliband closer. "He is _not_ your weapon."

Miliband's brow furrows, and David doesn't care if he understands or not.

"They are not your weapon-" and the words come out broken and furious and wet. "They are not your weapon. They are-"

Miliband's eyes are on his, but he's not saying anything now.

_He was my son._

"You-" and David's breathing hard. "You don't understand."

Miliband is quiet, and then "David-"

"Don't speak-" David almost throws him away, but he can't quite. "Don't _speak_ to me-" His hands knit tighter in Miliband's suit. "You do _not_ understand."

Miliband's mouth opens and closes and because he needs Miliband to hurt as much as this ripped-open, raw feeling in his chest does, he spits out "And yes. Maybe that's exactly what I think of you."

Miliband's breathing is harsh and ragged between them. David's chest is aching, an ache so big that it's crushing his lungs. It's choking him and his fingers throb from being twisted into Miliband's suit.

He's holding Miliband's suit-

And then Miliband bursts out _"You-"_ and they're breathing together and David's heart's pounding and Miliband's dragging air into his lungs like it might crumble away otherwise, and-

And Miliband's forehead almost brushes his and David stares at him.

"Should've known" he says again, but it comes out small and crumbling, and he can't bear any more than that, so he just holds onto Miliband.

Holds onto him like it's the same as throwing him away.

What-

What are they-

Miliband's _holding onto_ him.

They're holding onto each other and it bloody _hurts_ and Miliband's grip is bloody _tight_ and there's an eyelash that's loose on Miliband's cheek that's just visible in the moonlight. David could brush it away if he wanted to.

He blinks. He feels oddly off-kilter, and then he realises that he's looking into Miliband's eyes and that his heart's pounding and there's a swooping sensation, a jolt in his midriff and he almost feels sick.

"I-" Miliband's voice is almost a whisper and then his hands tighten in David's shirt and David stiffens, waiting for whatever comes next-

"I'm going to go now." Miliband's voice is almost a whisper, and David's hands tighten in his suit because no, don't-

"I'm going to go now." Miliband says it again, as if telling himself. His hands clench and unclench in David's shirt.

They stare at each other as Miliband uncurls his fingers slowly.

"Go, then." David's voice is a whisper and something like a flinch crosses Miliband's face.

David can't breathe. He can't. And it's only when Miliband's hands brush his own that he lets go.

He lets go almost too quickly, and then Miliband's walking backwards, away from him.

David's taking deep, gasping breaths. They hurt. He hurts.

"I'm th-sorry about Nancy." Miliband's voice is low and quavers a little. "I didn't mean to make thing-th-s worth-se."

The words sound odd, as though they're coming out of somebody else's mouth. David isn't sure if he nods or not. His heart's pounding so hard that David has the irrational thought that it's going to break through his ribs.

Ed looks at him for barely a second and his eyes look so large and dark and almost wet. They ache in David's chest.

"Well" is all Ed says, and then he's backing away and his eyes are leaving David's and then he's staring at the floor and then he's turned away and he's leaving.

Miliband's going, and then he's gone.

David stands there and his heart pounds. His hands open and close and he feels Miliband's suit between his fingers.

He closes his eyes tight and tries to swallow past the swelling lump in his throat.

He shouldn't be shaking, is all he knows, but he is.

He shouldn't be trying not to move, because the ache in his chest shouldn't make him feel as though hot liquid's prickling at his eyes, but he is.

He shouldn't be wondering if he got what he wanted and still feeling Miliband's chest almost rising and falling against his own, but he is.

David takes a deep breath, then another. For a moment, he's sure those scars tingle. His hands grope and grip at the back of a chair in front of him, too hard and cold between his fingers.

He holds on and almost closes his eyes and stares numbly at the table, trying to focus his gaze, and all he sees are Miliband's chapped lips and his dark eyes and the moonlight that's just like a touch on that eyelash on his cheek.

* * *

 

_ Playlist _

_Let The Flames Begin-Paramore-" Somewhere weakness is our strength/And I'll die searching for it/ I can't let myself regret such selfishness/My pain and all the trouble caused"_

_This seems pretty suitable for the beginning of each of the parties' election campaigns and briefing against each other, but especially Ed's reaction in the aftermath of the "weaponizing" comments, and Nick's thoughts as he tries to put the Liberal Democrats into another coalition._

_Innocent-Taylor Swift-" Wasn't it easier in your lunchbox days/Always a bigger bed to crawl into?/Wasn't it beautiful when you believed in everything/And everybody believed in you?...Wasn't it easier in your firefly-catchin' days/When everything out of reach, someone bigger brought down to you?/Wasn't it beautiful running wild 'til you fell asleep/Before the monsters caught up to you?"_

_This reminds me a little of Nancy, and the other children, and Sam and David's attempts to shield them from the media chaos that will come with the election. But it also, in a different way, reminds me of Sam's musings on the past, and on how much things have changed since she first met David, and her own experience of growing up._

_Is There Somebody Who Can Watch You?-The 1975 -"I know it's me that's supposed to love you/And when I'm home you know I got you/Is there somebody who can watch you?/I know it's me that's supposed to love you/And when I'm home you know I got you/Is there somebody who can love you?"_

_This reminds me pretty sweetly of the scene with Daniel on the couch, and both Ed and Justine's decisions about what to prioritise when parenting their sons._

_We Are Broken-Paramore- "Lock the doors/'Cos I'd like to capture this voice/That came to me tonight/So everyone will have a choice/And under red lights/I'll show myself it wasn't forged/We're at war/We live like this...'Cos we are broken/What must we do to restore/Our innocence, and oh, the promise we adored"_

_This reminds me a little of David and Sam's conversation before he goes to confront Ed, and Ed's simultaneous reaction to hearing David wants to see him. For David, it's about getting a chance to confront him; for Ed, it's trying to convince himself that he has a right to be angry at David._

_How To Be Dead-Snow Patrol -"Please don't go crazy if I tell you the truth/No, you don't know what's happened/And you never will, if/You don't listen to me while I talk to the wall...So just say yes or no/Why can't you shoulder the blame/'Cos both my shoulders are heavy with the weight of us both....It seems I've stepped over lines/You've drawn again and again/But if the ecstasy's in, the wit is definitely out/Dr. Jekyll is wrestling Hyde for my pride"_

_This whole song reminds me a little of David and Ed and will probably reappear in the playlist at some point, but it reminds me specifically of their confrontation here, especially the last lines. It definitely suits the fact each wants to go after the other, but doesn't know how to._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quick notes: Here is the BBC interview George mentioned David doing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IMyJxaQ20kU  
> Here's the conversation with Bradby:http://www.itv.com/news/2015-01-08/david-cameron-appears-to-have-ruled-out-taking-part-in-tv-election-debates/  
> A good documentary about the formation of the coalition government between Cameron and Clegg, "Five Days That Changed Britain", can be found here (the other parts are linked there): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mRHUNxVCnxw  
> David did once call Ed a champagne socialist at PMQs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RL_jFT8E894  
> Here are the clips of Ed and Nick talking about the TV debates: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-30726499  
> The account of taking time off to see the kids in a school play is something she mentioned in a talk, but apparently, it does often fall to Ed's mum and their nanny to take care of the kids when they're sick:https://www.standard.co.uk/news/education/make-sure-your-boyfriends-back-your-career-says-ed-miliband-s-wife-justine-thornton-10017784.html  
> https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/ed-milibands-wife-justine-dog-5481870  
> Daniel's insisting that he doesn't enjoy passing out leaflets while Justine insists he does can be seen here, at 02:20 : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDIERzB467o  
> These were some descriptions of Ed's family life which seem to have been suggested/confirmed by insiders: https://www.conservativewoman.co.uk/laura-perrins-dont-bother-to-read-milibands-manifesto-his-duplicitous-kitchen-stories-say-it-all/  
> https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/84539/downton-eddie/  
> George did buy Libbie Taylor Swift tickets: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/event/article-3256404/George-Osborne-Britain-mojo-stand-still.html He is godfather to Nancy and Elwen, while David is godfather to Liberty: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/politics/font-politics-the-age-of-power-godparenting-7804628.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/dave-new-world-0rx0z66gl7r  
> https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/239808/my-special-son/  
> Nancy did make the costumes for her, Elwen, and Florence for World Book Day, which they can be seen discussing here, from 01:00: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pyECCsEQcMY  
> Nancy does love operas, after putting on one with her friends:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/event/article-2540767/David-Cameron-I-dont-drop-knees-divine-guidance.html  
> https://www.express.co.uk/news/uk/454868/Strict-dad-David-Cameron-bans-TV-and-mobiles  
> Nancy was reading by her 2nd birthday: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/1504621/Will-Cameron-be-a-new-broom.html  
> The "Michael" David converses with briefly is Michael Salter, Cameron's Political Head Of Broadcasting.  
> Ed genuinely did call Nick Robinson to urge him to not allow David to control when the BBC staged the TV debates, and got a similar response as he does here.  
> Nancy and the other Cameron children are Modern Family fans: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/camerons-just-a-sad-dad-to-his-daughter-t0w3m8j6876  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3035592/Ouch-Modern-Family-fan-Nancy-Cameron-mocks-PM-s-attempts-cool-dad-putdown-Phil-Dunphy.html  
> They are also Top Gear fans, Jeremy Clarkson being a family friend-Nancy famously went on a five-minute hunger strike to protest Jeremy Clarkson being fired: https://www.express.co.uk/news/uk/565995/David-Cameron-daughter-Nancy-hunger-strike-Jeremy-Clarkson  
> You can see them discussing the "hunger strike" here, from 03:25 to the end:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rG0T2UqDqO8  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-32022484  
> Jeremy Clarkson is a family friend and fellow member of the "Chipping Norton set", near their Oxfordshire home: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/interactive-graphics/9124278/Whos-who-in-the-Chipping-Norton-set.html  
> The account of the phone calls between Sam and Kate on the day that David became Prime Minister are genuine-Sam was doing Nancy's homework with her at the table and some of the dialogue from the calls is genuine: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/cameron-i-didnt-think-i-would-become-prime-minister-2038080.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-3023033/Samantha-Cameron-s-major-interview-Dave-runs-country-school-run.html  
> A lot of Sam's friends were bemused when she started dating David, as she was completing an art degree in Bristol and was known as a bohemian wild-child type (and also played pool with the rapper, Tricky):  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/samantha-cameron-how-david-met-his-match-7kkjfncvlw3  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/sam-cam-a-wife-less-ordinary-pnz2pw7m86d  
> https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/the-rise-of-samantha-cameron-20160715-gq6blf.html


	16. Painful Persepectives, Caring Conundrums And The Anatomical Irrelevance of Lemurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which analysing the chemical content of clouds is not a positive use of time, David is not interested in lemurs, there are far too many definitions for the word "like" and there aren't enough ways to tell someone you want to see them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a little longer than usual. :) Also, this chapter is a little shorter-and guys, sorry for how long this fanfic is, I actually didn't realise when I was writing the earlier chapters. But I'm trying to keep them a little shorter now, and more frequent! (Also, there are mentions of the Charlie Hebdo attacks again in this chapter, just in case anyone's triggered by that sort of thing. Again, it didn't seem right-or plausible-to not mention them.)  
> If you want to ask me anything about this fanfic, you can [here!](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask). If you want to read any of the articles and can't, just send me an ask!  
> Thanks so much to everyone who's asked questions/sent me comments on this fic so far! Enjoy, and leave a comment if you like it!

_"I'm not good with these sort of things, okay?" she says. "But I want to be. I mean, I want to try and make things work."_

_"Alright" Emily says and invites her out to coffee with a cautious smile.- writing books through letters, majesdane (Skins fanfiction)_

 

_"Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves. But, if you be ashamed of your touchiness, you must ask pardon, mind, when she comes in. You must go up, and offer to kiss her, and say-you know best what to say-only, do it heartily and not as if you thought her converted into a stranger by her grand dress."- Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte_

 

_I need to talk to him. In the real world._

_"Why?"_

_"Because.." Once again, my voice is trapped in my throat. "Because...I like...being....with you."- Solitaire, Alice Oseman_

* * *

 

 

It's always him who has to say it, in the end.

Of course it is. None of the rest of them have the guts. Cameron hasn't got the spine. Miliband needs foreigners to vote for him. And Clegg's not worth the time, anyway.

It will always, in the end, be down to him to say what everyone else is thinking.

Alexandra's looking at him, squeezing his arm, as he gets ready for the microphone. He wishes he at least had the treat of a walk to the pub afterwards. He picked the wrong bloody month to go teetotal.

"There's a lot of backlash" she tells him. "Mostly just from politicians."

"Of course there is" he says cheerily. It's important to keep your chin up, after all. "Because they're all shaking in their boots."

Nobody likes it when people come out and say what they'd rather not think, after all. But someone's got to do it.

And he will. On his own, if needs be.

After all, he was on his own when he started, in the '90s, and back then, he'd never thought he'd get the support he's getting now.

Alexandra smiles, slaps him a high-five. "Just have to get ready to weather the political correctness, then" she says, with a grin.

"We always do." And they always get through it, and that's because their message is one the British people want, no matter how much Cameron hates it.

Nigel sits up, pulls his suit a little straighter. God, he could do with a drink. "Well-" He pats Alexandra's elbow. "Let's find out what the bastards have got for us next."

She grins. He grins back. People have tried to stop him before, always, ever since he started this, ever since they saw their jobs, tucked in the pockets of EU officials, hanging in the balance, the price of being able to call their country Great Britain again.

Great Britain. Their country.

It's _their_ country.

And no-one's stopped him yet.

* * *

 

"Yes, I know what he said." David leans his head back against the seat. "Just keep putting out the same message."

Craig sighs. "I'm starting to think we have the same message every time Farage opens his mouth."

"Yeah, well, it's sort of the same rubbish that comes out every time he opens his mouth." David can hear the flatness of his own voice and he closes his eyes, leaning back against the seat. He's exhausted and drained and he feels as though he's used up all his energy in Liverpool on that one speech. _"It's the foreigners, immigrants are evil, immigrants cause terror attacks_ -I mean, that's a variation, I'll give him that-"

"You've got shadows under your eyes" says Graeme sympathetically.

That just makes David picture those shadows under Miliband's eyes, and a pang of sickness twists his stomach again. Last night flickers in his thoughts for a moment, and then he pushes his hands into his eyes, knuckling them like a child.

"Oh, and Ed's phoned-"

So much for not thinking about Miliband.

He looks up. "What, he wants to pick holes in the speech already?" is all he manages, without much enthusiasm. He's not sure if he can feel much enthusiasm for anything at the moment.

He should be happy, for God's sake. It's been a good morning by anyone's standards, from Craig greeting him gleefully with the news that "the weaponizing story's _still_ fucking making the headlines and Miliband can't say anything about it" to George asking him just how many pieces of Miliband someone would have to clean up today.

And he's got what he wanted from Miliband. He'd got an apology.

If he'd thought about it at all, he would have thought it'd be an apology he wanted.

But instead, he just feels...

Craig and Graeme exchange an almost amused look, and then Graeme says "Not Miliband, David. Our Ed."

David blinks. "Oh-of course-"

"Apparently, the DPM wants to speak with you when you get back to London. Briefly-about the ruddy debates again-"

David just groans and closes his eyes.

He can feel his fingers knotting in Miliband's suit, feel Miliband's chest rising and falling against his own.

It makes him feel breathless, and it aches in his chest.

His thoughts travel back to Miliband's big, dark eyes on every heartbeat, as though Miliband's crushed look's a magnet for every stab of something far too much like sadness in his chest.

When he'd got back to Downing Street, Sam had been waiting in her pyjamas, robe wrapped tightly around her.

David had been shaking when he'd managed to climb into the car, but he'd taken a deep breath, trying to calm the surge rising in his chest that was a little like fury.

He'd managed to keep his voice calm, when he'd walked in and Sam had stood up from the couch immediately, her eyes searching for his. He'd just explained, quickly and quietly, that Miliband hadn't thought it was significant and while he hadn't meant to cause any problems, they'd had a bit of an argument, putting it in the simplest, least detailed explanation he could.

(Leaving out his fingers clutching Miliband's suit.)

(Leaving out his eyes lingering on that eyelash on Miliband's cheek.)

Sam had pressed him for more details and, suddenly fighting back a strange, shaky feeling spreading through his whole body, David had repeated what Nancy had told him earlier before he kissed her goodnight, that she'd just asked about Mr Ed Miliband's brother because she thought he might get it, and that Miliband hadn't understood, but he was stressed anyway-

Sam, being Sam, had worked this out for herself, kissing him quickly while he escaped to the bathroom gratefully, to pull on his pyjamas and wish he could just close his eyes and forget the whole thing.

Sam had wrapped her arms around him while he lay with his eyes closed, struggling to drift into sleep. When he'd emerged from the bathroom earlier, he'd found her, still wrapped in a robe, standing in the doorway of Nancy's bedroom, watching their daughter sleep. David had taken in the worried crease in Sam's forehead and felt his chest ache once again.

Now, David isn't entirely sure what he would like, as Graeme answers his phone again, but he knows what he doesn't feel like, and that's a row with his Deputy Prime Minister over TV debates that he already knows he won't be turning up to.

"Shit-"

David opens his eyes. Craig's frozen, staring at Graeme. "What?"

Graeme holds up a hand, phone pressed to his ear. "Shit. Right. Right-"

"What-"

Graeme lowers his phone, covers the screen with his hand, takes a deep breath and says "Paris."

David blinks. "They've caught-"

Graeme shakes his head. There's a grimness settling about his mouth. David feels a weight sink into his chest.

Graeme's eyes close for the briefest moment before he sights, opens them, and meets David's gaze. "They've taken hostages in a kosher shop."

* * *

 

Nick might be annoyed with David over the TV debates, but he has sense enough to know when there are other priorities.

"It's definitely connected?" he says now, as David's aides scurry around them, the TV screen switched permanently to BBC news.

David gives him an impatient look. "How many other attacks could it be connected to?"

But almost before he's finished speaking, he's shaking his head. "Sorry. This isn't your fault."

"I should hope not or I'd be rather concerned about our security standards." Nick struggles to lighten his tone and gets a brief twitch of a smile from David. Nick doesn't blame him-another glance and grimace at the screen just proves all over again that no amount of jokes can really make a difference at a time like this.

Jonny lets an oath slip out between his teeth as he stares at his phone. "They haven't even fucking caught the first ones yet-"

David rests his head on his hands for a moment, before pushing himself upright with renewed energy. "What was it you needed to discuss, incidentally?"

Nick's already shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. It can wait until this is over-I mean-" Jonny elbows him in the ribs. Nick fights the urge to kick him.

"I was just wondering if there was any chance of you reconsidering your position on the TV debates-but it can wait." Nick glances once again at the screen. "I mean, you've got other things on your mind-"

For a moment, David turns to look at the screen and Nick thinks he's either been distracted or this is his response. But then, David turns back abruptly to face him, and says-with a ghost of a smile-"It's just as well, Nick. I haven't budged an inch."

Nick had expected this, but he still feels the slight tension enter Jonny's shoulders. He swallows. "Nothing we can say will persuade you?" The letter hovers in the back of his mind. "I mean-you know, it might reflect badly on you."

David's looking at the screen again but Nick catches his cheek lifting the tiniest bit in response. "I'm aware. You managed to make that quite clear yesterday."

Despite himself, Nick feels a rush of warmth rise to his cheeks.

David's smile lingers for a moment, before he says "Anyway, I'm not particularly concerned. People can say-as Ed Miliband eloquently puts it-"

Nick frowns. The moment David had said Miliband's name, a strange tension had entered his shoulders. His fingers had curled a little tighter. Nick muses for a breath that he's probably one of the few who would have noticed and strangely, it occurs to him to wonder whether Miliband would.

"That I'm _chickening out-"_ A little of the usual ease has returned to David's voice. "As much as they like." He shrugs a little. "In all honesty, Nick, I'm not really bothered." He turns back to the screen, as though to emphasise the need for perspective.

Nick swallows. He glances at Jonny, who glances back.

"At all? I mean-this could seriously affect voters-"

David sighs and turns round and Nick feels a prickle of something like apprehension run up his spine.

"Nick, I hate to remind you-" David glances up briefly, as if charting the waters, and Nick braces himself.

"But when you and Farage debated last year-" David looks up now-looks him straight in the eye. "Who came off better?"

Nick feels Jonny tense at his side and swears that he sees the hint of a smile steal over Craig's face. He feels more heat rise to his cheeks.

"Now, it wasn't _your_ fault." David says the words a little more quickly than usual, before Nick can speak. "TV debates are quite possibly the worst format in existence for tackling those like him. You know-" David waves a hand. "Anti-politics movements. They rely on audiences-you know, trying to get a headline, prove they're on the side of the people, that sort of thing-and they're awful at prolonged, reasoned arguments. More our sort of thing than theirs'."

Nick doesn't miss the way David's hand moves out just slightly, as though bringing him into the circle. He feels a small, rueful smile tug at his mouth and wonders how often David has used these tiny tricks and at what rate of success.

He doesn't let his thoughts wander too near what their rate of success has been on _him._

David sighs. "The thing is, TV debates are rather a gold mine for their sort of parties. Manna from heaven, that kind of thing-"

Nick knows-unfortunately-that that's true. The problem is-as they're pointing out-

_We need debates. We need debates to show how different you are from Cameron._

_But with Farage-_

_But it won't be just Farage. It'll be all of them. A lot of the focus will be on Cameron and Miliband-how they respond. You can look more moderated. If we want to be in coalition after May-_

The rest of the sentence hanging, deliberately unspoken.

 _Cameron's the one who has more to lose from the debates than you._ Those words, sharpening, decisive. _Than anyone, really._

Now, David meets Nick's eyes across his desk. "One powerful line-" He holds up a finger. "From the Greens or UKIP-that could sink you _or_ me."

Nick opens his mouth, then pauses, because the fact is, that's right, too.

They'd been working on the basis that the Greens would attack Miliband, but on the other hand-

Nick can see the moment David spots his advantage. "The debates can only help Farage, Miliband and the others." He shrugs. "I have to be hardnosed about this." He leans back in the chair, turning back to the screen. "I will get a bit of criticism-"

He flashes Nick a quick grin. (The Cameron grin again.) "But I can live with that."

The words are light, charming. They alone could fool you.

Cameron could fool you.

Or at least the Cameron words and the Cameron smile and the Cameron-

But then that's _Cameron-_

And that's not David. Or at least, not _just_ David-

Is it?

Nick's mouth opens-to ask what, he isn't sure-but right then, Wilson approaches Cameron's side. "Prime Minister-it's-"

David nods, and reaches for the phone, and Nick knows it's the moment to leave. He touches David's arm briefly. "Thanks for the time."

David nods, and for a moment, their eyes linger on each other. Nick swallows and wonders if, another, more peaceful time, he might try again.

But today, he nods and David touches his arm, just slightly. And then he heads for the door with the stab of frustration only sharp in his chest for a moment, before there's another buzz of his phone and, glancing down, Wilson's remark of "Anyone know where George has got to?" only vaguely registering, sees the word _hostages_ and is reminded all too well that sometimes, there are headlines that will last, that will matter. That will mar and rip people's lives into God knows how many pieces, scraps that may be collected, gathered into something resembling order over the years, but never quite back together.

And that, no matter what it feels like to him, TV debates will not be one of them.

* * *

 

Ed isn't sure how long he hasn't been doing anything. He'll work for a few minutes, tabling amendments, occasionally calling advisers in, listening, nodding.

And then he'll just lapse.

He'll find himself staring into space and shake his head, wondering what the hell happened to his thoughts. Sometimes he'll find himself holding onto fragments of a previous conversation; Tom's words _We'll need to talk about the kids soon, how we're going to get them involved_ , and something wriggles uncomfortably in Ed's chest at the thought that they've somehow, without even discussing it, decided that the boys are going to be filmed, going to be involved.

It sharpens the discomfort in his chest to think that he already knows Justine will agree.

And then he'll think of the word _weaponizing_ and how Alastair will react and how it's still all the headlines and how the hell Marr's going to use it on Sunday-

And underneath it, he keeps feeling and thinking and breathing in last night, and it aches in his chest.

He can still see Cameron's mouth, twisted in disgust as he spat out the words. His hands digging into Ed's shirt.

The tips of his fingers had been almost brushing his wrist-

And the fury that had flared, bright and sharp, as Cameron's words about _what children are good for_ and now he feels it again but a squeeze of guilt at the thought of Tom's words and Daniel and Sam's little faces.

And that-that-

That feeling of Cameron dragging him closer and Ed had just wanted to-

To-

 _Smack_ him, or-

Just get his hands-

Get his hands on Cameron's face-

And pull him-

Pull him closer and just-

Ed doesn't know.

But a drumbeat has been there in the back of his mind ever since he'd fallen into the spare room bed last night, pressing his face into the pillow (it hadn't even occurred to him to check if Justine was home), trying not to see Cameron's face in front of his eyes, wrenched and torn and desperate-the drumbeat of why the hell he hadn't given more thought to what Nancy had told him in November.

And now she's sick.

She's sick and it's partly Ed's _fault,_ or at least that's what _Cameron_ thinks-

It's then that Ed becomes aware of a clamour of noise in the corridor, precisely a second before the door is flung open.

"We _told_ you" Anna is saying, her voice high and indignant, and Osborne's standing in the doorway, staring at him with a face like thunder.

"We need to talk" he says, shaking Anna's hand off his arm without even looking at her.

 _"Excuse_ me-" Ed can hear Rachel's strident tones from the hallway, and for a moment he thinks about throwing his head down onto the desk.

Osborne doesn't even turn round. "Yes, _excuse you."_

With that, he promptly closes the door in Rachel's face.

Ed stares at him, scrambling upright and round the desk. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Osborne just snorts. "Don't try and take the fucking moral high ground."

Ed blinks. Osborne's eyes are dark and glinting, his jaw tight. It's the same look Ed's only seen on Osborne a few times, and one of them was in the dying days of summer nearly two years ago, after the vote on Syria, when Osborne had thrown his office door open and stormed up to Ed-almost pinning him against the wall-and spat out through gritted teeth, _Do you know what you've fucking done?_

Ed opens his mouth and that's when Osborne says "This is about Nancy."

Ed feels a heaviness sink into his chest and then a flare of alarm or something like t-

"Nancy-" And he's scrambling up from his desk. "What's happened to her?"

Osborne's lip curls. "As if you care."

Ed's fingers curl around his desk. "What's _happened_ to her?"

Osborne glares at him. "Nothing since David met with you. But we wouldn't be asking these questions if it weren't for you."

Ed's own temper rises at that. "That ith-isn't fair-"

Osborne moves so quickly, Ed jumps back, so he's leaning against his desk.

"Don't talk about _fair."_ Osborne almost spits out the words. "He's the one finding her crying her eyes out at two in the morning, don't tell me what's fucking _fair,_  Miliband."

Ed feels the guilt sink, heavy into his stomach. "I didn't mean to-"

"Well, that's no surprise. You don't mean to do a lot of things-"

It's at that moment the door opens, and Rachel's and James' heads appears side by side. "Ed, we didn't authorise this-" Rachel's already saying, while James glares at Osborne. Osborne, unmoved, simply glares back.

"It's-" Ed holds out a hand because Osborne's glaring at him and all of them, and he can still hear Anna squawking indignantly in the hallway, and he can still see the way Cameron looked at him last night-

Just _looked_ at him like-

Not even like Ed was _nothing_ , like he was-

Like Cameron had thought he was _more_ than-

Rachel's folding her arms and something about the sight sends a stab of irritation through Ed and when Rachel flicks her hair, folds her arms and says, words sharp and rounded with indignation, "You'd be advised to leave now-" Ed hears his own voice, cracking around the words "For God's sake, I can _handle_ him."

It isn't until everyone turns to stare at him that Ed realises his voice has risen to almost a shout. In the corridor, even Anna's squawking has abruptly ceased.

It's Rachel who breaks the silence. "Right. We'll leave you to it, then."

Ed thinks briefly about calling her and James back, but only briefly. He'll apologise to them later, he decides, gaze flickering to Osborne, the moment the door's closed behind them.

The fact Osborne doesn't look even vaguely amused is a sign of how serious things are.

"L-look-" It suddenly seems important that he tell Osborne this, that Osborne knows-

He wants Cameron to know, but he knows without even trying that Cameron won't speak to him.

The thought puts a lump in his throat that shouldn't be there.

"I didn't mean to upth-upset Nancy-you've got to know I didn't, honeth-stly-""

The lisp is going haywire. The whole thing is his worst nightmare.

"Honeth-stly-I meant to tell Cameron and then I wasn't sure-"

"Sure if what?"

Ed blinks. "If-she'd want me to-"

Osborne snorts. "With kids, it isn't always about what they _want._ We need to know when they're upset. To _protect_ them."

Ed nods fiercely, because "I _know._ I just-"

"Just what?"

Osborne's gaze meets his, dark and challenging. His eyes hold Ed's.

Ed swallows, feeling the heat rise shamefully to his cheeks. His throat feels swollen with the words.

"I forgot." His voice sounds small and sad.

Osborne stares at him. "You _forgot?"_ He almost spits the word out.

"Well-not _forgot-"_ Ed's stammering a little over the words, the urge rising up to justify, to explain-

"I-I did mean to th-say-th-somethin-but it kept slipping my mind-and then I juth-just presumed-"

"You just presumed what?"

Ed swallows, already knowing how pathetic the words will sound.

"I just presumed she'd forgotten about it" he mumbles.

"She'd _forgotten_ about it?" The disbelief in George's voice is too genuine. "You just hoped she'd _forgotten_ about it?"

"N-not hoped-" Ed stutters over the words. "It's just-children f-forget things quickly, they m-move on-" His voice trails off.

Osborne's eyebrow merely arches. "Do they?" is all he says, so quietly it's almost a whisper.

Ed swallows hard, an uncomfortable feeling murmuring in his chest, clawing its' way higher.

_Do they?_

_Do they?_

Ed has always thought they do.

Or he's always thought he _thinks_ they do.

But maybe-

_You don't care._

Maybe he-

Osborne shakes his head suddenly, as though pulling himself out of his thoughts. "So you just-went on with things? While she-"

"I didn't _mean_ it." It comes out like a splutter. "I didn't mean it-to _hurt_ her-I wouldn't-"

"But you did." And Osborne's eyes are glinting furiously, and suddenly, he's closer, and Ed takes an automatic step back. "You hurt her."

It's not like when Cameron came close to him. Because somehow his hands had ended up in Cameron's sleeves. And he'd been staring at Cameron and Cameron had smelt so _good,_ even when he'd been hissing at him.

And now Osborne's there, his eyes colder and his lips taut, and then Ed's saying "I didn't mean to-you can't think I meant to do anything to her."

Osborne doesn't say anything and Ed feels his stomach drop. _"He_ can't think I meant to do a-anything-" The words come out astonishingly shaky, and it infuriates him-that and the fact he doesn't want Cameron to think that-

He can barely think about Cameron without an ache in his chest and he almost spits out the words, because Osborne's there, and it's too much, all of it, it's just-

"Just-leave me alone-" And he almost throws the words back at Osborne, takes a step forward but Osborne doesn't step back. "It's none of your fucking business-she's not even _your_ daughter-"

 _"She's_ _as good as."_ The fierceness in Osborne's voice makes Ed's head fly up. It's him who takes a step back and it's Osborne's eyes that are burning with something like-

Loyalty.

Something like-

Like-

Whatever it is, it makes Ed look away, with something aching in his chest. Something like loneliness.

He looks away and he suddenly feels tired and defeated and furious and just-

It's something like sad.

It's sad.

He's sad.

"I told Cameron" he says, and he doesn't even bother to try to look at Osborne this time. "I told him." He takes a deep breath. "Tell him if he wants to talk to me, to do it himth-self-"

"He didn't send me." For the first time, Osborne's mouth twitches in something like a smile.

Ed's head snaps up to meet Osborne's eyes. "What did he tell you happened?"

His heart is strangely rapid, suddenly. His mouth is too dry. All he can think of is that moment when they were dragging at each other.

"That you two had it out. Back in Portcullis House, he said." Osborne's lip twitches, again. "He told me you apologised, but- _who knows if he meant it?_ I think that's what he asked."

Ed feels himself glare like a child. "I _did_ mean it."

Osborne just looks back at him. "It's not me you have to convince."

"Well, apparently it _is."_ Ed knows he sounds like a child. For a moment, he wishes he was one. "Why are you here, otherwise?"

Osborne, to his credit, doesn't look away. "Because I care about Nancy. Even if you don't-"

"I _care_ about her-" The words are ripped out of Ed's throat, and the indignation braided into them shocks them both.

Osborne, however, doesn't take long to recover himself. "Why would you care about her?"

The question is so simple that, for a moment, Ed's sure he hasn't heard correctly. "What?"

Osborne doesn't look away. "Why would you care about her welfare? What's Nancy to you?"

Ed can barely speak for a moment. _"What?"_ The words are almost a shout. "Why do I _care_ about her?"

Osborne's just standing there, looking at him, and Ed, his mind reeling with so many answers he almost can't speak-

"I care-because-because-of _courthe_ I care about her-" He can't even dwell on the lisp, still stammering through the words, through the fact Osborne would think he doesn't care about her-

He sees Nancy, head falling against his shoulder. _Mr. Ed Miliband, I'm tired._

He feels Flo wriggling onto his knee, pressing her lips to his cheek in a fierce, childish kiss.

"Of course I care about-I care about _them_ -I care about _hi-"_

He snaps his mouth shut, even before he realises what he almost said.

Osborne doesn't move. His expression doesn't change. But everything about him stills, just for a moment.

Ed feels all the heat rush to his cheeks. It's as though the heat's been sucked from the rest of his body, because he shivers.

Osborne's just _looking_ at him-

Ed so badly wants to ask what he's thinking, but he can't, he-

He _needs_ to know, it's like a crawling under his skin-

Osborne blinks suddenly, and then, with a slight tilt of the head and a small smile, simply says "Oh."

Ed blinks, not sure whether to be infuriated or relieved, or a mixture of the two.

There's a smile playing at Osborne's mouth-the slightest flicker of a smile.

"Well" is all he says, as though he and Ed have decided something, somehow, and turns towards the door.

Ed knows he shouldn't ask it, but he does, anyway.

"Well what?"

For a moment, Osborne just stops and stands with his back to Ed, very still. Then, slowly, he turns.

He watches Ed for a long moment, head on one side.

"I think" he says, slowly. "You might want to phone David."

Ed blinks, because he's already apologised and-

"You know-" and Osborne cocks his head to the side a little as he speaks. "He's never particularly happy when you can't come to a satisfactory conclusion in a fight."

With that, his mouth quirks a little, and then he says "Sorry to disturb you."

And with that, he opens the door, gives Ed something resembling a smile, and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Ed just stands there, one hand braced on his desk, staring after him.

The door flies open a second later, and Rachel appears with Anna at her side, both of their hair a little dishevelled. "What was that about?"

_He's never particularly happy-_

Ed looks down for a moment to compose himself.

Is Cameron-

_In a fight._

Does that mean Cameron's _dwelling_ on it-

"Ed?"

Ed looks at his shoes for another minute. Keep calm. Keep unruffled.

_Stay in control._

_I think you should call David._

He stares at his feet for another moment, Osborne's words ringing so loudly he already knows he won't be able to ignore them. Then, slowly, he raises his head and faces Rachel and Anna to dredge up for them something resembling an answer.

* * *

 

Nancy knows what Mum's going to say, before she says it, so she stops her.

"S'OK." She nestles against her mother, her arms wrapping tight around her knees. "I know Dad can't to go out tonight."

Mum looks at her, as they sit curled up in front of the TV. "I'm sorry, Nance."

Nancy shakes her head and huddles into her mother as they watch the screen together. "S'fine. It's not like Mr Ed Miliband and his kids."

"Yeah, I meant to ask-" Mum kisses her head and wraps an arm tighter around her. "What was all that about? I meant to ask when Dad was telling me."

"Oh-" Nancy's not daft. She knows Mum doesn't want her looking too much at the TV screen. But, it reminds her.

"Yeah, Flo was saying Daniel kicked off when they went to give Mr. Ed Miliband his present on Christmas Eve-"

"Yeah, Dad mentioned he had a bit of a tantrum-"

"Flo said he started screaming that Mr Ed Miliband and his wife are never at home and that they make him and Sam eat in the basement." Nancy pauses. "She was telling me while she was singing "Do You Want To Build A Snowman?", though."

Mum frowns. "God, that's horrible." Seeing Nancy's look, she blinks. "Not Flo's singing."

"That too."

Mum nudges her.

"Yeah." Nancy leans against her. "Imagine if we made Gita live in the basement. She'd kill us all once she broke out."

"Oi." Nancy almost jumps out of her skin when Gita pops her head over the back of the couch.

"Though Nance has a point." Mum gives Gita a grin and pats the space next to them. Gita takes her seat, wincing at the TV and giving Nancy a quick squeeze around the shoulders. "You'd be more than capable."

"You learn a lot in Nepal."

"But yeah. That's where their nanny lives in the basement." Nancy reaches for her glass of fruit juice. "And they have to stay down there. They don't see their mum and dad most days."

Mum shivers. "God. Poor little things-"

"I know I should feel bad, but Flo let Sam go through my room while they were here."

Mum taps Nancy's arm reprovingly and Nancy huddles up between them, her eyes on the screen.

"Do you think they'll get them out?" she asks quietly, and Mum's smile fades, her hand squeezing Nancy's gently.

"They're trying, Nance."

Gita makes the sign of the cross. Nancy wriggles. But Mum said to ask if she needed to know anything-

"Is Dad going to be OK? If he goes to France?"

Mum squeezes her gently. "Of course. We were thinking, when Daddy phoned earlier, that he's going to stay here tomorrow while we go to Granny's just to go over things with Uncle Ed L, and then they could go together on Sunday. And you know that Daddy will have all his protection team."

Nancy nods. She knows, but-

"And he'll be staying somewhere safe-" Mum says, kissing her head. "So there'll be more protection teams there, too."

Nancy feels a little better, but wriggles a little closer. Mum kisses her head and so does Gita.

"I'll have to move in ten minutes" Gita says, with a glance at her watch. "Get El and Flo-"

Nancy looks at Mum. "It's OK" she says, testing the words out carefully. "Gita can stay with me. You can get El and Flo, Mum-"

Mum turns to look at her carefully. "Are you sure, Nance?"

Nancy nods. "Gita'll be here."

Gita places a hand over her heart. "I guard her with my life. And one of those guards' guns, if I get my hands on one."

Nancy glances at the screen, and Gita winces. "Sorry. Bad timing."

Mum rolls her eyes, but squeezes Nancy's hand. "If you're sure-"

"Yeah. Flo likes you getting her on Fridays, she likes to tell you about Buddy Reading. And you know-" Nancy glances at the screen. "If they've said anything about it at school, you know. Flo might not get it."

Mum bites her lip. "Only if you're sure, Nance."

Nancy nods. "She'll end up sleeping in my bed tonight, anyway."

Mum laughs and gives her a squeeze. Gita kisses her head. Nancy stares at the screen and as Gita makes another sign of the cross, Nancy thinks about Dad and how he's going to go and help, and she folds her arms tightly around her knees, she wants to hug him so badly.

* * *

 

The hostages are freed after 5pm.

Four of them don't come out.

The shooters are dead. All the shooters are dead.

So are too many others.

David watches silently, with the others around him. Ed wraps his arms around himself and closes his eyes briefly. Chris just puts a hand on David's arm and squeezes once.

Craig is dealing with the phones. Graeme bows his head for a few moments, lips moving silently, as if in prayer.

There's a brief couple of minutes where the phones don't ring. Where Philip inclines his head. Where Theresa withdraws something that looks like a cross and closes her hand around it for a few moments.

David tries not to see his children again, blood and tears staining their faces.

It's Theresa who says, after a moment of silence, "What do we need to do?"

It is the simplest question but the one nobody else wanted to ask.

It's also the one they need to answer.

It's much later that David walks into the flat and when he sees the kids, all he can say is "I'm sorry."

Flo just throws herself at him and hugs him tight round the knees. David wonders if any of the hostages had daughters.

He lifts her and carries her to the couch, his eyes immediately roaming to Nancy and Elwen, nestled into Sam's arms.Sam just leans over and squeezes his hand. David meets Nancy's eyes, past Sam's shoulder.

"Nance?"

Nancy reaches past Sam and threads her fingers gently between his. Elwen nestles into his chest.

He wonders if they've identified them yet. If their kids are waiting for them. When they'll get told.

 Sam pulls her arms around them, so they can huddle together, the five of them, with his and Sam's arms tight around the children, keeping them safe.

* * *

 

Sam always makes it her business to check when David's going away.

Dave cooks and cleans and even does the ironing on occasion, but there are some areas where he is, if not hopeless, certainly less able than she is. One is DIY, and another is packing.

And while she helps him pack, they talk.

_Toothbrush?_

"Nance looks better."

"I think she'll be all right to go back on Monday."

"She seems happier." Dave's jaw tenses, and Sam squeezes his arm. "It'll be good for her to have a weekend with Mum, get her out of London. Emily'll be there too."

_Flannels?_

"It _is_ the British residence, not a Travelodge-"

"You should always be prepared. Remember that time in Morocco?"

"God, yeah."

Sam watches the way his jaw tenses again, and she nudges her chin over his shoulder. They hold each other like that for a few moments, and she says, without needing to look at him "You be careful."

He kisses her without needing to answer.

_Both your phones?_

"Have you spoken to Ed Miliband since last night?"

She thinks she sees David still for a moment.

Then she knows she's seen David still for a moment.

"Why would I speak to him again?" David resumes packing with a slightly increased vigour. "We said all we had to say to each other last night."

Sam snorts.

She'd practically accosted David at the door the previous evening, she has to admit-"Did you read him the riot act? What did you say?"-and then she'd taken in the look.

Just-the look on Dave's face.

If eyes could ache, his were.

He'd looked _crushed._

He looked as though the fighting had pulled something out of him. _Drained_ him.

She'd hugged him, made him a cup of tea, and the words had been a little more halting than before, but still clear. Still _Dave's._

"It was a misunderstanding. That's what he said." Dave had stared over his tea as he said the next words. "He said he _forgot."_ There was a horrible stress on the last word.

Sam had stared at him. "He _forgot?"_

"That's his story. But I just-lost it with him. Like we always end up doing." These last words were just breathed, as though they were just for himself.

Sam had squeezed his shoulder. "He deserved it" she'd said firmly, but already, some of the fire had been cooling a little.

If this was entirely the right thing, for him and for Nancy, David would have been looking triumphant.

But he'd looked-

"He asked me if that was really what I thought of him."

Sam had lifted her head. "What?"

David had spoken only a little louder, staring at his tea. "He asked me if that's what I really thought of him. Miliband-" He'd shaken his head. "It doesn't matter, Sam."

Sam knows when David will talk and when he won't, but then, looking at him, she'd suddenly been reminded of two years ago, after the Syria vote, when David had sat here, with George's hand on his arm, and said _I thought better of him._

 _Miliband?_ George had almost spat out the name. Sam had felt like doing the same, or worse.

But David had just shaken his head. Stared straight in front of him, like last night. _I thought fucking better of him._

Last night, Sam had watched him and thought that this time, the look on his face had been worse.

Now, Sam's looking at him and she watches the way David's staring too hard at the case.

If Nancy had been happy today, Sam might not have asked. But when she'd asked her daughter, brushing her hair, if it was true, that Dad had mentioned that Mr. Miliband had been talking to her, and Nancy had shrugged. "Oh, yeah. Way back at Bonfire Night."

She hadn't seemed troubled, and Sam, watching her daughter carefully throughout the day, had observed a slight lightening of her mood.

Maybe that makes her more careful as she says, when David gives her a questioning look, "You just seem....unhappy about it."

David's head jerks up a little too fast, which tells Sam her hunch is right. "I'm not. He just....he needed me to deal with him."

Sam looks at him long and hard, and after a moment, Dave meets her gaze. "What?"

Sam doesn't look away. "Do you miss him?"

She knows she's said the right words when David laughs too quickly. "It's been less than a _day-"_

He closes the suitcase over and sits down on the bed next to her. Sam raises an eyebrow.

"Why would I miss him?" is Dave's only answer and Sam has to bite back a grin.

Another memory is suddenly there, a little too clear-sitting next to Dave at some event, and her eye being caught by Dave's sudden movement. She'd caught a quick glimpse of his grin before he'd been turned away from her, waving, and she'd had to turn away to hide her own grin.

Miliband had been waving back at him across the aisle, both of their eyes meeting, smiles dancing about their mouths that had been-

Almost shy.

Almost awkward.

Something about that look lingers on Sam's mind and, taking Dave in, even though his expression now is completely different, something about it-

Something's similar.

Sam's grown up learning to read people. She and Emily-and later, the others too-were never made to stay upstairs when Mum and William and Dad and Vic were holding dinner parties. And Mum would never be the type to put up with any sign of rumours without pointing it out quickly to Sam and the others. "Don't ever think that is how you get ahead" she'd tell Sam, pressing kisses into her hair. "Spreading rumours and having people pretend to be things they're not is not the way you get ahead in society-or life, for that matter."

 _Listening._ Granny used to tap a finger to her ear. _The way to make friends-_ she'd glanced around quickly at the table then. _Real friends-is by listening. And being interested._

Sam had learnt that. And she'd made sure to do it, even at school, when the other girls had traded rumours and whispers like they'd once traded sweets and daisy chains. She'd learnt to listen and by that she sometimes thought she knew more than she realised or wanted.

But if knowing could help people, then Sam was willing to do it.

And she knows David better than anyone.

So now, she looks at David and says "Because you like him" very simply.

David stops dead for a moment, then turns to look at her. "What do you mean?"

Sam picks up her phone. "The dictionary definition of _like_ is to find agreeable, enjoyable or satisfactory-"

"That's amusing-"

"To be fond of, to be attached to, to have a soft spot for-"

David almost chokes. "I don't know about the rest, but I don't have any kind of _soft spot_ for _Miliband_ , I can promise you _that."_

Sam lets a hint of mischief creep into her voice. "So you're not sure whether or not you have a fondness for him, or find him enjoyable or satisfactory?"

David rolls his eyes, but Sam sees a hint of colour rise to his cheeks.

"You miss him" she says, more simply and the way Dave's shoulders stiffen only tell her how true the words are.

He turns to look at her and pauses for barely a moment before he says "That's got nothing to do with having a soft spot for him."

Sam moves closer to Dave and touches his hand. "So that's a possibility as well?" This time, there's no teasing in her voice.

David's head snaps up. Sam frowns. "You two are friendly" she says. "Even if you're not friends."

David's eyes meet his. "It's not that I'm not friends with him-" His voice trails off , as if not quite sure what he's just said. His fingers wrap around Sam's, warm and strong. "Well, it's not that I'm _friends-"_ He sighs, rests his head on one hand. "This is just-"

He shakes his head, summons up a smile. Sam can always tell. She wonders how many people can.

"It'll all be fine."

Sam waits a moment, then says "Maybe after Paris-you should talk to him. Talk to him when you're both calmer."

David's lips compress for a moment-a sure sign he's considering something even if he doesn't want to.

He lapses into silence for a moment and Sam squeezes his hand.

It's another thing she remembers, then. Bonfire Night, when David had touched Miliband's arm for a moment, before they bent to help Flo and Sam lift their sparklers into the air. A touch that Sam had thought, just for a moment, looked as if neither of them were quite sure they were doing it. Or quite aware.

They'd reminded her, for a moment, of her and David when they'd first helped Nancy lift a tiny sparkler into the air, her hand wrapped carefully around Ivan's.

Sam looks at David, but David's fingers tighten around her own.

Sam knows when Dave will talk about something. Right now, she just holds his hand and waits, their fingers wrapping around each other, as she feels David thinking, his head leaning against hers', Miliband's name hovering between them.

* * *

 

George rings, because George always rings. Sam and the kids have been at her mother's for nearly a day and so David answers too quickly.

"Who are you flying with?"

"Ed."

There's a spluttering sound from Tatton. "Miliband?"

An ache rises annoyingly in David's chest at the name.

"No, _not_ Miliband. Our Ed."

"Oh." George falls silent for a moment, and David knows-the way he can know with George-that there's more to the question. "Have you-spoken to him at all?"

David feels his brow furrow and at the same moment, Miliband's name seems to contract sharply in his chest. "Sam asked me that."

"Not just me, then." George's voice is quieter for a moment, so these words almost get lost. "Have you?"

"No, of course not." It should be easier to say it. It should be far easier.

David glances around, pulls himself a little further into his chair. He's alone in the flat, Ed-their Ed, watching him over his laptop. He doesn't bother to pretend not to be and instead, flashes David a grin, which David returns, albeit a little reluctantly.

"Why of course not?" George's voice jerks David back into the conversation with a jolt.

"What the hell do you mean?"

"What I just said. We're not going to start doing fucking Steve-speak, are we-you flying up there to start analysing the chemical contents of clouds or something-"

"Hilarious, Steve's in fucking California, probably trying to patent some design that allows us to-I don't know, predict election results through the colouration of the rings around a lemur's eyes, or something-"

"Not as good. Mine was one he actually wanted to do, remember-plus, lemurs have one ring around their eyes-"

"Why would I have spoken to bloody Miliband?"

"Because I have."

David almost drops the phone. "When the hell were you going to tell me that?"

"I thought he would have. You know. In one of your little tete-a-tetes, as Boris would say-"

"A, that is _not_ what Boris would say-" David's barely aware that he's pulling himself upright. "Because _Boris_ would manage to create some sort of-some sort of bloody lexicological labyrinth of Latin verbs and then manage to get himself lost in it-b, tete-a-tetes is _your_ term, and c, no of course I didn't. The last time I saw him-"

The words catch in his throat as he feels the fabric of Miliband's shirt between his fingers again.

"We weren't exactly amiable" he settles on eventually.

George snorts. "Well, _we_ weren't exactly amiable. But he wanted to speak to you."

"He told you that?" Something leaps a little in David's chest. It's horribly like hope.

"Not in those words." George's voice is carefully casual-too casual to fool David. "But it was-pretty obvious, given the way he was acting. Face like a wet weekend in Sheffield."

"Don't say that in front of Nick-"

"Again. I know."

"So-" David waits for a moment. "What happened? Why did you go? What did he-"

 _Say_ , is what he thinks he wants to ask, what he should want to ask, if he's asking anything at all. But even as he asks, other words jostle in the air before his mouth snaps shut, closing them out.

Look like? Seem like? Do? Feel-

"Mainly just to see whether Sam's got a job as a grave-digger lined up after May."

"Hilarious-"

"No, seriously-because I was annoyed. And apparently, he was sitting there, pining away."

Something jumps in his chest, as though David's suddenly dropped a couple of floors.

"Pining?"

"Well. Sitting there at his desk, moping-hadn't spoken much all day, Balls mentioned-shadows under his eyes-just one shadow each, see, like lemurs only have one-"

"George, I do not think I have ever cared less about fucking lemurs in my life. If one was in front of me now, I'd sit on it."

There's a pause, then, "Actually, it seems you might find that quite difficult-"

_"I swear to Christ,  if you're googling the defence habits of lemurs right now-"_

_Were you too hard on him?,_ and really, that should be the furthest thing from David's mind, right now.

(Though, really, so should lemurs.)

"I'll wait for the impact of your telekinesis to reach me-" George is drawling, which makes David feel an odd rush of relief. "And anyway, he just seemed-"

And abruptly, George's voice is louder, clearer, the teasing edge gone. "He just seemed sad, David."

David stops dead where he now realises he's been pacing without noticing. "Sad?"

"Yes. Really-sad."

Something swells in David's chest. Something far too much like-

He thinks of the shadows under Nancy's eyes and hardens his voice a little more than he needs to. "Good. He should be."

There's a silence, then "That is perhaps the worst attempt you've made at a lie since you told Steve that the clouds thing was a good idea. And I'm including the time you told Boris that Lynton would give him a kangaroo one day."

David rolls his eyes, but he can feel that ache again in his chest, and it's then that George says, almost off-handedly, "Oh, and he said he cared about you."

David splutters furiously. "Wh-" He glances around at Ed, who is openly staring at him over his laptop, a smile twitching at his mouth.

David turns his back. "He said he-ah-cared-"

"About you. Yes-"

David scowls, picturing the smirk on George's face. "Well. He. Ah-" What the hell's he supposed to say? Tell him thanks?"

"That's-ah-" David doesn't fumble. He never fumbles.

"I just thought you might like to know. When you speak to him."

"And who says I'm going to do that?"

"You." George sounds remarkably unruffled. "Both of you. You're moping, and Miliband looks like a really sleep-deprived panda." George sighs. "Frances hated that metaphor."

"She would, it's a fucking simile-" David turns, lowering his voice. "And who told you I'm moping?"

"Your face." George still sounds happily unruffled. "It tells me lots of things, your face-it's very informative. It tells me when you're trying to ignore me, it tells me when you're-"

_"George."_

"Anyway. I thought you might like to know." George sounds suspiciously chirpy. "What with Paris and everything. Sort of a time for sorting things out. I mean, even if you don't care about him-"

"And when did I say I don't care about him?"

David curses himself the second the words are out of his mouth.

There's a long silence. Then, sounding far too carefully unsurprised, George says "Well. Either way. I suppose given the way things are-I just thought he might have spoken to you-"

"Well, he hasn't." The words don't come out as shortly as they're intended. In fact, they come out a little shorter than they should.

There's another silence before George says, a lot softer now, "Up to you, I suppose."

"George." It comes out, just the name. David isn't sure why. It comes out like a question. Like a child calling out for a parent just to make sure they're still there.

David turns away again. He can feel Ed's gaze resting on his back. He can hear George's breathing on the other end, a sound almost as familiar to him as his own.

"Yes?" George's voice is low, careful.

David swallows, then squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He sees Miliband's face again, eyes far too wide and dark. His voice, smaller and more quavering than David's used to. _I'm going to go now._

When he speaks, his own voice is lower. "Don't talk about lemurs in front of Lynton. That'll be the next toy that ends up on your desk."

There's a moment before he hears George's laughter, a little louder now. He feels himself smile, something like comfort seeping into his chest.

He shouldn't really need it as much as he does.

* * *

 

It's a little later, finalising arrangements, that Ed closes his laptop over, turns to look at David and says "Miss him, don't you?"

David feels himself tense a little, but keeps his voice light. "Who, George? I _have_ just spoken to him-"

Ed just raises an eyebrow. "You know who I mean."

David rolls his eyes.

He's known Ed-and it's downright irritating that he now has to think of him as _this_ Ed-since the '90s, when they were both in the back rooms. This Ed is one of the people David doesn't even remember meeting properly-he's just been there, a face next to David's own, to look at and grin with an elbow, ever since those days working for Lamont, sweating out speeches for Major.

One of his first real memories of Ed is piling out of Alan's house with him, as dawn broke and Major waited to walk back into Downing Street, and them spinning round in Smith Square, the chant "Five more years" filling the air, thrown like a bomb at the Labour headquarters, and Ed's arms thrown around his shoulders as they spun around in the grey light of the dawn, laughing.

Now, Ed's looking at him, head tilted to the side with a grin. "I know you're furious with him."

David is, but-

There's something heavy and solid and sad in his chest. Something that's leaving his head resting against his hand, his smiles a little more of an effort.

(They're so rarely an effort around Miliband, which he doesn't need to remember right now.)

"Maybe you should ring him."

David lifts his face and turns to look at Ed. _"He's_ the one who bloody-"

"I know" Ed says reasonably, now playing on his phone. "But he probably thinks you're furious at him."

"I am."

"Hence him not calling." Ed glances up at him quickly over his phone. "I mean, it can't go on like this forever."

"Not forever. Just-"

Just until David feels less of the solid weight in his chest, less of the nausea in his stomach when he thinks about Miliband keeping things, things about his own _daughter_ , from him.

But it's not making any difference.

"It's not. Political. It's-" David gets up, wanders over to the window. "He didn't _tell_ me."

It's a moment before he hears Ed's footsteps and feels his hand on his shoulder.

And for one strange moment, David thinks it's Miliband's, even though the fingers aren't long enough and the hand's too certain of itself, and-

He turns round a little too quickly.

"I know" is all Ed says, looking wonderfully familiar, in a way that fills David with some kind of horrible relief. "And usually, I suppose you wouldn't, but it's you two and-well-"

"Well what?"

Ed grimaces and gestures at the window. "Where we're going tomorrow."

 _Why we're going,_ he doesn't say, but David hears.

He stares out of the window, not taking in the view. He thinks of those phones in those pockets in that office.

Those phones. Ringing for those people who are never going to answer again.

David doesn't look at Ed, but Ed's hand squeezes his shoulder anyway, and David hears the first part of the sentence again. _It's you two..._

What does that mean?

He doesn't wonder why he doesn't ask, and instead, he stares out of the window, over the Downing Street gardens.

He doesn't try to or not to think about Miliband and maybe that's what makes it all the more obvious that he's thinking about him.

For a moment, he pictures Miliband sitting next to him, that stroppy, indignant little look he always gets when David doesn't do what he wants, or that awkward little grin, dimpling one of his cheeks, that's made all the nicer to watch when Miliband isn't thinking about how awkward it is-

When Miliband isn't _thinking._ That's a good time. When Miliband crumples into laughter and his eyes don't flinch away from David's. When he can meet David's eyes over a desk, Jaffa Cake crumbling between his fingers and not have to speak. When Miliband's not thinking about how much he _hates_ David and everything he stands for.

Miliband would probably say David doesn't think enough. _Are you familiar with the concept of conth-consideration, Prime Minister?_

(Of course he'd end up lisping it.)

 _This enough for you?_ he thinks in Miliband's direction, grumpily, and only then realises that he is, in fact, thinking and _thinking_ about Miliband. And he can't seem to stop.

That knot aches tighter in his chest. He grimaces, and, aware of Ed's gaze, presses his forehead firmly against the cool of the glass, staring out over the garden, into the winter night creeping grey-black over the sky.

_Miss him, don't you?_

* * *

 

He knows when he's getting ready for the call with Hollande that he's going to call him.

He knows when he sees the images of the faces on the news. They're pale, drawn. Some stare at the spots where flowers are laid. Others' gazes dart about, as if waiting for an explosion, a grabbing of sound. A disturbance.

Some children have flowers, he thinks he sees.

He thinks he sees, but that's what David notices most, the children with flowers.

That ache is back in his chest and he wonders how many of those who lay with their phones still ringing had someone who could have answered sooner.

He knows he's going to call him, even if he doesn't let himself think of it.

He doesn't have to rehearse how to greet Hollande. He doesn't have to force the words.

He knows he won't have to force the hand on the arm tomorrow when they walk inside the Elysee and Hollande stops being Hollande and just becomes Francois.

"This is the least I could do" he says when Hollande thanks him for agreeing to come and he's not pretending.

His conversation with Hollande is short-there'll be more conversation later in a conference call, and it's after that that David excuses himself briefly and heads to the bedroom, a room that always seems bigger and emptier when one of them isn't there.

He's not pretending in the slightest.

He sits on the edge of the bed and tries to stare out of the window. He picks up his phone and puts it down again.

This is ridiculous.

He scrolls through to the number, then exhales, leaning forward, resting his head on his hands.

He's exhausted and drained and he needs to rest before dinner and it's too much, and he's furious with Miliband, he _is,_ but-

But.

He hovers over the number three times. It feels longer than two days since he heard Miliband's voice.

It shouldn't feel so long.

But-

He feels vaguely sick, and for a moment, he buries his face in his hands. His fingers tremble a little.

He thinks of Francois' voice and George's words and this constant niggling _Miss him, don't you?_ in his chest.

He presses the number.

Miliband won't answer, he thinks.

One ring. Two.

David finds himself pressing his fist against his mouth.

He won't answer. His knuckles press into his teeth.

He won't.

Another ring.

Miliband answers.

"Hello?"

David has to stop for a moment. He stops, pressing his fist tighter to his mouth. He has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment at the voice, nasal and familiar and God, it's _Miliband's_ voice.

"Hello, Miliband." His voice manages to force itself out. It's tighter than usual. Smaller.

There's a moment of silence, then "O-oh. Hello, Cameron."

Miliband's speaking. His voice shakes a little. It's hesitant. But it's Miliband's-

"I know you didn't do it deliberately."

Fuck. He meant to-fuck.

"Y-you-"

"I'm still angry." He winces at how childish the words sound. "I-I mean-I'm still not happy with you-" _Not happy with you?_ "But I know-you wouldn't do it deliberately."

There's a pause. Then-

"Well. That. That'th understandable-" Miliband's voice is trembling a little. The lisp is there, and something about it just _seizes_ David in the chest.

"I should hope it's-"

"G-did George th-speak to you?"

David frowns. Try as he might, he can't make out Miliband's tone. Nervous, maybe. Tense-

"No." He's standing up, pacing to the window. "All right, yes. But that's not why. That's not why I called."

There's another pause, then "Oh."

"Yes." David stops, leans his head against the glass. "Yes. So-I just-"

"I'm-um-" Miliband clears his throat and David closes his eyes, struggling to hold onto his voice. "Th-sorry. I'm th-sorry. About-that I didn't-um-" His voice wavers a bit. "You know-I wouldn't-with Nanth-Nancy-"

The sound of his daughter's name being lisped in Miliband's voice makes David's heart turn over slowly.

He nestles his head against his hand and then presses his forehead against the glass again. He stares out at the darkening night sky. "I know, Miliband." His own voice is softer. "I'm-" He takes in a breath. "I-"

He can't say it.

Whatever it is.

"Y-yeah" Miliband says, and David's eyes squeeze shut. It's something like relief puddling in his chest. It's-

"I-um-I wanted to talk to you-" David blurts it out, before he can stop himself. "I mean-George did speak to me. But you know-that's not why I called."

"I-I know. You th-said."

David fights with himself and then says "OK, maybe it was part of the reason. But not all of it, anyway."

There's a pause. And then there's a little nervous sound-a nervous, choked laughter. Miliband's laugh.

David feels his shoulders slump in relief, leaving him weak, laughing a little. "God, I've-"

_God, I've missed that sound._

Miliband's still laughing, but there's a softer sound to his voice somehow. "You-what-"

"I-um-" David casts about for words, thoughts flailing a little.

_God, I've missed that sound._

Why on _earth-_

"I'm going to France, actually." It's the first thing he can think of.

"Franth-ce?" And then suddenly, Miliband's voice is sharper. "Is that th-safe?"

God, David's missed that lisp.

He blinks.

"Um-yes. I will have most of the top protection team in the country with me-so, yes." He tries to laugh a little, past the odd fluttering in his chest, the sudden sharpness of Miliband's voice, the strangely-

Strangely _protective-_

Then, "Th-till, though-" Miliband's voice wavers a little. "You should be careful. Cameron."

David feels something like a grin wriggle in his chest at the sound of his name in Miliband's voice again.

"Thank you." His own voice is softer, now. "I will be."

"Good." Miliband's voice is almost a whisper. There's a silence and then, suddenly,

"Are you coming?"

David curses himself.

"W-what?" There's a tautness in Miliband's voice.

There's nothing for it but to say it, now. "Are you coming? To Paris? It's just-there's going to be a lot of leaders there-"

He winces suddenly, because-"Oh, of course-you've got the Marr show-"

"N-no." Miliband's voice cuts in. "No, no-I was thinking of coming, actually-after Marr-for the rally, you know-"

Something leaps in David's chest.

"Oh? When are you going back?"

"Monday morning-"

"Same as I-" David stops and then says "I mean-"

"Oh. Yeah."

David closes his eyes. "I know we're annoyed with each other" he says, after another moment's silence.

He waits for Miliband to deny it.

There's a long silence. Then, "Maybe. But-"

"But?"

David gets the distinct impression that Miliband is fighting with himself.

Then, suddenly "Maybe. But-it'th underthtandable-"

"Yes, but-"

"I mean, it's not as though you're particularly fond of me."

David winces and then, slowly "Turning my lines against me doesn't work when you use it in PMQs, Miliband."

There's another silence and then Miliband's laughter again. David feels himself smile at the sound, something like a grin burrowing deeper and deeper into his ribs.

"I do, by the way."

"What?"

"Like you."

David stops dead and wants to kick himself. Preferably hard. Preferably round the shin.

There's a silence.

"Th-th-thankth-"

He knows Miliband's blushing. He doesn't know how he knows.

"I mean, maybe you don't-"

"I never th-said that-"

David knows Miliband's blushing deeper, now.

David waits and then says "It's going to be hard in France-" He doesn't mean to say it. "It's hard now."

"It muth-st be-"

"Yes. It's-" David closes his eyes, grips the phone tighter. It's digging into his cheek and something about Miliband's voice makes his own catch in his throat. "It's-Hollande is reeling." His voice cracks out of his throat. "People aren't safe. They don't feel safe."

"Who's with you?"

"Ed. Llewellyn. He's coming tomorrow." David glances around the room. "But right now-" He swallows. "I'm alone right now."

There's a moment and then a breath of sound on the other end. David's fingers tighten again on the phone. It sounded, just for a moment, as though Miliband had just breathed David's name.

Then Miliband's voice is low. "I mean. I wanted to-"

There's a pause. David can feel something hovering between them.

Perhaps Miliband's about to say something else. Perhaps that's why David speaks too quickly.

"Can I see you?"

He stops dead. He's gripping the phone tight. His eyes are tracking the darkening sky outside. He stares, vaguely noticing the faint movement of a grey cloud.

"Th-see-"

"In Paris." David has to say it. Has to get it said. "Can I see you? I just-"

He swallows. He feels that emptiness again, that he's felt over the last few days. That had seemed much longer.

"I need to-we need to talk. I need to-I-"

He means to say _I need to._ He means to say _we need to._

He means to say-

"I really-I want to see you. Miliband."

His heart is pounding hard enough to hurt.

The silence stretches out, then Miliband says "To-to th-see me?"

David squeezes his eyes shut. "I-"

"I mean-yeth. We can. I don't have any-we can. We can. I'll-"

He hears Miliband swallow, an audible gulp. "Yeth. I'll th-see you, Cameron."

David stares out of the window. He nods. Then nods again.

"Good" he says, staring at the sky, and then a little more firmly, "Good."

"Yeth-"

"We can meet tomorrow."

"Yeth."

"I want to see you." It comes out again.

A pause. Then, "I want to th-see you. Too."

David closes his eyes and something-

Something _tilts_ in his chest. Something warm and moved and-

It's a strange, tender sort of happiness. Bruised at the edges by everything that's happened.

"Thank you." It comes out too quietly.

He listens to Miliband's breathing, a little shakier than usual. Then, "Thank you." Miliband's voice is so _soft-_

"It's-" He has to clear his throat. "It's going to be hard." He shakes his head, grey sky filling his eyes. "It's been hard, talking to Hollande."

"David-"

They could both maybe pretend Miliband didn't just say his name.

"I'm quite looking forward to seeing you."

He means it to be light. He means it to break the ice.

(He sees for a moment, those children carrying flowers again, and it comes out a little too shaky.)

(A little too heavy.)

(A little _too-)_

"I'm coming." Miliband's voice is there, suddenly, a little stronger. "Tomorrow. I'm coming."

David nods. His forehead's pressed against the cool glass. His grip tightens on the phone, pressing it deeper into his cheek.

"Thank you." He's gripping Ed's words tighter too, pulling them closer into his cheek. Into his skin.

"David, I'm coming." Miliband's voice is there now, stronger in his ear. Something there, tighter between them, letting them both hold on. David nods, squeezes his eyes shut. "Tomorrow?" he says one more time, like a child.

They both hold onto them, the words pulling them tighter together.

"I'm coming."

* * *

 

_ Playlist _

_Sitting, Waiting, Wishing-Jack Johnson -"I can't always be waiting, waiting on you/I can't always be playing, playing your fool/I keep playing your part/But it's not my scene/Want this plot to twist/I've had enough mystery"-this pretty obviously reminds me of both David and Ed waiting for the other to be the one to call and end the argument, but it also oddly suits Nick trying to negotiate with David over the TV debates._

_Champagne In A Paper Cup-Death Cab for Cutie -"I'll keep my mouth shut from under lock and key/That's rusted firm, no lie/Cause all these conversations wind on and on...A sad-sorry state, stutter step to these slammin' grooves/As I'm waiting around for you"-this reminds me quite a bit of Nick's attempts to negotiate David into the TV debates, but also his own noticing the distance that's growing between his party and the Tories as they get closer to the election._

_Everything You Want-Vertical Horizon -"You're waiting for someone to put you together/You're waiting for someone to push you away/There's always another wound to discover/There's always something more you wish he'd say/He's everything you want/He's everything you need/He's everything inside of you that you wish you could be/He says all the right things, at exactly the right time/But he means nothing to you and you don't know why"-this actually reminds me of George observing both David and Ed, and coming to his own conclusions about how in denial they both are._

_Kiss The Grass-The Paper Kites -"And our bones are growing stronger/Every day we breathe it in/We make time to see/And find our healing"-I actually pictured this playing during the scene when David goes back into the flat and sees his family, and when he's packing his suitcase with Sam, as he slowly comes round to the idea of calling Ed._

_Mayflies-Benjamin Francis Leftwich -"I'm wide awake, colours start to run/Giving in, like I'm staring at the sun...I don't wanna talk about it, afraid of what I'm gonna do/I don't wanna let your light in, I've got enough to lose/I don't wanna say it's something, afraid I'm gonna make it true/We'll be lying in the pieces, I've got enough to lose"-this reminds me of David and Ed's phone call at the end._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments Nigel Farage made-the ones he references at the start of the chapter-were part of a radio interview he gave in which he blamed the terrorist attacks in Paris on the culture of multiculturalism which attracted widespread condemnation: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/jan/08/paris-attack-nigel-farage-gross-policy-multiculturalism (Alexandra is A. Philips, his Head of Media at the time.) The hostages being freed was regarded as the culmination of the Charlie Hebdo attacks (and was linked with them), which lasted over three days.  
> You have no idea how odd it was to write Farage's point of view.  
> The conversation Nick has with David about TV debates is a genuine one that took place in January of 2015-some of the dialogue is genuine quotes.  
> George is godfather to Nancy and Elwen & David is godfather to Liberty:https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/239808/my-special-son/  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/news/politics/font-politics-the-age-of-power-godparenting-7804628.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/dave-new-world-0rx0z66gl7r  
> The other Ed is Ed Llewellyn, David's then chief of staff and now French Ambassador, who David went to Eton with, but met properly when they began working in CCHQ together: https://www.conservativehome.com/highlights/2015/12/profile-ed-llewellyn-the-pocket-talleyrand-of-downing-street.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/09/23/david-camerons-former-chief-of-staff-made-french-ambassador-just/  
> The memory is of the morning after the 1992 general election, which the Tories won with John Major. David and Ed L were both among the "Brat Pack"-a young group of advisors responsible for a lot of the winning campaign, who walked across Transport Square to taunt Labour headquarters after the election. Alan was Alan Duncan, whose house the Brat Pack often stayed in during the campaign: https://www.ibtimes.co.uk/david-camerons-decade-idyllic-english-upbringing-britains-prime-minister-1531384  
> The anecdote about Steve and the clouds is a reference to Steve Hilton, Cameron's former close aide, who once proposed that they "burst clouds" to make the weather more sunny, and who now lives in California, with his wife, Rachel Whetstone (also a former Tory aide) and kids: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/politics/how-number-10-blue-sky-thinker-planned-to-bring-on-the-sunshine-6427023.html  
> http://www.latimes.com/business/realestate/hot-property/la-fi-hotprop-steve-hilton-20171113-story.html  
> http://www.tatler.com/article/rachel-whetstone-facebook-career-from-westminster  
> The Morocco trip Sam mentions is a holiday she and Cameron made to Morocco when they were younger:https://www.ibtimes.co.uk/call-me-dave-by-lord-ashcroft-cameron-wife-drug-fueled-parties-cotswold-elite-1520639  
> Gita, the Cameron childrens' nanny, is indeed from Nepal:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2052063/How-Camerons-plucked-Nepalese-nanny-slavery.html  
>  https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/conservative/10695292/PM-Right-to-employ-immigrants-who-want-to-work-hard-and-get-on.html  
> William, whom Sam mentions, is Sam's stepfather, and Vic is her stepmother. Sutton Park is Sam's father and stepmother's manor house/stately home estate in Sutton-on-the Forest, Yorkshire, where the family stay: http://www.yorkpress.co.uk/features/features/5510996.The_North_Yorkshire_roots_of_Samantha_Cameron__the_Tories___first_lady_/  
> https://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2015/11/annabel-astor-british-noble-ginge-manor  
> Sam does do the DIY in the Cameron household: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-3023033/Samantha-Cameron-s-major-interview-Dave-runs-country-school-run.html  
> The picture Sam remembers of Dave and Ed waving at each other is this, at the Diamond Jubilee Thanksgiving service in 2012:http://www.zimbio.com/photos/David+Cameron/Ed+Miliband/Diamond+Jubilee+Service+Thanksgiving/cAycljaPWle


	17. Lorded Liaisons, Misguided Monikers And Arrangements of Ambiguity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which David is way too fond of his Union Jack headphones, no-one wants to get into an argument about whether Cornwall or Devon do better scones, and a totally-and-completely-platonic-dinner is arranged. And Theresa's name. Is. Not. Tessie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the next chapter! BEFORE YOU READ: as there are more videos, etc. that I'm getting the dialogue from (example: Daniel and Sam's little memory in this chapter, of being forced to smile for the cameras on the beach), I'm gonna keep linking to them in the notes at the end! If you want to ask me anything about this fic, you can do so on my [Tumblr.](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask)  
> Trigger warning: Again, mentions of Charlie Hebdo in this chapter.  
> And again, it's all fiction, not intended to be a real reflection, blah, blah, etc.  
> Thank you guys SO, SO MUCH for all the comments, kudos, etc. If you enjoy the fic, leave me a comment! :)

_"I'm not going to dinner with you. You don't even like me."_

_"I like you fine" Reagan said.- Fangirl, Rainbow Rowell_

__

_"Because I say so little, you think I don't feel. I care a lot."- Maurice, E.M.Forster_

__

_He snorts again._

_"You hardly know me, David" he says._

_But he's wrong. I do know him. And I want to know him more. I have no idea why. I only know that I'm drawn to him in ways I can't quite explain, and that I can't shift the sneaking suspicion that beneath it all, he gets me, that he's drawn to me too."- The Art Of Being Normal, Lisa Williamson_

* * *

 

"Did you use the word _weaponize_ , though?" Marr's leaning back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Ed, and Ed swallows hard.

He'd known Marr wouldn't let him get away with it; everyone had known Marr wouldn't let him get away with it. And everyone had known, but no one had known what to do, because, as Bob had pointed out, "We say you didn't, and Robinson brings out a transcript, and we're fucked."

They weren't even trying to pretend he hadn't said it, now. Not to each other, anyway.

"Just get out _fight for the NHS"_ Tom had barked, after getting off the phone to Alastair. "Just get that out. The only thing we can do is keep our fucking heads down and hope the bloody thing blows over. Though a fat fucking lot of use that's been so far." Ed had felt a creeping of shame at how relieved he was that he hadn't had to talk to Alastair himself.

And so now, he's sitting here, studio lights hot on his face, and Marr's just asked him for the second time, before he's even answered the first.

"Well, I don't recall exactly what I said-"

It's not an answer. It's nowhere near an answer, which is something Cameron will give him hell over, which is why he pulled out the fucking word.

And that just makes things worse, because he's told Cameron he'll see him and-

"But we are in a fight over-"

"So it's possible that you did?"

The Tories will be loving this. Tom will be tearing his hair out. Ed wishes he could tear out his own.

And yet, he still wants to see Cameron.

"We are in a fight for the National Health Service"" he says too weakly,

(No, he's _said_ he'd see Cameron, that doesn't mean he _wants-)_

(But he _does_ , doesn't he, and-)

"And I make absolutely no apologies for the fact that I'm _really concerned_ about what's happening to our National Health Service-"

That had been Bob and Stewart's idea. "It's the one way we can salvage this a little" Stewart had muttered, running his hands through what remained of his hair. "If we make it look like it just demonstrates how passionate you are about it."

"Sure-" Marr speaks over him easily, brushing his explanation away with one word. "That-that word-" Marr meets his eyes. "Which clearly _infuriated_ the Prime Minister-"

Ed freezes and forces his head to shake, tries to hitch out a smile.

"If we go for it this way" Stewart had said. "We've got to turn it round. Make it look as if Cameron's the one being cynical, trying to trip you up on small details so he doesn't have to look at the bigger picture."

"Weaponized _does_ seem to be rather a cynical word to use about the NHS-"

"Well, I think what infuriated the Prime Minister was-"

Marr's interrupting him. "Can I just ask-" and Ed hates the fact that he's glad of it, because he doesn't know what he was going to say.

He knows what he should say. _Because I was exposing his failings on the NHS. Because I was hitting a nerve. Because he couldn't answer the question._

But right now, all he can think is that the one thing he _did_ infuriate Cameron about, he wasn't trying to.

Cameron's face just an inch from his own, his mouth twisted around the words. _He is not your weapon._

Something cold and uncomfortable is squeezing hard in Ed's chest and he holds himself more stiffly, because there'd been something in Cameron's voice last night-

"Did you use it? Can you help me-"

"Well, I don't recall exactly what I said, but-"

"Clearly."

Ed wants to hit him for a moment and wants to hit himself even more for the wavering in his own voice, like a child trying to explain to his teacher why he hasn't done his homework. (Ed never had that experience. Something else Cameron would probably give him hell for.)

"But what I'm clear about is that we're in a fight for the NHS-"

"Right-"

"And I, and I-" He's stuttering. Cameron wouldn't stutter.

Stop thinking about _Cameron-_

"And I think that's really important. Look-"

He has to steel himself for a moment. He shouldn't have to steel himself, but he does.

Nancy's name still sticks in his throat, and the words _Which clearly infuriated the Prime Minister_ ring loudly again.

"The Prime Minister went into the last general election-"

_He is not your weapon._

"And he said he could be trusted with the National Health Service. He said he could be trusted with the NHS-"

_That's all people's lives are worth to you, isn't it?_

"He's _betrayed_ that trust with people-"

_I suppose we know your general opinion on childrens' welfare._

"We've seen an NHS where-"

Oh God, this isn't going to make things any easier when he sees Cameron.

But Cameron hasn't made things easier for _himself_ , and what the hell's he _thinking_ , wanting to make things _easier_ with Cameron-

"Well-" Marr looks away, but he has to make the point, he _has_ to-

"We've had _tents_ erected in the hospital _car parks_ this week-"

"We can see-we can all see what's happening-"

"We've seen ambulances-"

"In the NHS-and-"

"Ambulances-"

"I want to come back onto-"

"Sure-" He lets his hand fall.

"Exactly what you're going to do about it. Before we leave this point, you know-the Prime Minister called this a cynical and disgusting word-"

_Keep shaking your head._

"Do you disown the word _weaponized?"_

"I-I-what I don't disown-"

"Do you disown the word?"

"No, I, what I absolutely stand by-is that we're in a fight for the future-"

Marr is leaning forward, now. "That's an answer to a completely different question-"

"I know, but we're in a fight-"

He sounds like a child. He sounds like a _child-_

"We're in a fight for the future of the National Health Service and hon-honestly-" _Oh God, don't stutter_ -"I don't think this is about the words we use-"

It was _one bloody word-_

"About how-" He talks over Marr this time, before Marr can ask the bloody question again. "This is about how we're going to change this country, so we have an NHS that properly works for people again-"

"OK-"

"And isn't going backwards as it is under this government."

It's the best he can do. But he didn't answer the question.

And he knows Cameron will pick up on it, and the irritation grinds away in his chest and maybe that makes his answer on the TV debates more vehement, because otherwise Cameron will get _away_ with it, the way he always does.

Tom will be more pleased with this too, he thinks. He'd nearly exploded when they were planning out the first answers-"What the _fuck_ are we talking about cross-party harmony for?"

Stewart had rolled his eyes. "Because this is the time to be talking about it. With everything that's happening-"

"We need to look different from Cameron, not like we're his fucking best friend-" Tom had shot Ed a dark glance. "The two of you spend enough time together as it is-"

Ed had frozen, even as Bob rolled his eyes. "We'll look completely heartless if we don't say something about solidarity" he'd said simply, checking his phone and unknowingly rescuing Ed as he did so. "We need to say something, and Ed can't pull out of going to Paris or it would look awful. Yes, it's coming at a bad time with the deficit-reduction figures, but that's just how it is."

"Just make sure you're fucking careful" Tom had muttered, giving Ed another, darker look. "The last thing we want are a bunch of headlines from the SNP about how you and Cameron live in each other's pockets."

Ed had swallowed hard and been suddenly, profoundly grateful that Tom did not have access to his mobile phone.

And that he'd followed his instinct not to tell anyone about Cameron's phone call.

He hasn't told anyone-not even Justine, who'd been struggling to entertain the boys, who frankly weren't making it easy for her. Daniel was still moody and tired, laid out on the couch under a blanket, and Sam hadn't been much help, turning away towards the TV whenever Justine had tried to proffer him an Octonauts toy. It hadn't helped that she'd got Pinto and Peso mixed up.

If only Daniel hadn't been bloody sick, then Ed could have taken them to the park-Bob wanted him to talk about it more in interviews. "It makes you sound human" he'd said, nodding approvingly at the photo on the Christmas card. "People want a Prime Minister that sounds human."

But he hadn't told Justine, instead watching as she pressed her lips awkwardly to Sam's cheek and Sam leant away, before scrubbing his hand across the spot where his mother's mouth had been, as if wiping her off his skin.

He hadn't told anyone. Maybe that was because of that surge he'd got when he saw Cameron's name. Something like fury. Something like relief. Something like-

Something sad and heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach.

And he hadn't even considered not answering.

That had only occurred to him afterwards, because the second he'd heard Cameron's voice-

Well-something had buckled a little. Like dropping into a warm bath. But more intense. More _jolting,_ somehow.

_I know you didn't do it deliberately._

Ed hadn't been prepared for the relief that followed those words-another buckling sensation, one that almost left him breathless.

Because Cameron _believed_ him. He knew that Ed wouldn't-that he'd never deliberately-

And Cameron had asked. He'd asked, and-

Ed hadn't even thought about it.

It wasn't as though there'd been a reason not to, he tells himself.

But-

It was the way he'd just-

It was that _sound_ in Cameron's voice when he'd asked and he'd sounded so-so-

Ed couldn't have said no and that should bother him more than-

But he'd wanted to.

That's it. He'd wanted to see Cameron.

That was the _fact,_ but-

But Cameron pulled out _weaponizing-_

_He's not your weapon._

_He's not your-_

But look what Cameron's _done_ to the NHS-

And yet-

By the time Ed shakes hands with Marr, his mind couldn't be less on the interview and that's just another thing to drive him mad.

* * *

 

"Nanny's coming" Daniel says, and Daniel's right because Daniel knows lots, even when Daniel's sick.

Sam looks up at Daniel, where he's on the bed. Mummy put him there because she needs to do some work, and they have to play quietly until Nanny comes.

"Know-I know-" he says and holds up Pinto to Daniel. "Pinto-Peso-" and Daniel bumps the penguins' beaks together.

"Mummy going out" Sam says, and Daniel just makes a blowing sound with his mouth, and puts his hand out for Sam's.

Sam squeezes tight and gets himself up on the bed next to Daniel and Daniel says something about _cameras-_

Sam knows what cameras are. They're the things that go _flash_ and take a picture.

But Daniel's saying "We'll have to have pictures taken, Mummy and Daddy said" and Sam doesn't know why, because they just had pictures at Christmas, and Sam didn't like it, Mummy and Daddy kept showing them pictures that were half-coloured in, and trying to make him look and smile-

"Christmas" he says, and tugs at Daniel.

"But bigger-" and Daniel holds his hands out to show him. "And with flashes. Like on the beach."

Sam doesn't remember _beach_. He can't, properly-he just remembers Mummy in a red coat saying "Do you want to throw some stones?" and he was littler then, and the stones were crackly under his feet and up above was all grey, and Mummy was saying something about _Cutthroat Jake, he's there_ and Sam didn't want to look and he was saying _No, Mummy_ and he didn't like it. Zia wasn't there, and Sam didn't like that, either, and he was only happy when Mummy let _go._

Daniel says there were big cameras there and Sam just wants Nanny or Zia or both, and he says to Daniel "Don't want cameras."

Daniel hugs him, though he can't fit his arms all the way around. "I won't let the cameras near" he says, and he kisses Sam's cheek, nice and warm and not like Mummy or Daddy.

"Daddy TV" he says, because Daddy's down there but not there, talking on the telly screen, and he thinks Mummy's watching, but he doesn't know-

Daniel screws up his face and says "Don't want to watch." He rolls over and buries his face in the pillow.

Sam crawls up behind him and pushes his face into the back of Daniel's shirt. "No watch" he says and Daniel's fingers are round his, and he pulls his head out so he can look at Sam, and then pats at Sam's hair with his other hand.

"No bad cameras" Sam says, to be sure, and Daniel says "I won't let bad cameras hurt you."

He lets Sam get all huddled and close to him, and then says "It'll be all okay."

Sam nods and cuddles in. He doesn't mind that Mummy's downstairs and will just do work and Daddy's going somewhere, because Daniel's here. Nanny's coming, and Daniel's here.

He huddles up and sniffs Daniel in and cuddles because Daniel won't let bad things happen to him, and that makes Sam feel good and happy and safe.

* * *

 

After he's gone over his speech for what feels like the hundredth time, Ed sleeps a little on the plane, the glass of the window cold and then too warm against his cheek. Each time he jerks awake, he finds himself looking round, almost expecting to see Cameron right there, and then he'll remember how Cameron did the same thing, when Ed nudged him awake on the train. For a moment, he almost wishes Justine was next to him, so that she could at least drive some of the thoughts of Cameron out of his head, and that they hadn't decided to travel separately.

He hadn't planned on Justine coming at all, but it had been Bob's suggestion at the last moment. "Looks a lot better" he'd said. "Remember, we need to get her out on the campaign trail. We need to see the two of you as a couple."

Ed could have pointed out that they were a couple, but he'd suggested it to Justine anyway, half hoping she'd say no.

"It'll only be for the rally bit" he'd said quickly. "I mean-I think I might have a couple of meetings in the evening, so you don't have to stay for them-"

"Oh, it's fine" she'd said breezily-too breezily, Ed had thought. "It's a good thing to go to, anyway-it'll be educational for the boys."

Ed had hesitated. "Actually-maybe it wouldn't be the betht idea to bring them" he'd said slowly, trying to remember the things Zia's told him about kids their age. "I mean, Daniel's still ill, really, ithn't he? And they've got to be up tomorrow-"

Justine hadn't put up a fight about this, which hadn't surprised Ed, and for the strangest moment, he'd wondered if it should have.

He tries not to think about Cameron at first, but in between bouts of fitful sleep, he comes rather suddenly, and almost without realising, to the conclusion that this is a useless endeavour.

And one he's quite tired of, since he's spent the last few days fruitlessly pursuing it.

Thinking about Cameron doesn't help matters much either, though. It just means he's constantly _there_ , behind Ed's eyes, and Ed leans his forehead on his hands and groans.

By the time he walks into Baggage Claim, he's not sure whether he's desperate to see Cameron or terrified or both. Knots are pulling tight in his chest, and he feels sick and nervous and on high alert, his eyes darting at every sound.

"Ed Miliband?"

Ed almost spins round at the name.

He blinks. Standing calmly, arms folded, flanked by several protection officers, and looking as sternly unruffled as always, is Theresa May.

"Theresa?"

Theresa raises an eyebrow. "I believe so, yes."

Ed flounders-an effect Theresa tends to have on people.

"Um-it's lovely to th-see you-though not under better th-circum-th-stanth-ces-"

"Quite-" and then Theresa is interrupted by a hand on her shoulder.

"Now, now, Tessie-don't frighten the poor fellow-"

Ed closes his eyes in horror, and waits for the unfortunate man to dissolve into a quivering heap, withered by the sheer force of Theresa's glare.

When he doesn't hear any sounds to suggest that the man has died, he opens his eyes cautiously and peers at them both.

The man's still beaming at him, pushing at his glasses. Theresa has closed her eyes, and appears to be silently appealing to the heavens for help.

"Philip" she says, eyes raised to the ceiling, without even turning to look at her husband. "I _asked_ you to wait in the car."

Philip beams, apparently unperturbed by his wife's expression. "Couldn't let you greet him alone, now, Tessie! Plus, didn't want to leave these chaps to carry all the bags!" He beams at the protection officers, all of whom seem to be struggling to hide smiles and failing rather badly.

"Mr. Miliband-" Theresa sighs and indicates her husband. "This is my husband, Philip. I believe you've already met-"

"Yes, a few times-" Philip's already shaking his hand, beaming, eyes twinkling behind the glasses.

"Hello." Ed smiles, but it's difficult. Cameron's name is beating in the back of his head like a pulse.

"The Prime Minister asked us to meet you here."

Ed stares at Theresa. "Camer-the Prime Minith-"

Theresa's eyebrow arches only slightly. "He rather disliked the thought of you having to make your way from the airport alone."

"Oh-" Ed feels a lump swell in his throat. He swallows hard and doesn't know whether he wants to hang onto the words or not-

But Cameron didn't want him to be-

"I think there's a car" he says. He sounds pathetic. Young. Theresa must _think_ him pathetic and young.

But at the same time, there's the fact Cameron thought of him-

"I know. We arrived in it." Theresa watches him for another moment, as Ed tries to sort out his thoughts, then sighs. "He's been rather impatient to see you."

Ed looks up, his heart suddenly rapid. "R-really?"

Theresa rolls her eyes, but the ghost of a smile touches her mouth.

Philip pats Ed's arm. Ed could easily imagine him doing the same thing to a beggar or the Queen of England. "Let's get hold of those bags, then." He reaches for one enthusiastically, prompting another roll of the eyes from Theresa. "Philip, _please_ be careful-we don't need your back to go again, it was nightmarish enough in Switzerland-"

"That mountain's never defeated me yet, Tessie-"

It's only in the car that it occurs to Ed to ask "Where are we going?"

"The British residence" Theresa tells him, glancing at her watch. "The Prime Minister's staying there, too. Didn't he say when he phoned?"

Ed blinks. "He-he told you-"

Theresa glances at him curiously. "That he checked to see if you were still coming? Yes."

Ed feels his shoulders relax, and isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed.

"Though it did seem rather a weight off his mind" Philip chips in brightly. "To know you were coming, I mean."

There's a faint thud and Philip shoots Theresa an aggrieved look. _"Tessie-_ that was my _shin-"_

Ed glances between them, puzzled. Theresa raises her eyes to heaven. "Philip, the definition of _discretion_ is readily available in any dictionary-kindly acquaint yourself with it-"

"And so's the definition of _pain,_ Tessie." Philip rubs his shin rather enthusiastically, though the twinkling of his eyes remains undimmed. "Plus, no-one uses dictionaries any more- there's this magnificent device called an _iPad-"_

"I'm well aware of the existence of iPads, Philip, and you are not getting one." Theresa turns back to Ed. "But yes, the Prime Minister is rather anticipating your presence."

Ed bites his lip.

"He was rather regretful he couldn't greet you himself" Theresa continues, folding her hands in her lap. "But he had a few phone calls with the French President and the other world leaders. Mr. Llewellyn asked us to pass on that the Prime Minister hopes to chat with you before the march this afternoon and then-well, he's got a rather clear schedule after the rally." Theresa sniffs. "He said something about discussions with you."

Ed's heart is suddenly rapid again. He swallows, folds and unfolds his own hands.

"Oh-yeah-"

Philip, on Theresa's other side, is still grumbling. "I will purchase an iPad if I _wish_ , Tessie-"

"Purchase what you like, Philip, but you shan't be inflicting it on me-"

Ed turns to peer out the window. "So he's going on the march then? Camer-the Prime Minister?"

He senses, rather than sees, Theresa's nod. They're mostly driving through the back streets, but Ed can hear the thrum of noise-feel it even more, the hum of activity from the main streets, people preparing for the march. The city seems greyer, as if the air itself knows what's happened. Maybe it does, Ed thinks. Maybe grief and death and blood and bullets can weave itself into the bricks of a house, the stones of a street. Maybe the ghosts of it can braid themselves between your ribs, their fingers digging into your heart.

And he sees Louise's face suddenly, backstage, Justine's hands rounded over her pregnant stomach. _Congratulations_ , the word spat out, like darts finding his skin. _I hope you're proud-_

David's hand on her arm.

Now, he becomes aware that Theresa hasn't spoken for several moments, and when he looks back at her, he sees that she too is gazing out of the window, past his shoulder at the streets outside. Her eyes are as sharp as ever, in the mid-morning light, but softer somehow, too.

Ed looks away hastily, but it's to the window Theresa speaks, her voice far quieter than usual. "Yes" is all she says, words a breath between them. "We all looked for it, too."

Ed doesn't know quite what she means. Somehow, he knows what she means.

It's then that Philip, adjusting his glasses carefully with one hand, reaches out and covers Theresa's hand with the other. He squeezes, gently, and after a moment, Theresa raises her head to meet her husband's eyes. Ed catches the movement of her hand, as she squeezes back.

Ed averts his eyes hastily, suddenly wishing himself anywhere else but the back of the car. He fixes his gaze out of the window and tries his best to look utterly fascinated by the passing landscape.

After a moment, when Ed judges it safe to look round again, he notes with some relief, that Theresa and Philip are no longer holding hands. He sits there awkwardly for a moment, unsure if Theresa wants a response or not.

It's Philip, who after a minute or so, breaks the silence. "Tessie, you know these iPads-you can get some of them at _remarkably_ cheap prices-"

"Oh, for heaven's _sake,_ Philip-" Theresa's voice is Theresa's voice again. _"Get_ an iPad, if you wish, but on your head be it-"

"On your head-you know, there is this rather marvellous app called _Face Swap,_ Tessie-we could actually _see_ how I'd look with your hair-"

The discussion of just how aesthetically appealing this image would be takes Theresa and Philip the rest of the way to the residence, which saves Ed from having to contribute any more to the conversation and also, oddly, leads him to notice that he can't remember the last time he had a back-and-forth conversation with Cameron.

Suddenly, he finds himself clutching his hands together in his lap and his stomach clenches at the thought that he'll be seeing Cameron in a few minutes, less than that-and that-

He swallows hard, and somehow, with Theresa and Philip's repartee throwing itself merrily back and forth next to him, Ed suddenly wants to see Cameron more than ever.

* * *

 

David pulls at his shirt and suit and then adjusts them again. Ed, next to him, seems to be struggling to hide a smile. "You know doing that won't make them get here any quicker" he says, with something like a grin and David jumps.

"I wasn't thinking about him" he says, a little too quickly. Ed's smile deepens.

"I mean, them." David glances at his friend and rolls his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

"I didn't say anything-"

 _"Shut up."_ David leans forward. "You're as bad as Helle was last night" he mutters. "I wasn't aware that knowledge of our _-liaisons_ had spread that far and wide."

He becomes aware that Ed appears to be struggling not to laugh.

"Oh, shut up-"

 _"Liaisons-_ you really should have chosen a better- _liaisons-"_

"You know what I _meant-"_

Ed holds up his hands. "No need to explain-"

"I'll get those headphones out again in a minute-the Union Jack ones you wouldn't let me wear on the plane-I _will_ , that's what you're driving me to-"

David might not have needed to resort to the headphones while on the conference call with Hollande and the others last night, but it had been a close thing.

Hollande had merely laughed-some of the first laughter he'd managed that evening-when David had informed him that Miliband would be coming too-it had been Helle whose voice had immediately curved up in a grin. "Ah, yes" she'd said (David was certain Angela would be grinning) "Stephen has been keeping me informed-"

David had smiled a little, but his heart had suddenly been rather rapid. "Oh?"

"Oh yes" and he'd been able to picture Helle's eyes sparkling mischievously. "We've been hearing all about how Mr. Miliband's been like a bear with a sore head for the last few days."

Hollande had laughed again, shakily. "Perhaps some socialist conversation will cheer him a little-" he'd managed and David had chuckled carefully. "I'm sure you'll be able to help with that, Francois."

Angela had laughed then. "He didn't get an audience with me" she'd informed them all. "The real cause of the absence of cheer-"

"Of course, Angela-"

Helle had laughed again, delightedly. "Ah yes-Stephen has told me that Mr. Miliband's friends were rather chomping at the bit over that-"

David had grinned. "Ah yes-no doubt it'll be myself and Mrs. May paying the price-"

Hollande had laughed again. "Whatever spares me the trouble, non?"

There'd been another outbreak of laughter, and then Helle's voice had been in David's ear again, light and playful, so he could picture her beaming, the way she does every time her foot catches David's under the table at a summit or meeting. "Of course, Stephen did say you've been rather better friends of late" she'd said, the mischief clear in her voice now.

"Cross-party co-operation" Matteo had mused, with a smile in his own voice. "Rather something to aspire to."

David had taken a moment to compose himself. "Well, we try" he'd managed, with a grin. "Whether we succeed, however, is something else altogether-"

There'd been some more laughter and Angela had chipped in "Cross-nation co-operation, too-"

There'd been some more laughter, but Helle had made a small, knowing sound in her throat, and David had pictured her eyes sparkling meaningfully.

Now, he's sitting here, next to Ed, and he's waiting, and trying not to think of how close Miliband must be, closer with each second.

He folds his hands together and Ed turns to look at him, one corner of his mouth twitching in a grin.

David glances at him. "I _will_ put those headphones on-"

"Gladly. Couldn't think of a more suitable place-"

"Oh, would you shut up-"

They're quarrelling amiably when there's a sudden flurry of movement and footsteps and David looks up before he can stop himself, and then-

He's walking in, and he's there-

Miliband's there, so suddenly, and too near and-

He's _there_ , after David's been thinking and wondering and-

Miliband's there, and it's only when those big, dark eyes widen the slightest bit, and David becomes aware he can no longer feel the warm weight of Ed's arm against his own that he realises he's stood up.

For a moment, they're just looking at each other and David's staring at him. Miliband's just looking at him and David's eyes seem to be darting everywhere, trying to take all of him in at once. He's got those shadows under his eyes and they seem darker than usual, and he's a little paler, and-God, when was the last time he got a proper look at Miliband?-

(In Portcullis House, with his hands knotted into Miliband's suit, that eyelash loose on his cheek-)

David swallows. Miliband's staring at him.

It's then that he realises that he's standing there, just staring at Miliband.

"Ah-"

"Miliband-" David says the name, quickly, before Ed behind him can say anymore. "Ah. Miliband-"

"Prime Minith-ster-" Miliband's lisp is like a pleasant wriggle in David's chest, something that he only just realises now he's been _missing._

"We found him, Prime Minister." Theresa's hand is on her husband's arm. David suspects she isn't even aware of it.

"Helped with the bags" Philip beams, pushing at his glasses. "Not that he'd brought much-"

"Wish I could say the same" Ed's laughing from behind him and David's smiling, but he's just-just still looking at Miliband-

"Ah-ah-did you have a pleasant flight?" David isn't sure it's his own voice, only knows that he can't look away from Miliband. He doesn't want to.

Miliband's staring at him too, and then his head jerks a little, as if he's only just caught himself. "Oh-I-yes, thanks. Flight was-thankth-s. Great."

There's a short silence, which is broken by Philip clapping his hands together. "Right. Ah-Tessie and I will leave you to it, then. Tessie, I've just been thinking-the _price_ of these iPads-"

David barely notices Theresa ever so slowly raising her eyes to heaven. She steers Philip off firmly and it's then that Ed claps his arm from behind. "Just got to give the wife a ring-"

David thinks he sees him wink, knows he says something to him, pats his arm, but he barely notices what. He's so strongly aware of Miliband suddenly, only a few feet in front of him, that it's as though awareness of everything else is filtered down a little.

Ed heads off, and David and Miliband are looking at each other. For a moment, they just stand there.

Then Miliband speaks. "I-"

David speaks at almost exactly the same moment. "We could sit down-"

They both stop and then look at each other. A tiny smile tugs at Miliband's mouth for a moment, and then disappears again.

David gestures to a chair, and Miliband sits down slowly, still eyeing David as if he might start shouting any moment. When David resumes his own seat, he considers smiling, to try to put Miliband at ease, but quickly discounts it. The usual smiles don't seem to work with Miliband.

Other smiles, though-

"I thought you might not want to see me." The words come out a little more quietly than usual. David folds his hands together.

"I thought you might not want to th-see _me."_ Miliband gives him a look that's both consternation and nervousness.

"Copying my lines." The words are quiet but that tiny smile appears again at Miliband's mouth.

Then, suddenly, Miliband draws in a breath. "Look, I'm r-really th-sorry about Nanth-Nancy-"

It's the nervous glance Miliband gives him that makes something-well-

 _Melt_ a little.

David just feels suddenly, almost unbearably _fond._

He has to close his eyes for a moment, and then his fingers flex a little.

"Honeth-stly-" and he opens his eyes to see Miliband watching him warily. "I didn't mean-"

David shakes his head. "No, I know....I know" he says suddenly, a little louder and Miliband stops talking abruptly. "I just...I know you didn't do it deliberately."

Miliband nods. "No."

"I know you wouldn't do that." David swallows. His fingers flex. He fumbles the words together a little too quickly.

"I-um. May have overreacted. A little."

Miliband's eye twitches slightly, but he keeps watching David.

David takes a deep breath, meets his eyes. "I'm-ah-sorry. That I shouted the way I did. And that I-well-" He gestures awkwardly to Miliband's suit.

 _(Awkwardly._ David never does anything _awkwardly_. God, it's irritating.)

"No, no, it's-" There's a tinge of colour in Miliband's cheeks now. His eyes are darting around rather rapidly. "I-ah-" He makes a similar gesture to David's suit.

David manages to laugh. "Yes-well-"

"Hmm." Miliband nods awkwardly and a short silence falls between them.

David takes a deep breath. "Well-ah-I'm sorry. Miliband."

Miliband nods and stares at his knees and then, taking a deep breath, "Look, what I th-said-"

He glances quickly at David, then away again.

"About the-the NH-th-s-" Miliband's blushing, David notices with something that could be surprise, but isn't quite. "I-um-look, I didn't mean-"

He's stumbling. David's suddenly aware of where they're sitting-in one of the entrance halls where almost anyone could see-

He touches Miliband's shoulder before he can stop himself. "Hang on. Do you want to-um-"

Miliband looks up, dark eyes meeting David's.

"We could-ah-go somewhere else, if you like. Somewhere more private."

David hears how the words sound almost before he's finished saying them.

He feels the heat rush to his own cheeks, but Miliband-

Miliband just _blushes,_ the colour sudden and startling in his face.

David's missed that, he realises suddenly. He's missed Miliband blushing.

Which is odd, in itself.

"I just meant-" He falters. He _never_ falters. "In case someone-someone could hear-"

Miliband nods a little too quickly. "Um-yeth-yeth. I-" He blushes more at the lisp and the warmth David feels blossom in his chest at the sight-

He gets up a little too quickly, and perhaps to occupy his hands, reaches out for Miliband. "Come on, then."

It isn't until they're walking side by side, their arms almost brushing, Miliband's blush still colouring his cheeks, that David realises that he actually accompanied the words with a tug at Miliband's wrist.

His fingers almost wrapping _around_ his-

He quickens his pace a little, shoes clicking a little louder on the tiled floor, so he doesn't have to think about it, and instead lets his thoughts fall into the strange familiarity-that's strangely _becoming_ familiarity-of Miliband at his side.

* * *

 

It's a weird feeling, stepping into Cameron's suite. Ed tries not to glance around too openly, but Cameron glances at him as he shuts the door behind them.

"Measuring the curtains, Miliband?" His voice is low, but there's a curl of amusement in the words.

"You think I need to, then?" It's not his best comeback but Cameron arches a eyebrow, grin twitching at his mouth.

Ed doesn't realise where Cameron is leading him until they're standing in the bedroom area and then he opens his mouth. "I-"

"Problem?" Cameron appears completely unperturbed, even as he gestures for Ed to take a seat in one of the armchairs that litter the room.

Ed shakes his head. "No. None-"

(He doesn't look at the bed.)

(He doesn't know why, but it suddenly feels very important not to look at the bed.)

"We've only got a bit of time" Cameron says. "Before the marches, I mean. We can talk properly afterwards."

"Don't you need to see Hollande?"

Cameron shakes his head. "I'll see him today-usually there'd be a dinner or some such, but-"

Ed nods, understanding without Cameron having to finish the sentence.

"If we keep a low profile, we should be walking to the Palace, and then-well-quite a few others have turned up, apart from the leaders, so I suppose you'll be on the bus with us-and Theresa and Philip-"

Ed tries for a laugh. It comes out a little strained. "I won't bother you, if you don't want me to-"

Cameron frowns, and Ed shuts up quickly. There's something heavy in the silence between them-something heavy, and-

"Why wouldn't I want you to?" Cameron's voice is mild, polished, smooth, but his head is tilted to the side and his eyes are soft, far softer than Ed's used to.

Ed swallows. "I-"

"I mean-" Cameron clears his throat. "Not that you're bothering me." He clears it again. "What I mean is you're not. At all."

Another silence falls, a little longer now, and this time, quite suddenly, Ed can't stand it.

"Look, it wath-sn't what I meant, OK?"

Cameron's brow creases. "What wasn't?"

"I mean-what you th-said. About the NHS. I didn't mean it-I didn't mean as though-that-th-s all I saw it as-I, I didn't, it juth-s-"

And then, suddenly "It wath-sn't meant to upset you."

He can't look at Cameron suddenly, so he looks at his hands. "I mean-I mean about you-what you said. That night-"

_He is not your weapon._

"I didn't mean, honeth-stly-that's not what I meant." He meets Cameron's eyes. He's not sure why, but it's suddenly important to. "I don't agree with you. But I didn't mean it-like that."

Cameron's eyes are narrowed, but they remain on Ed's. He takes in a breath, as if he's about to say something, but instead, there's just silence.

Ed opens his mouth, but all he can think of to say is "You know that."

(Cameron has to know that. He _has_ to.)

Cameron looks straight at him."I know you didn't mean it like that."

The relief that sinks into Ed's shoulders takes him by surprise. It sinks into him, makes him feel weak.

"But-" Cameron tilts his head, and stares at him. "You did say it."

Ed opens his mouth, but Cameron shakes his head. "I saw you on Marr. I know you're not going to answer me. But you said it. That's what I'm saying." Cameron breathes out, head tilting back. "I suppose I just...didn't realise the NHS was that cynical to Labour-"

"It's _not."_ Ed almost jumps at the volume of his own voice. "You know it isn't-"

He stops. Cameron's just looking at him.

"I suppose Baldwin would say you shouldn't be talking to me."

Ed snorts. "He'd probably say I shouldn't be _here."_

Cameron's head jerks. "He doesn't-" He falls silent suddenly, and then "I suppose-God, this is how it's going to be, isn't it?"

Ed jumps again a little, but he can't pretend he doesn't know what Cameron means.

"Isn't this how it's th-supposed to be?" he manages, not even bothering to correct the lisp. "I mean-it'th an election, Cameron."

The hint of a grin flickers at Cameron's mouth. "Is that how you want it to be?"

The words are light, teasing, but something about them makes the heat rise to Ed's cheeks.

"I-" is all he manages, before there's a knock on the door and Cameron calls in a hotelier carrying a tray of tea.

It's only after he leaves that Ed says. "Not neth-cetharily-"

He can feel the blush deepening as Cameron's eyes meet his as he pours two cups of tea. Cameron stares at him over the rims of the cups.

"Listen, I was thinking-" That's all Cameron says, for the moment, and then "I mean, we're probably better off discussing some of it later-after, you know-" Cameron glances at his watch. "I just thought-you know-we've got to go soon, but I thought you might like a cup of tea after the flight."

Ed's rarely seen Cameron fumble over his words so much.

"Yes" he says, then, "And-um-that th-sounds-I want to th-see you. Later."

Cameron raises his eyes. Ed feels the heat rush to his cheeks and takes a quick gulp of tea, almost burning his mouth.

"Careful-" Cameron reaches out, as Ed grimaces and his hand lands on Ed's sleeve. Ed feels a small jolt of sensation, and he shivers as Cameron leans back, with the odd thought that he didn't want Cameron to let go yet.

When he looks up, Cameron's watching him. "I want to see you, too" he says, a little too quickly, and then, taking another sip of his own tea, "Do you want to meet tonight?"

For a moment, Ed isn't sure he's heard correctly. "What?"

Cameron meets his eyes almost defiantly. "Would you like to meet me? Later?"

His voice is smooth, level. But Ed notices that his fingers have curled a little tighter around the handle of his teacup, that his lips have tautened the slightest bit.

Ed swallows, his heart suddenly rapid. "Oh. Ah. Well-yes. Yeth-yes, I'd, um-I'd like that."

It's only then that he realises he's just accepted an invitation to meet Cameron that night.

Just him and Cameron. Though Cameron didn't say that-

Cameron smiles, then-a twitch of a smile, a crease of those dimples, and something jolts pleasantly in Ed's stomach.

"Good." Cameron smiles a little bigger this time, as he takes a sip of his own tea.

"Even though you're not particularly fond of me." The words slip out, and Ed blushes, and quickly drops his gaze.

Cameron's voice, when it comes, is curled with amusement. "Copying my lines again?"

Ed glances up, biting his lip.

"And I didn't mean it." The words are casual, almost an afterthought. But Cameron smiles, smiles right at him, and Ed feels something like a smile creep out in his chest, under his ribs, creeping up to his mouth.

"And I believe I said that _you_ weren't particularly fond of me-"

The door opens and Llewellyn pokes his head round. "Everything all right, Prime Minister?" He gives Ed a quick nod. "Mr. Miliband."

"Hi." Ed offers him a quick smile, as Cameron waves a hand. "Morning, Ed. How are things-"

"They're good." Llewellyn nods. "Just popped in to tell you that we should probably leave in about five minutes, if we want to-"

"Get to the Palace, yes-"

"You arrived just in time, Mr. Miliband-"

"Oh, right-"

"We'll be down in a moment, Ed."

Llewellyn winks at Cameron. "Sorry to interrupt, Prime Minister."

For some reason, a hint of colour appears in Cameron's cheeks at that.

Ed turns to him, puzzled, as Llewellyn closes the door. But Cameron's already grimacing. "Sorry about having to rush. I just hoped you'd get a bit more time-"

"No, it's fine-we had to rush a bit from Marr-"

"Oh yeah, of course-you staying here tonight?"

Ed nods. "I think so. I think they got me a room."

"Right." Cameron glances away, and then to Ed's surprise, bites at his lip. "Did you drive through Paris?"

"With Theresa and Philip. Just-"

Cameron frowns.

"Streets are packed. I think this march might have attracted more attention than anyone thought-"

"God, really?"

"Well, 3 million are predicted across France-"

"God-" Cameron's eyes widen a little. "And I thought-" He shakes his head. "It's not going to be easy, though. Speaking to Hollande-"

"Haven't you spoken to him yet?"

"Only by phone." Cameron gets up abruptly, and crosses the room to the window. Ed gets up, taking a last sip of tea, and follows, with the thought creeping in again that in a few months, this room could be his.

"God, it's going to be difficult." Cameron's staring out of the window, taking in the sky, and Ed watches him. There are shadows under Cameron's eyes, and suddenly, Ed wants to just-

Reach up and just-

"Why?" he hears himself say, but his voice is softer, quieter.

Cameron laughs, but the sound's a little forced. "I've been trying to imagine what I'd do if this happened in London, actually" he says, hand now gripping the windowsill. "What the hell I'd want him to say to me."

Ed sees, just for a moment, London's name sliding into the headlines, ambulances and sirens and gunshots. Cameron being the one standing there, on the steps of Downing Street, face pale and drawn, his voice cracking.

His hand fastens in Cameron's sleeve. "You'll-no-one will know what to th-say" he manages. "I mean-if you just tell him that, I'm sure he'll understand-"

Cameron laughs again then, but the sound's shorter and sadder, and then he turns and looks at Ed. "Do you know what, Ed" he says, and the words are soft, without a hint of malice. "Here's, ah-a line for your campaign. Sometimes, I wish I could see things the way you do."

Ed blinks. The words hover there, and he scrabbles for a response.

"Thanks" is all he manages, and then "If-um-if it was a compliment."

Cameron doesn't smile. Instead, he just glances at Ed, head on one side, and says "I think it was, yes."

Ed chews at his lip. "Thanks." It comes out a little too quiet, but Cameron turns then, and just looks at him, head on one side.

"You're so-" The words catch in his throat.

Ed's heart is suddenly rapid. Cameron's eyes are fixed on his.

Cameron shakes his head, and Ed feels an odd lurch of disappointment. "Never mind." He tugs at his tie, and then Ed says "I won't use it."

Cameron frowns. "What?"

"The line. In a campaign-"

Cameron stares at him for a moment, and then bursts out laughing. "That was a _joke,_ Miliband."

Ed winces. "Oh. Yeah-"

Cameron's still laughing, but his hand lands on Ed's arm. "God, you really are-"

His voice is soft. His eyes roam over Ed's face quickly, and for a moment, they hover on his mouth.

"I'm quite glad you're here actually, Miliband." Cameron's voice is suddenly lower.

Ed waits for the line, the polish, the smoothness. But Cameron just looks at him, and then away a little too quickly, tugging at his tie. "Better get this bloody thing fastened-"

Ed doesn't know he's going to do it until he does, and then his fingers are wrapping around Cameron's tie.

"Here. Let me-" He glances up at Cameron uncertainly. "Unless you want to-"

Cameron blinks. "No. No, that's-that's, um-" He nods quickly, and it's not smooth or practiced or- Ed fixes his gaze on the tie, tries to breathe slowly.

He loops it carefully, pulls it in, gently coaxes it up to Cameron's collar. He can smell Cameron's aftershave. He can feel, when his fingers brush Cameron's neck, his pulse, strong and rapid under warm, smooth skin, in the second Ed's hand dares to hover before it pulls back.

Cameron's hand moves and then as Ed lets go with a muffled "There-", Cameron's fingers flutter around his own.

Ed feels words dry up in the back of his throat. His heart's suddenly so rapid it almost hurts.

"Thanks, Miliband." Cameron's voice is low, and Ed swallows.

He means to say "You're welcome."

He means to say-

"You'll be fine" is what comes out, instead. "You-you'll know what to say-"

Cameron's cheek lifts in a small smile. He nods, once, and then turns to look out the window. He shifts an inch closer to Ed. The silence no longer feels awkward; just reflective. Almost companionable, in a way.

Ed turns to look out of the window, his arm brushing Cameron's. He doesn't move it away. He just stands there, staring out of the window at the grey January sky, thinking about the people gathering in the Paris streets below them, Cameron's arm warm and reassuringly solid against his own, until the knock comes and they both step away a little, as Llewellyn comes in to tell them "It's time to go."

* * *

 

The walk is mostly silent and David finds himself glancing at Miliband every few seconds. Miliband has his head lowered, but his eyes dart about every few moments, and David knows without asking that he's checking for cameras.

"It's all right" he says, in an undertone, walking a little closer to Ed, unsure whether to be amused or indignant, because there's a reason they're not walking down the Champs-Elysees. "No cameras to catch you in the company of Theresa and I, don't worry."

Ed's head jerks up furiously. "I wasn't thinking of that!" he says, in a tone indignant enough to tell David that's exactly what he was thinking about.

David fights back a smile, and catches a roll of the eyes from Theresa, as Ed, in clear defiance of David's assumption, walks only an inch from him for the rest of the journey, so that their arms brush every few moments.

It's less trouble to suppress a grin when he casts a glance at the other Ed, only to catch his head of staff hastily hiding a smirk.

There's little time for more than a quick clap on each other's arms, and a "See you there", before Ed's ushered towards a car, and as the other Ed falls into step next to him, David doesn't even look at him. "Shut up" is all he says, and when the stifled snigger breaks out, "I mean it."

* * *

 

He doesn't have to rehearse how to greet Hollande. He doesn't have to force the hand on the arm.

He doesn't have to force the hands on the shoulders, when they're inside and Hollande stops being Hollande and just becomes Francois.

"This is the least I could do" he says, when Hollande thanks him for coming, and he's not pretending.

He's not pretending in the slightest.

* * *

 

He finds Miliband hovering awkwardly next to Helle and has to hastily push away the idea that Helle could be having a conversation with the next Prime Minister.

It's easier to dispel the thought when David sees Miliband tug awkwardly at his sleeve and nearly trip over his own feet as he catches sight of David.

"Helle-" They greet each other with a kiss on the cheek. "I see you've been talking to my current Leader of the Opposition?"

Helle's blue eyes sparkle. "Ah, yes-" She gives a mischievous grin which seems incongruous with the setting, but for which David is both rather grateful and mildly apprehensive. "I've heard that rather a lot of talking has been going on between the two of you recently-"

Miliband blushes. David's stomach does an odd, swooping motion.

Helle's eyes narrow a little at the blush, and she gives David a grin. "Rather nice to see" she says, eyes sparkling more brightly than ever. "Didn't happen to arrive together, did you?"

Miilband blushes deeper.

Helle gives David an incredulous look, but before David can open his mouth, there's a hand on his shoulder.

"Could not imagine it with mine, some days" Matteo's saying, and Helle greets him with another kiss on the cheek. "Though I have heard-" He glances between David and Miliband. "It is different in England, yes-and we Italians thought we were the country of the heart-"

Miliband shoots David a rather hilariously furious look.

"England, you see-" Matteo gestures rather ambiguously with his hands. "Suits, public school and handshakes-"

"Not _all_ handshakes" Helle objects, while David glances at Miliband awkwardly. _"Some,_ certainly-"

"Ah, it's how England is seen in the world-" Matteo's hands are flying all over the place. "Handshakes. NHS. Scones-"

_"Scones?"_

"Ah, whatever they call them!" Matteo throws his hands to the heavens. "Cake things-"

"Scones, Matteo, are not _cake things-_ they're a treat, they're well-known in Cornwall-"

"Since when did _you_ have a scone-"

"I've had _plenty_ of scones, I've been on holiday with Stephen-"

"Ah, see, you have a natural bias-your _husband_ is English-"

"What does _that_ have to do with scones?"

Matteo stares at her. "Well, now I've forgotten what we were talking about!"

"Regardless-" David steps in to diffuse the situation, before the debate can start over whether Devon or Cornwall do the better afternoon tea (David has strong feelings on the matter) "What exactly have you been hearing, President-"

Matteo's smile appears again immediately. "Ah, that is rather a long story-"

Miliband, whose cheeks had been slowly returning to their normal colour, immediately blushes once again. Matteo beams, eyes lighting up. "Ah, see, he is blushing-"

Miliband isn't the only one, and then Angela's voice is behind him-"Yes -I did not get the chance to ask-"

David meets Miliband's eyes, catches a glimpse of his flushed cheeks-and then reflects on where they're about to go, and suddenly wants the conversation to carry on longer.

* * *

 

Ed is a little too grateful when they get onto the bus. He'd never admit it to Cameron, but he'd felt slightly awkward standing there, waiting for him, and a little too relieved when he'd seen Cameron looking around for him.

Francois had been easy enough to talk to; they've met several times before after all, and Francois had taken Ed's hand in both of his, kissing both of his cheeks. "Monsieur Miliband-it is good of you to come-with Prime Minister Cameron, are you not?"

"Well-yes-not _with_ him, exactly-but we're both-yeah."

Francois hadn't seemed to mind Ed's mangled speech, squeezing his hands again. "It's so good of you-" he'd said and it hadn't been hard to squeeze his arm, to hold on tight.

Now, he stands momentarily frozen on the bus behind Cameron, unsure whether to follow him or to step back and let one of the other leaders sit beside him.

Cameron turns round. "Come on, then-" he says, with a hint of his usual grin dancing at his mouth. "Not going to bite, Miliband."

There's a touch on his shoulder and Merkel's voice brushes his neck. "Sit with him, Mr. Miliband. Keep him in check."

Ed stutters. "Um-yeth-I m-mean-"

It's Cameron who saves him, grasping Ed's sleeve and tugging him out of the aisle. "Here" he says, with a wink. "Since I apparently can't be trusted to keep myself out of trouble-"

His smile's a little strained, and Ed knows without knowing how that Cameron's trying not to think about where they're going.

Perhaps that makes him sit down a little quicker than he might have, otherwise. Angela gives him something suspiciously like a wink.

Cameron gives him a quick smile, but turns his gaze to the window, a crease denting itself between his eyebrows.

Ed struggles with himself for a moment, before he asks, turning so that his shoulder brushes Cameron's-"Are you-um-all right?"

Cameron's nodding before he even turns round-but at Ed's expression, he stops.

He makes an attempt at a smile, then shrugs. "I suppose-well, nothing prepares you for this anyway, does it?"

Ed blinks. "Oh-no. Of course not. I mean-"

Cameron tries for a laugh, a little. He scrubs at his eyes and sighs, tipping his head back against the seat. "I think everyone's finding it easier to laugh right now."

"That can be-well, that can be good." Ed winces. "Th-sorry. That was useless."

Cameron grins just a little. "Yeah, it was." But he nudges Ed then, presses their arms together, and the warmth seeps into Ed, into his stomach, making it flip pleasantly.

It isn't until the bus pulls off that Ed says "Everyone's really been lovely." He grimaces again at the words.

But David just grins. "Yeah, they have." He's staring straight ahead, forehead creased, but after a moment, he turns and waves at Helle and a few of the others, who wave back.

"You've met some of them before, haven't you?" he asks Ed, wriggling round in his seat.

Ed nods. "Francois-and Helle, of course-" He wriggles round to face Cameron. "You know Rachel-my press-"

"Your press officer, yes-"

"Well, her brother Stephen-you know, the MEP-they're married, him and Helle-"

David claps his hand on his knee. "Of course-knew she was married to an MEP-Kinnock's children aren't they, Stephen and Rachel-standing to be an MP, isn't he-"

"Stephen, yeah-Labour candidate for Aberavon-"

"God, of course-wasn't there some story about her dropping by your house unexpectedly or-"

Ed feels his cheeks colour. "Well-not unexpectedly-I mean, Rachel had arranged it-it was when Stephen, he wanted some tips-you know, for the MP bid and Helle was with him-they were in England for the summer with the girls-"

"God." Cameron winces. "Imagine England for your summer holidays. Sorry, go on."

"And I thought you were all about Cornwall-but that's it, really."

Cameron frowns. "Wasn't there some story about you not being able to find a bottle of wine or something-"

"Oh." Ed fidgets a little. "Justine said that-in a speech. It-um-wasn't really-she embellished it a bit."

Justine had embellished it a lot. There was nothing really _to_ the story, apart from the two of them suddenly realising that they might be an anomaly in how little alcohol they kept in the house.

But Rachel had suggested it when Justine was working on the speech and they'd stretched it into an anecdote, while Ed now wonders why on earth the story couldn't have been told in one sentence.

(He can't remember where the boys where when Helle and Stephen came over. They might have been at his mum's. Or down with their nanny.)

(He can't even remember mentioning them.)

David laughs. "Oh. Right." He inches closer to Ed and turns his gaze back out of the window. They're mostly heading through back streets, but there's an odd murmur in the air-a low sound, as though the chatter of the crowd is already reaching them.

Cameron's forehead has creased again. His face is still composed, but Ed catches the way Cameron's thumb has caught his forefinger, picking slightly at his nail.

"Are you sure you're-ah-all right, Cameron?" He asks it nervously, chews at his own thumbnail, before he stops himself, glances at Cameron, then away, then back again.

For a moment, Ed thinks Cameron is going to just brush it off. But then, his brows knot together and he glances at Ed.

"This is-ah-" Cameron laughs a little, leans back against the seat. "Going to be difficult-"

It's only now, glancing about the bus, that Ed realises that there's a quietness descending over them all. He glances at Cameron and takes in the crease that's back in his forehead.

"Cameron-" He reaches out and covers Cameron's hand with his own, fingers wrapping around his sleeve. He squeezes quickly. "It'll be all-well, it'll be all right."

Cameron gives him a small smile. "Hopefully."

Ed wants to say something else but the words swell and stick in his throat, so he just squeezes awkwardly.

Cameron's eyes meet his and they look at each other for a moment, before they both glance away, Cameron staring out of the window, while Ed clears his throat and suddenly finds the aisle fascinating.

Cameron squeezes back awkwardly and the feeling sends a rush through Ed's chest, his heart suddenly rapid.

They're still sitting like that a few moments later, and it's when Ed shifts a little closer, and he and Cameron both look down at once that Ed realises that they're still holding hands.

He gulps. Cameron's eyes flicker to his, and they stare at each other for a moment, before they both pull away and Ed feels heat absolutely flood his face.

"Th-sorry" he mutters, knowing he's blushing, and when there's no answer he turns to see that, to his disbelief, he isn't the only one.

Cameron's eyes meet his almost a little nervously. "It's-fine."

His hand twitches, and then just reaches across and pats Ed's wrist. It's quick and gentle, but Ed feels the heat in his cheeks deepen.

He glances away and bites his lip, but looks back to find Cameron's eyes again. Cameron's head is tilted and he's still watching Ed.

They meet each other's eyes, then look away, then back. They're sitting so close together and they keep looking at each other in a way that Ed could almost think of as _shy._

* * *

 

The minute's silence stretches, and all David thinks of is that office. That deli. Those shots.

17 names and faces.

He stands there and feels his own heart beat and it hits him just how loud it is.

He'd noticed it when he'd sat there, watching Ivan's little face resting on the pillow, deep, rattling breaths struggling through his chest, willing his son to fight again to stay alive. How loud his own heartbeat was. How strong.

He'd stared at his son, like his heart could pound some of that strength through their skin into his son's veins, rich and red, keeping him alive.

Now, he thinks of their faces and Ivan's face and Nancy and Elwen and Florence's faces.

There's too much time to think in that minute's silence.

The march is quiet at first, with Helle's arm slid tight through his own and Mariano on the other. Helle's eyes aren't sparkling any more-they're wide and blue, taking in the street around them, until they turn a corner and her eyes widen at the same moment that Mariano takes in a sharp breath.

There are too many people for David to look at at once. It's more than a sea. David can barely make out faces. And there's a low tide of noise around them, that's swelling as they walk forwards.

They're applauding.

David feels a lump swell in his throat. Helle's holding his arm tighter. He doesn't look down the line at Francois.

The crowd's applauding and, every few moments, there's a chant, a chant which is growing more and more frequent by the moment, with each breath.

_Je suis Charlie._

_Je suis Charlie._

David feels Helle squeeze his arm tight. He swallows, and keeps walking, Helle's and Mariano's arms in his, the chant echoing in his ears

* * *

 Ed and Justine don't link arms, but they walk together. Every so often, Ed glances at her, wondering if he should reach out and take her arm, but each time he tells himself that there are plenty of other people who don't have their arms linked.

He's not sure why it doesn't surprise him that they're not linking arms. Ed's never understood those people who sleep wrapped around each other, who just touch each other so casually. It's not that he doesn't like that sort of thing-or he imagines he'd like it. It just feels like it's on one side of a pane of glass and he's on the other.

Justine isn't crying-he'd been afraid she would. He never knows what to do when she cries. Something about the way she lifts her hand to her eyes and dabs at them, the way she sniffs and blinks when he can't see tears-something about it rings oddly to Ed, and he's fairly sure you're not meant to tell someone that. So he hasn't, but it means he-sometimes he-

"It's inspiring, isn't it?" she says to him now, with her big eyes, and for a moment Ed wants to tell her that that word's probably been used by every single person on this march today, and couldn't she think of a better one?

He doesn't, of course.

"Yes" he says, glancing about the crowd. "The way people can come together, it'th really encouraging for community spirit-"

He sounds like a sociologist.

But doesn't he always sound like this with Justine? Doesn't he? She never minds. He never minds. Does he?"

Justine drags her scarf tighter around her neck. Ed stares at his arm, trying to will it to link through hers'.

It should be easy. It should.

But Ed doesn't have any more time to consider it because the chanting grows louder suddenly. He looks up, taking in the way the chants have taken on a rhythm, as though the crowd had learnt it years before, even though most of them probably just met today.

His chest aches and all he can hear is the shout every few moments of _Je suis Charlie, Je suis Charlie,_ and he squeezes his eyes shut and just thinks of gunshots and seventeen names and the French flag, which, when he opens his eyes, is everywhere that he can see.

* * *

 

"That was-" David sips his tea ruminatively, Ed standing next to him. Even now, back in the British residence, the chants from the Parisian streets still reach them every few moments, and David glances at Miliband, who wraps his hands around his mug of tea, warming them.

"Yes-" is all Miliband says, but it's all that needs to be said, and David steps back from the window, automatically gesturing for Miliband to follow him.

He's sitting down, watching the blood rise to Miliband's cheeks for some reason, but he's already sitting and it's only then that David realises he's still gesturing.

And then that Miliband's following him.

And that Miliband's sitting on the bed next to David.

Another time, David would notice it more, but now with his mind still on the chanting, somehow Miliband sinking down on the bed next to him doesn't seem as odd.

"Are you all right?" he asks, with a quick glance at Miliband.

Miliband nods. "Juth-st-" He shrugs and exhales, resting his head on his hand. David glances at him and squeezes his arm quickly before he can stop himself.

Miliband glances at him. "What about you?"

David glances back and shrugs. "I suppose. It's just-" He sighs, presses his face into his hands. "I'm glad you're here."

It comes out before he even thinks about it. He freezes, glances quickly at Ed.

Ed's blushing. Somehow, David isn't. He stares at Miliband and perhaps it's just the day or how close they are, but he feels a stab of something like affection.

When Miliband speaks, it's a mumble and it makes that affection twist even more sharply in David's chest. "You shouldn't be here. Alone, anyway."

"Well-" David tries to lighten his own voice a little. "Not exactly alone. But I'm still-"

_Glad you're here._

You.

Miliband.

In particular-

God, this is odd.

"Are you sure Justine didn't want to join us?" he asks, taking another sip of tea. He'd only got a brief glimpse of Justine when he'd reunited with Miliband after the march-of her hair, windswept and that scarf pulled tighter around her neck, of her rushed words explaining that she really had to get back, and no, that was lovely of him to ask, but one of Ed's aides was going with her, and she'd really only come for the rally-

She'd kissed Miliband goodbye on the cheek and David's almost managed to convince himself that he didn't see Miliband's eyes flicker as her lips peeled themselves off, flicker into what could almost have been a wince.

But as he sneaks another look at Miliband, even under the colour now painting his cheeks, David can make out the shadows under his eyes. He frowns. "God, Miliband, you look exhausted."

Miliband shrugs. "Up early, that-th all-" He scrubs at his eyes with his fists and something fond scrunches tightly in David's chest.

"You know-" He says the words tentatively, testing them out. "I was thinking about having a rest this afternoon. Maybe you should, too. And then-um-"

Miliband's watching him, head on one side. "I thought you wanted to-"

"Talk, yes, I do, but-" David swallows. He never fumbles over his words. And he must have asked this question hundreds of times. Thousands.

"Well-well, I was wondering if-well, maybe-"

Miliband's eyes are big and dark and pulling him in.

David clears his throat, then looks away. "I was-ah-wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me." He looks back. "Miliband?"

Miliband is staring at him. His eyes are big and dark and blinking uncertainly. "Have dinner?"

David swallows. "Well-yes." It's not as if they haven't eaten together before, after all. They have-plenty of times.

But he supposes it's been very rare they've eaten together alone. And now-

Though why should it be different now?

"Well-um-" Miliband bites his lip. "Yeth-yes. I mean-that would be nice. Yeth." He looks away, then back, and something about how flustered the expression is-it's just-

"Good." David nods and says "Good" again, simply for something to say.

"Yeth-"

"We can meet here-um-around seven. Is that all-or earlier, if you want-"

"No-no, th-sevent-th fine-" Miliband's blushing and then-

He just peeks out from under his eyelashes. Just _peeks_ , and-

Something happens. Something to do with that smile.

It's just small and shy and...sweet.

_(Sweet.)_

(Did he just think of Miliband as _sweet?)_

But Miliband's just smiling at him and-

David just smiles back.

And then realises that they're just sitting there, with their arms pressed together.

Glancing at each other.

And-

Well.

He likes having Miliband here.

A lot.

(Not more than he should.)

(Really.)

* * *

 

A shower can be a blessing. After a nap-curled up on the bed, feeling suddenly exhausted-David's even more thankful than usual for the chance to stand under a beautifully hot jet of water, and let it relax his muscles, rubbing soap into his skin.

He lets his head fall back against the wall, feeling the tension seep out of his muscles. It helps a little-as though he's washing away some of the tears and names and grief and fury that's clinging to his skin like a shadow.

His thoughts wander a little and after a few moments, he's thinking, daydreaming, rubbing soap slowly over his stomach. His iPod's playing outside in the bedroom, just loud enough for him to hear-it's some pop song, one he vaguely recognizes-maybe it crept into his playlist from one of the kids. He leans back, just lets himself dream for the first time in what feels like days.

He feels the arousal creep slowly, a whisper at first. He just stays there, under the water, the steam clouding up the door until it's almost opaque, and as his mind drifts, he feels himself twitch pleasantly in response.

He hesitates, but the water and music's loud, and he's alone, and it should help with some of the tension. And it's been-it's been since New Year's, at least-

David looks down and smiles ruefully as he looks at himself. His legs are trembling a little. The music's a steady beat. _My heart is racing, She puts her hands in mine, I feel them shaking._ He's aching and slowly, savouring it, he reaches down, wraps his hand around himself and strokes blissfully.

He groans almost before the first little wave of pleasure rolls out. He moves his hand carefully, teasingly slowly, making his hips twitch, an aching ripple of pleasure just- _rolling_ up and through him now-

This isn't going to last long, he realises quickly, and he doesn't want it to, so he lets his mind drift, feeling a pressure building now, a pressure that makes his legs tremble, that drags out little gasps, one after another, from his mouth. _I'll fix your broken heart, I'll make it beat again, I'll never let you down, On me you can depend._

He throws one hand over his mouth, muffling the sound, and the tension's stretching tighter and tighter, coiling, and Christ, the ache is so sweet, he's so close, God-

His mind wraps around Samantha for the final few strokes-God, yes, two more, he can feel his willpower splintering, _yes, yes, come on_ -Samantha's hair all over her bare shoulders, her hand guiding his between her legs-the twitch that comes next aches in the sweetest way possible, and his birthday, when she'd been mouthing against his neck-

And then suddenly, he's seeing Miliband's living room and he's sitting on that brown couch again, and he sees that thought, it flickers there, the one he'd had then when he'd thought about birthdays-Miliband, with his head back, that lisp mangling his words, that worrying at his lip-

A bolt of something jolts David then, something electric, his heart throwing itself against his ribs, and he twitches then in his hand, once, hard-

"Oh, _God-"_ The word breaks against his fingers and then he's teetering on the edge and he summons up Sam's face, her hair when he's breathing it in, the feeling of her warm and wet and tight around him, that night on their honeymoon when he'd been wrapped around her, how perfectly they'd fit together, the new glint of her wedding ring on her finger-

But Miliband's dark eyes hover there, too, and then he remembers lying on top of him, his face pressed nearly into Miliband's neck, the heat of his skin, the tickle of his hair, the rapid flutter of his pulse-and their cheeks pressed together, so close that David could just turn his head, turn his head and then just-

And with a shudder, David feels himself let go, the relief of it, before a spasm of pleasure hits him, smothering his thoughts, pulling him forward as the pleasure grabs him, spilling and rippling through him, leaving him crying out against his fingers.

He shudders through the sudden rush of it, crashing over him for a few moments, leaving him quivering. His hand is suddenly sticky and he lets it fall, stepping back under the shower immediately. The soapy warm slickness of his skin makes the afterglow creeping up his body even more pleasant. _You're taking over me, I'm in ecstasy._

He looks down at himself, feeling a rueful grin twitch at his mouth as he sees the mess he's made and steps further under the shower, letting the water take care of the problem.

It's only a few minutes later, when he's resoaping himself, that he remembers suddenly what he was thinking about.

Or rather, who.

David only freezes for a moment, soap clutched tightly between his hands. It's nonsense, he tells himself, pushing away the faint fluttering of panic that stirs in his stomach. He didn't _think_ about Miliband-Miliband just happened to pop into his mind. It's what happens when you're in a job like politics, where your career sinks its' fingers into every aspect of your life. People's faces can and have appeared in David's thoughts at any number of bizarre moments. (He'd once been stupid enough to mention to Sam that his train of thought had just been interrupted by a memory of Boris looking thoughtfully at a trampoline and mentioning that he'd quite like to have a bounce. Sam had burst out laughing and insisted on moaning _"Boris!"_ whenever they were in bed for the next three weeks, telling David with a grin that if he could daydream about their friend while in _flagrante delicto_ , surely she had a right to indulge in the same.)

David shakes his head firmly. It was a complete accident. It means nothing that, for a moment, he thought about Miliband.

Nothing.

He gets on with showering, folding these sensible thoughts around these flutters of worry and crushing them tight.

* * *

 

"Look nice enough?" David glances at Ed, who gives him a thumbs-up.

"Absolutely. Remarkable for going to dinner with someone who is obviously not a friend."

David rolls his eyes. "I doubt _he'd_ call _me_ a friend."

Ed just grins. "Fine. You look incredibly handsome for meeting someone who would simply never call you a friend."

"And I certainly doubt that Miliband would think _that."_

As the knock comes at the door, David catches a slight arch of Ed's eyebrow, and he turns away a little too quickly.

He opens the door and grins. "Fashionably on time, Mili-"

He trails off as his eyes flicker over Miliband.

Miliband tugs at his tie nervously. "Do I-ah-look all right?"

David blinks. The words seem to take a long time to reach him.

"Ah-"

It's just-

That suit-it _fits_ Miliband.

Well, more than _fits-_

It's dark, and the shirt's so white, it just-

Really sets off Miliband's skin-it looks lovely and olive and-

God, his hair looks lovely-he's washed it or brushed it, but it looks so _soft_ , soft and fluffy-

God, his eyes look big and dark-and his eyes flicker up and down-and God, the _cut_ of it-he can make out the line of Miliband's-

A strange shiver ripples through his chest, and yanks his eyes back up to Miliband's.

"Ah-" He tries for a laugh. "Sorry. Got distracted there. You look-um-"

 _Handsome._ The word flickers, sharp and sudden. _God_ , Miliband looks handsome.

David blinks.

"What?" Miliband looks so nervous, dark eyes darting from David to Ed. "Is it-um-"

David drags the words up so quickly that he doesn't have time to check them first. "You look lovely."

Miliband's face changes colour so quickly that David's almost concerned. Colour rushes up his cheeks, making his eyes look even darker, and David's eyes flicker to that tuft of white in his hair. Another jolt of something stirs in his chest.

"Thank-th-" The lisp wriggles gloriously in David's stomach.

"Thank you." Miliband's words are almost a mumble, as he glances shyly up at David.

David nods, and then gestures quickly, telling himself it's not an excuse to avoid meeting Miliband's eyes. "Would you-ah-like to come in?"

Miliband steps inside, and as David closes the door behind them, mumbles something that sounds like "Ukeeoo."

"Sorry?"

Miliband meets his eyes, now blushing as furiously as David's ever seen. "You, um-look lovely, too."

"Oh." David's voice comes out a little rougher than usual. He's blushing. He knows it. Miliband's made him blush.

Miliband's made him _blush._

How has that happened? How has that become Something That Happens?

Miliband's waiting for an answer. David swallows. "Oh. Thank you. Miliband."

Miliband's eyes meet his cautiously, and he looks so-

So _shy_ , and-

Something about it-

David just _beams._

He's not even trying to. He just beams.

Miliband just looks so-

The answering smile Miliband gives him is goofy and awkward.

(Very Milibandy.)

And it just-

It's only when Ed pops his head round the corner and asks "Everything all right, Prime Minister?" with a little too much of a grin that David realises that he and Miliband have just been standing, staring at each other.

And smiling.

He steps back, and so does Miliband, and it's only then that David realises that somehow, they'd both stepped closer to one another without noticing.

He looks at Ed a little too quickly and replies a little too loudly and pushes that odd moment in the shower earlier a little too firmly away.

* * *

 

 

_ Playlist _

_Bitter Glass-Feeder-" The thought of never knowing/Would kill me just the same...You're travelling broken/You just can't free yourself/An' all the words we've spoken/Are buried in the sand/The ruptured and the broken/The taste of bitter glass"-this pretty much reminds me of Ed and David's awkward little conversation where they're trying to patch up their argument._

_Without You-Oh Wonder -"Come back into the good life/Lose these hazy love lies/I've been chasing my mind/Lonely in the cold nights"-again, this one's pretty self-explanatory. Just sums up how David and Ed feel when they're reunited after basically biting each other's heads off and blanking each other for a couple of days, the idiots. Also, the music video's filmed in Paris, which probably shouldn't have influenced the decision but might have, a little._

_Something To Talk About-Badly Drawn Boy -"I've been dreaming/Of the things I've learnt/About a boy who's bleeding/celebrate to elevate/The joy is not the same without the pain/Ipso facto/Using up your oxygen/You know I'm shallow/Calling out for extra help/You've got to let me in/Or let me out/Oooh something to talk about..."-so this kind of reminds me about David and Ed learning a little about each other (and totally holding hands on the bus, because they did, come on), but also everyone else kind of observing them, and clearly coming to the conclusion that these two idiots are head over heels, because they clearly are._

_Time Stops-Explosions In The Sky -so this is an instrumental, but I was just listening to it at the moment of the march in Paris, and it just seemed to fit quite well._

_Taking Over Me-Lawson -OK, technically this one isn't on the playlist. It's just the song that's playing in David's shower scene (and I just started sniggering like a child writing those words), and it kind of fit because reportedly David is one of those people who randomly finds songs on his playlist that he has no idea got there, and he basically has no idea why he's daydreaming about Ed suddenly, either, because the two of them are so deep in denial that Marlin from Finding Nemo wouldn't bother going down to find them._

_Now Is The Start-A Fine Frenzy- "Hey, do you hear, do you hear/That sound/It's the sound of the lost gone found/It's the sound of a mute gone loud/It's the sound of a new start...Unafraid you can name your scars/With the touch of a new heart"-so this fits the moment when David and Ed first see each other again in the entry hall of the British residence and the moment when Ed turns up at David's room for their ~~date~~ dinner. And it kind of fits the new phase their relationship's going to, as well as the goofiness with which they absolutely do not at all check each other out in the doorway._

_Smitten With You-Nicole Dollanganger -"When I see you, I can't find the words to speak/My cheeks go as red as two big cherries/I try to look beautiful for you/Stuffing my dress up with tissues, hoping you'll notice/But it's obvious and I get so embarrassed/I'm so smitten with you and everyone knows it"-This is another recurring one and it's pretty self-explanatory. I think it pretty much sums up the scene at the end where David and Ed are absolutely checking each other out and have no idea how to admit that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quick notes: David (accompanied by Llewellyn) and Ed did both go to Paris for the march and rally, along with Theresa. The "walk" they take to see Hollande is from the British residence on the Champs-Elysees to the Elysee Palace, which is the official residence of the French President. They then were taken by bus to the rally.  
> Here is the link to Ed on Andrew Marr, where he completely failed to deny that he used the word weaponized: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJ9qmfPpbcM  
> As promised, here is a clip of the memory Sam has of being made to smile for the camera on the beach, from the Labour Party Conference 2013: http://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/181808247  
> The picture Sam mentions is the one Ed and Justine had shot for their 2014 Christmas card: https://goo.gl/images/EDyL4s  
> "Milibandy" is a word David used for things that reminded him of Ed. Theresa and Philip do holiday in Switzerland, hiking:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/07/25/theresa-may-husband-philip-kick-summer-holiday-northern-italy/ The memory Ed has of Louise and Justine backstage is from an account of the night Ed won the Labour leadership contest in 2010-Justine was pregnant with Sam at the time, and Louise reportedly got into an argument with Ed and Justine after shouting at Ed backstage:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/8026714/Ed-Miliband-in-victory-he-asked-what-have-I-done-to-David.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2300236/Wife-forgive-brother-laws-betrayal--woman-blames-putting-halt-Ed-Milibands-challenge-Labour-leadership.html  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/milibands-at-war-a-split-in-the-family-2296473.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2004950/Ed-David-Miliband-The-real-victim-feud-mother-Marion.html  
> Here's the clip of David greeting Hollande, along with other world leaders: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3jO88mXH0c  
> Helle is Helle Thorning-Schmidt, the then Prime Minister of Denmark and wife to Stephen Kinnock, the then parliamentary candidate for Labour and now a Labour MP, brother of Rachel Kinnock, Ed's press officer, & son of Neil Kinnock, a former Labour leader-the girls mentioned are their daughters: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/may/17/we-need-to-think-radically-stephen-kinnock-on-labours-woes-and-following-in-his-fathers-footsteps  
> Helle is pretty good friends with David:http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/politics/just-a-bit-of-fun-danish-prime-minister-helle-thorning-schmidt-defends-her-selfie-with-barack-obama-9001787.html  
> The story Ed relates Justine telling was from here: http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2014/07/17/justine-miliband-profile-thornton_n_5594835.html  
> Matteo is Matteo Renzi, the Prime Minister of Italy. Mariano is Mariano Rajoy, the Prime Minister of Spain. The thing Angela mentions about Ed not getting an audience with her is referring to the fact that on Angela's visit to the UK in January 2015, Ed's advisers got royally pissed off that she didn't grant him an audience as well as David: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11329043/Angela-Merkel-gives-Ed-Miliband-a-miss.html  
> David's Union Jack headphones can be seen here: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3516465/Is-Dave-trying-just-little-hard-cool-PM-spotted-pair-300-Beats-Dre-headphones-usually-seen-likes-Cara-Delevigne-Harry-Styles-Rita-Ora.html


	18. Parisian Ponderings, Rueful Recollections And A Companionship of Cultural Cultivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which waitresses know far too much, a fair share of snails is subjective, baseball literature has a surprising effect and a deal is made."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, guys, my apologies for how long this chapter is. Also for how fluffy it is, because it is almost unbelievably fluffy. br />  
> BEFORE YOU READ: Yeah, once again, this isn't intended to be a real-life reflection, blah, blah, blah. I may use real-life events, facts, etc. but they're a fictional interpretation, etc.  
> Also, if you want to ask me anything about this, you can on my [Tumblr](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask),  
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EVERYONE WHO'S COMMENTED. (I love the comment where someone says that this helps them learn about politics, because I really hope they think half our politicians are secretly in love with each other. Like, it would be so much more interesting. But seriously, I love that comment because I'm a complete nerd who prides themselves on getting THE FACTS right and who also likes the political discourse as much as the will-they-won't they stuff-or at least, intertwining them.  
> So, leave a comment if you like it! And enjoy! (If you want to read any of the articles and can't, just send me an ask!  
> ALSO: This chapter's set in Paris, and in case you're like me and like to be able to picture the exact places in your head, here's a couple of lil details. The street Dave and Ed walk down is obviously the Champs-Elysees:  
> https://goo.gl/images/pFML7J  
> https://goo.gl/images/Xg6SD3  
>   
> The restaurant they go to is the George V café on the Champs-Elysees:  
> https://goo.gl/images/wmXVFj  
> And the bridge they're on is the Pont Alexandre III, which is here:  
> https://goo.gl/images/9tA1gj  
> Some of the details about Justine's childhood come from this article here: http://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/i-know-for-certain-ed-milibands-wife-wasn-t-too-cool-for-school-8590041.html  
> The photos she mentions can be seen here:https://goo.gl/images/3mr4M5  
> https://goo.gl/images/BekNR5  
> https://goo.gl/images/zksnVS />  
> The clips quoted from Philomena can be seen here:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srGqw775Oo4 and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dbrs9sULf-A. Ed did apparently well up in the cinema:http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/ed-miliband-interview-we-put-your-questions-to-the-labour-leader-9003108.html  
> The excerpts they read are from the updated version of the book Red Sox Century: The Definitive History Of Baseball's Most Storied Franchise.  
> The "Bedroom Tax" is a hotly-disputed issue in the UK-it was actually a cut by the coalition government to housing benefits which means you get less money in welfare if you have more than one spare room. Even mentioning it can provoke outraged debate. (The "encouraging people to rely on welfare" David mentions is a common critique of the last Labour government-which Ed was a part of-as they were found to have in some cases ensured that you could earn more on benefits than you could actually holding down a job, which discouraged employment.)  
> The letter is one that was signed by Ed, Clegg & Farage, threatening Cameron they'd go ahead with TV debates without him: http://www.itv.com/news/2015-01-14/miliband-clegg-and-farage-prepared-to-go-ahead-with-tv-debates/  
> Nick speaks 6 languages: http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/commentators/sarah-sands/sarah-sands-clever-clegg-minds-his-languages-all-six-of-them-1999030.html  
> Stewart is Justine's middle name. It is also Sam's: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-11718936  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1328462/Ed-Miliband-shows-new-son-Samuel-Stewart-Thornton-Miliband.html  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2010/nov/09/ed-miliband-name-new-baby  
> David is a fan of Tony Benn's essays, despite their opposing politics, which he read when he was younger: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/blog/2009/sep/18/cameron-hannan-tony-benn Benn was a close friend of Ed's father & gave teenage Ed his first work experience: https://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/politics/tony-benn-and-the-milibands Ed was in Boston in 2003, teaching at Harvard.  
> Steve Coogan is a Labour supporter. David's dad was disabled-the times of their father's deaths & accounts of Dave & Ed's religious beliefs are real:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/7989761/David-Camerons-father-Ian-Cameron-dies.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2602948/I-dont-think-God-exists-faith-I-says-Jewish-atheist-Ed-Miliband.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/10770340/David-Cameron-is-aPM-who-does-do-God.html  
> Also, Dave does apparently describe things that remind him of Ed as "Milibandy" in real life. They also did apparently have an unofficial deal to warn each other before personal attacks in the election campaign. (More notes at the bottom)

_""Why'd you talk to me every day?" she asked me, one day in the spring on the way to school._

_I didn't know whether to say it was because she talked to me every day or because I didn't have anyone else to talk to, or because I had a crush on her._

_"Why not?" I said and grinned._

_She shrugged. "Lots of reasons, really.""- Radio Silence, Alice Oseman_

 

_Katie: Why are you being nice to me?_

_Effy: Life's too short._

_Katie (laughs): You are such a fucking cliche._

_- Skins,s4ep4, "Katie"_

 

_""Why do you keep saying that?"_

_"Because I see the way you look at me."_

_"Oh my God. You are unbelievable."_

_He laughs..._

_I shout over the noise, "I don't like you either." But he just laughs."- All The Bright Places, Jennifer Niven_

* * *

 

The Champs-Elysees is quieter than it would usually be, the Arc De Triomph lit up overhead, as they walk under the trees, but there are still some people about. Ed keeps his head down, every so often glancing at David next to him.

David gives him an amused glance. "What are you looking around for?" he says, with a laugh.

Ed glances at him, aware of the protection team a few feet behind them. "Don't you get nervous?" he asks, without thinking.

"You mean of getting recognized?" Cameron laughs a little. "You get used to it, I suppose."

Ed glances at him, the lights pouring from the Parisian windows around them, and David grins a little, head on one side. "Measuring the curtains again, Miliband?"

Ed rolls his eyes and swallows as he catches sight of the cut of Cameron's suit again.

When he'd looked up as Cameron opened the door, he'd had to pause and swallow, because Cameron-

Well-

He'd just looked-

Good.

Really-

His hair had been washed and brushed back, and his smile had dented dimples into his cheeks.

And his eyes had just been so _blue-_

Ed had stared at him, because the suit just fitted him so well, and-and it had just looked-

 _You look lovely,_ Cameron had said and the words had flamed in Ed's cheeks, made him bite his lip and look down and pull at his suit, because-

It just sounded so-

And it was true when he said it back, he'd realised even as he spoke the words, and he's thinking it again now, heart hammering as he glances at Cameron next to him. Because Cameron just looks-he looks-

Cameron glances at him and grins again. Ed hastily averts his eyes, feeling colour flood his cheeks.

"Where are we going anyway?" he asks a little too snappily, his heart beating uncomfortably fast. He fixes his eyes on the Arc De Triomph, the golden lights that creep up the side of it, the lights that beam down from the trees overhead.

But when he glances again, Cameron doesn't look perturbed-indeed, his dimples deepen even further at Ed's tone."Just a restaurant I know. I've brought Sam and the kids here a few times and some others." He glances suddenly at Ed. "Incredibly posh. Five-star. Very exclusive."

Ed feels the heat rise to his face. "Oh. God."

"Something wrong?"

"I w-wish you'd th-said-" Ed glances down at his suit, plucking at it anxiously. "I-are you th-sure thith is all right-?"

Cameron doesn't answer. Ed glances up at him anxiously. "Do I-do you think I should go back and-"

He trails off at the sight of Cameron's teeth sinking into his bottom lip, barely suppressing a grin, shoulders shaking suspiciously. Ed stares at him for another moment-and then, the penny drops.

 _"C-Cameron!"_ It comes out as a furious splutter. Ed's hand catches futilely at Cameron's sleeve, and Cameron waves his own hand, shaking with laughter. "I'm sorry" he chokes out, cheeks creasing in a grin as Ed glares at him. "But you should have seen the look on your face-"

He bursts out laughing again, as Ed glares at him. "It'th-s not _funny!"_ He glowers over his crossed arms and Cameron takes a deep breath, clearly struggling to restrain himself. "I'm sorry. Honestly."

Ed huffs, feeling like a child, and Cameron catches his sleeve. "Honestly. It was just a joke. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not _upth-set."_ The words sting a little. _"You_ don't have to worry about fitting-"

He snaps his mouth shut. David stares at him.

He falls silent for a moment-then, as Ed ducks his head and carries on walking, Cameron tugs at his sleeve. "You shouldn't, either."

Ed glances up at him a little sulkily. "Th-sorry?"

David tugs at his sleeve again, gently. "You shouldn't. Worry about fitting anywhere."

Late-winter early darkness makes it difficult for Ed to make out David's features clearly, but he thinks he can make out a tinge of colour appearing in his cheeks.

"Well-" Cameron clears his throat suddenly, voice a little more clipped. "Why wouldn't anyone like you?"

Ed laughs before he can stop himself. "I'm sure some of your friends could give them plenty of reasons."

The words hang in the air between them and Ed's laughter dies away quickly.

It's Cameron who says quietly "Well. I wanted to talk to you about that."

Ed feels the colour rise to his cheeks again. He bites his lip.

It's Cameron who squeezes his arm. "Honestly" he says, a little quieter. "You shouldn't worry about that."

Ed laughs again, this time with even less humour than before. "You're the only one that thinks so, then."

Cameron's brow creases. His fingers squeeze Ed's sleeve a little tighter. "Why wouldn't people like you? I do."

Ed blushes. He knows he's blushing, and that makes it worse. He glances down at his feet.

"Thankth" barely comes out and when he glances up, there's a definite tinge of colour in Cameron's cheeks now-

Cameron gives him an awkward little tap on the arm ( _Awkward._ When was the last time he saw Cameron look _awkward?)_ and they keep walking, but a little closer this time, their shoulders brushing.

It's Cameron, once again, who breaks the silence. "You have to admit, Miliband, you weren't surprised that I'd take you to a fancy restaurant-"

"I wath-I wath-sn't _not_ surprised-"

"You thought typical _Etonian,_ would take you to a fancy elitist restaurant-" Cameron's grin is teasing and Ed can feel his own aching at his mouth. "I'd have thought you'd pick me up on all that Bullingdon privilege-"

"I wath-s about to-I was just-"

"Ah, so you _do_ think I'm a typical old Etonian-"

"Oh, shut up, Cameron-"

The argument takes them the rest of the way there, giggles breaking loose in their chests and their arms bumping each other every few moments and, despite the events of the day, despite where they are, for the first time in a while, Ed feels like he's having fun.

* * *

 

The restaurant is quiet, which Ed expected. Cameron greets the waitress with the customary grin and a flicker of a wink, and Ed watches him a little enviously.

Not just enviously.

Cameron always looks so relaxed. As if he just fits his skin.

Ed doesn't exactly not fit, but-

It can feel as if he's trying to work out _how_ he fits, and-

Ed's pulled out of his thoughts by the waitress showing them to a table.

It's near the back of the restaurant-private, but not too private. But it is far back from the windows, which, Ed suspects, was probably Cameron's motive for picking it.

The waitress has given them menus, and pours glasses of iced water. Cameron gives Ed a quick grin and says something to her in something which, to Ed, doesn't sound much like French.

The waitress frowns, tilts her head to one side. _"Pardon?"_

A tinge of colour appears again in Cameron's cheeks, and he gives Ed a rueful grin. "I'll wait" he says, adopting the louder tone that the English often do, as if that might translate better into whatever foreign language they have failed to master.

The waitress's brow creases at that, before suddenly clearing. "You wait for your friend? Fine." She gives them a smile, the words having been uttered in near-perfect English. Ed can barely stifle a smirk.

Cameron meets his eyes, already grinning, cheeks still flushed. "Go on, Miliband. Let's hear it."

Ed just smirks at him. "It was similar to how it is every Wednesday, Prime Minister-you try to sound coherent-"

"Hilarious." Cameron looks distinctly unruffled, as he takes a sip of his water. "I was never much cop at French. If Nick was here, he'd still be having a conversation with the staff."

"He speaks more, doesn't he?"

"Four, I think. French, Spanish-Dutch. I can't remember if there's another one." Cameron shakes his head. "God knows how he does it."

"I never much liked languages." Ed takes a sip of his own water. "I liked Maths. Well-numbers, anyway-"

He's always been fond of numbers. He loves how much sense they make; how there's always a logical, incontrovertible answer, if you work long and hard enough. That eventually, whatever the question is, it will make sense, proof on the page, in black or white.

Cameron's grinning, Ed notes with some trepidation, but it isn't the usual teasing grin. There's something softer in it-almost fond.

The thought sends a prickling up and down Ed's spine, and he speaks a little too quickly. "What about you?"

"Art." Cameron speaks almost without hesitation.

"Oh yeah, you said-"

"Loved art." Cameron grins. "Took myself off to Florence one holiday, spent three days taking in the museums. Dad always encouraged it."

Ed loves the way Cameron's eyes soften when he talks about his father. It's something that gives him a pleasant squirming in his chest, a sudden, deep fondness that makes him avert his eyes for a moment.

He blinks. He _loves?_

"How old were you?" he asks quickly, hoping to disguise his own sudden discomfort.

Cameron's perusing the menu. "Can't remember exactly. Fifteen or sixteen, I should say." He grins suddenly. "Thought I could be an artist, then. Or an art historian."

"Why didn't you?"

Cameron stares at him for a moment, and then bursts out laughing. "Would that have suited you, Miliband? Cleared the path a little-"

"N-no-" Ed's mouth twitches treacherously.

Cameron points. "See. You thought it, even for a second-you did-"

 _"Didn't-"_ It comes out sulky and through a reluctant smile, and Cameron grins again.

 _"Did._ _And_ you thought I was going to take you to a fancy, five-star restaurant where you have to book seven months in advance-"

"Th-seven _months-"_ Ed's laughing now. "You wouldn't have imagined seven monthth-s ago-"

His voice trails off. Cameron's still laughing.

"Still. No-one can say I don't _know_ you, Miliband."

His voice too trails off and Ed meets his eyes slowly. "Yeah" he says, a lot more quietly now. "I th-suppose."

Cameron doesn't try to recapture the laughter of a moment ago. Instead, he tilts his head, taking Ed in curiously.

"What is it, Miliband?" he asks, a little quietly himself this time.

Ed swallows, glances at his empty plate, then takes a deep breath.

"It'sth just- _this"_ he says, gesturing across the table between them. "Thith-this. Us. How does this work? How do-

_How do we work?_

But that's ridiculous. He and Cameron aren't a _we._

Are they-?

Cameron opens his mouth, and Ed speaks quickly. "I mean-come on. Look at us last week-" He takes a breath. "I know we're going to th-say things about each other. Of course we are. But-I don't know-we say things about each other and then we're like _thisth."_ He gestures between them once again across the table. "I mean-I don't know-" He looks down at his plate, at a loss.

Cameron speaks slowly. "Are you saying you don't want-to be like this?"

Ed's head jerks up. "No!" The word comes out a little too quickly, and Cameron-

Well, his _face-_

It just _brightens._

It had been tense. The smile had been careful. But the second Ed speaks-

It just _lightens._ The tension falls away. He looks just-almost _incredulous._

Ed stares at Cameron for another moment and then remembers it's his turn to speak. "I mean-no, I don't want us not to be like this." He can feel colour creeping slowly up his cheeks. "I like us being like this-"

He stops dead. He can't look up. He's blushing, he knows it.

He can feel Cameron's eyes on him and he has to count to five before he lifts his head to meet Cameron's gaze.

Cameron's just watching him, with his head tilted to the side. His eyes are creased a little. There's a hint of a smile playing about his mouth.

Ed has to speak. "But we are going to th-say things about each other-"

Cameron's eyes are on his. "Well, yes. Of course we are. I believe we've both already _started_ to, Miliband-"

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it begrudgingly. "But it's going to make things difficult, ith-sn't it?"

Cameron grins a little. "Why do you think I needed to talk to you?"

Ed shrugs, and Cameron takes another sip of water.

"We could always try not meaning any of it" he suggests, eyes widening deceptively in such a way that Ed can't entirely tell if he's joking or not. "The insults, I mean-"

"But I _do_ mean it-" Ed stops. "I mean-I don't. Not the insults, obviouth-sly. But-" He meets Cameron's eyes. "You _know_ we mean to attack each other's policies. We _disagree_ , Cameron."

"Of course." Cameron doesn't look perturbed in the slightest by this. "But that doesn't mean anything personally."

"I know. It'th juth-that-"Ed chews at his lip. The waitress deposits a basket of French bread on the table while he's thinking, and he reaches for a piece unthinkingly.

"Here-" Cameron takes it from him, even as it reaches Ed's mouth. Ed stares, surprised. "What are you-"

Cameron winks and begins buttering it for him. Ed bites his lip. "Oh. Thanks." The wink seems to flutter in his chest.

He watches Cameron buttering for a moment, and then it almost bursts out. "But th-see, it's going to get _complicated._ We'll be th-sitting here, knowing what we're going to be th-saying and being nith-ce and you know, when we're planning some _attack-"_

Cameron sets the bread down on Ed's plate, with a thoughtful "Hmm" in the back of his throat.

"What if-" He pauses, buttering his own bread with exaggerated care. "What if we made some sort of deal?"

Ed frowns. "A deal?"

"Yeah." Cameron takes a bite of his own bread, and Ed, remembering, picks up his own. "A deal."

Ed stares at him suspiciously over his own bread for a moment-then freezes with it halfway to his mouth. "I'm not telling you campaign th-secrets, Cameron!"

Cameron, yet again, bursts out laughing and consequently almost chokes on his bread. Ed gets up and makes his way round, awkwardly patting Cameron on the back.

Cameron manages to recover his breath and his sense of humour at almost exactly the same moment. "See, Miliband-" He grins, even as Ed rolls his eyes and, with a final, awkward pat on the back, resumes his own seat.

Cameron's still grinning. "We go out for dinner and you try to kill me-"

"Tried to _kill_ - _you're_ the one who can't _shut up_ - _suicidal_ more than anything-"

Cameron's shaking his head mournfully. "Honestly. It could be an elaborate murder plot-" He winks.

"Tried to kill you _-bullshit_ I tried to kill you-"

Cameron, who had seemed to be regaining some control over himself, now dissolves into more laughter. _"Bullshit?_ Did you just say _bullshit?"_

Ed feels the heat creep up his face and scowls.

Cameron's still laughing. "Rather rebellious, aren't you, Miliband-"

"Oh, shut up."

Cameron laughs harder and then seems to regain some sensibility with a considerable effort. "Talking of campaigns-" He wipes at his mouth with a napkin. "I'm not asking to know your campaign secrets. I don't need to know how to lose-"

"Is that your area of expertise? You did _nearly_ get a majority last time-"

"Because Labour defended their record so _brilliantly."_ Cameron beams. "As I was saying. I meant some sort of deal where we-I don't know-warned each other. If the attacks were going to be-personal." Cameron meets Ed's eyes before he can protest. "Which they are."

Ed swallows. He looks down at his plate.

"Shouldn't you have taken me to Granita for this?" he mutters, and glances up hopefully when Cameron laughs.

"It's just-this wouldn't be betraying our campaigns. And it would only apply to personal attacks."

Ed eyeballs him, mulling the offer over. It could work. But-

"We'd have to trust each other" he says, not looking away from Cameron. "Wouldn't we?"

Cameron grins. "Problem with that?"

Ed arches an eyebrow in return.

"You can do better than that, Miliband-"

"Well, you _know_ what I mean. It's not that I _don't_ trust your word-"

Ed purposefully doesn't look at Cameron.

"It's that I'm not meant to" he says, more quietly than he means. "Neither are you."

He glances up to see Cameron too, looking thoughtful. His lips are pursed and Ed finds himself watching them, noticing how pink and full they are.

"I've got an idea."

Ed blinks and jerks himself out of his daze. Cameron's watching him, looking smugly triumphant.

"What?"

"You tell me one personal thing you're going to say about me by the end of the night." Cameron beams. "And I'll tell you one. Just to start us off."

Ed blinks. "How on _earth_ does that mean we can truth-trust each other?"

Cameron shrugs, reaching for another piece of bread. "It doesn't. But it helps to break us in. And I'll be going as much on trust as you are." He arches an eyebrow at Ed. "You could just as easily hold back on your end of the deal as I could. And it's not as if we're giving each other any advantage by doing it. It's just-bracing each other for anything personal. Nothing to do with techniques, or anything like that."

Ed is silent, thinking.

"You don't have to tell me it now" Cameron says, correctly guessing the trajectory of Ed's thoughts. "Just by the end of the night."

Ed hasn't enjoyed not speaking to Cameron. And this could be just as damaging to Cameron as to him.

And as mutually beneficial.

He'd have just as much power as Cameron does, in this, at least.

And if Cameron doesn't misuse it-doesn't break his word-

Well.

Ed doesn't think he will, either.

He meets Cameron's eyes across the table. "All right" he says. "Deal."

Cameron grins and extends a hand. Ed watches him for a long moment before he takes it and slowly shakes, up and down.

Cameron's fingers are warm and strong around his own.

The thought makes Ed's heart rapid, for some reason.

When they break apart, Cameron gives him a grin. "Excellent. Now let's order some wine, I'm gasping."

Ed rolls his eyes. "You can choose" he says, when Cameron extends the menu. "I don't-really know much about it."

Cameron grins. Ed blushes. "I th-suppose we don't have much at home."

Justine's never been a big drinker. Neither's he. That had been another reason they'd seemed right together. Another box ticked.

Ed frowns.

Another _box-?_

But Cameron's musing over the menu with a little crease between his eyebrows, and a purse of the lips that sends a faint little wriggle through Ed's chest, and it's easier to lose himself in this for a moment, than think about himself and Justine, or indeed, why he doesn't want to think about them.

* * *

 

Marion put the boys to bed, and by the time Justine's been home a few hours and goes to check on them, they're both fast asleep. She closes the doors, relieved.

Justine often feels as though she's trying to feel her way through when she kisses them goodnight. It was easier when they were smaller, when their chatter came in the sound of baby gurgles and they could get used to anyone or anything holding them, waving in front of their eyes. She made sure they did, as soon as possible, handing them over to Marion as often as she could, and a nanny as soon as they were sure it wouldn't make the headlines, along with the kitchen and bathrooms and first-class plane seats they've kept hidden safely away from reporters and press officers and whispers of _champagne socialism._

Justine hates the words. She doesn't think she's a socialist, though she'd hidden that from Ed when they'd first met, careful to make herself sound ambiguous, and he'd heard what he wanted to hear, as maybe she'd relied on.

But she's always done her best. She has, and so's Ed, and it was easier when the boys were tiny enough that she could burble her way lackadaisically through _Goodnight, Moon_ with them, hoping they were too little to notice the boredom stretching her tone, the struggle to widen her eyes with sufficient enthusiasm at each intonation of the childish words.

She goes downstairs and feels her shoulders sink with relief the moment she casts her eyes over the legal briefs waiting for her on the sofa, as she folds herself down carefully onto the brown cushions. She knows work. She understands work. It's the way she can slot things together. The way she can conjure a sense of the world.

She can put the arguments together and gather up far-flung facts from hours of painstaking research and assemble them into sentences, into a speech, into a verdict. A verdict that she won't give, but that she'll have helped shape.

She'd managed a few days off with each boy-endless cooing and always holding them a little too tightly or a little too loosely, and not even being disgusted by the constant changing of nappies.

She'd have welcomed _disgust_. _Disgust_ would have broken up the monotony.

She'd lain awake, instead, and felt only a creeping sense of terror. Terror at the thought of the cases crawling on without her, at the assignments she'd be missing. She'd told Ed it was new mother's worry, because he took fitting themselves into parenting roles even more seriously than she did, and then he'd suggested bringing the baby _in_ with them-she can't remember which one it was, Daniel or Sam, she thinks it might have been Sam-and whichever one it was, she'd had to take a deep breath and force a smile, so she didn't grab the pillow and scream and scream and scream at the thought of the baby being _in_ with them, of the mewling, squirming, _needing_ little baby being _there_ at the side of her bed, so near to her skin, seeping even into her dreams.

She'd managed to say no and soothe him and then she'd turned her face into the pillow and bitten down on it so she didn't cry out at the thought of all the work at the office that would be slipping away from her, all the ways that she'd be being left behind, that she wouldn't _matter-_

When she'd been able to go back to work the second time-because that was the worse time, somehow, with everyone knowing and cameras wanting interviews and pictures and wanting her to be smiling, smiling, smiling at the baby-after the days had dragged out and out, until she'd wanted to shake them when they cried, scrub the tears off the precious little face that everyone had _oohed_ and _aahed_ over after that photo shoot, Daniel squirming in her arms, blond little head butting back, digging into her chest, and not looking at the camera, not making it easier and just _looking_ , even when she tried to _point_ for him, for pity's sake, and all whilst she was trying to force herself to laugh and gaze at the baby (it had still felt like _the baby_ then, even with _Samuel Stewart Thornton_ scribbled on his birth certificate) the way a new mother _should_ gaze at her baby-she'd had to force herself to press her lips to each of their heads in a quick kiss, force out a promise that she'd be back later, and once outside the door, almost fall back against it, weak with relief and the words wrapping themselves around her brain- _Thank God. Thank God._

It's normal, she tells herself now, putting these things firmly to the back of her mind, the same way she did when their friends laughed after Ed's _Desert Island Discs interview_ , the one they'd carefully sat down with Tom and Marc and the others to plan out in their living room, and said they'd never heard either Ed or Justine listen to _Angels_ , and Justine had laughed and shrugged and made a note to herself to play the song a couple of times, just to remind herself how it goes.

She needs to work, because work is how she shapes things, how she stands up for people. Work has always been here, her way to do something, her tool to grab hold of.

She remembers back when she was little, her father going to work in the morning, often when she and Alex were still in bed. He wouldn't be home until late, and sometimes Justine would creep down and sit on the stairs and peer through the bannisters in her nightie. Her father would be talking in the kitchen and Justine would listen, trying to catch the words, the same way she tried to catch onto her father's name, _Stewart_ , slid between her own on her birth certificate, _Justine Stewart Thornton_ , because her parents had wanted a boy. It just meant they thought she was as good as one, that's all, and that's why it didn't matter what the girls and boys at school said, because they didn't understand what mattered.

Her fingers would curl around the bannisters and she'd press her head against them, trying to pull her father's head round with her thoughts, grab his eyes and pull them round with the words _Please, please, please,_ trying to drag his gaze round and up, to make him look up at the stairs and see her and smile.

He only ever looked up when he came upstairs and Justine would already have fled back to her room, burrowed away under the covers, something hard and aching in her chest.

She always hoped he'd come and look in on her, brush her hair off her face, even just crack open her door to look at her, but he never did.

She worked hard to make herself forget it and remember that didn't matter and what mattered instead, and when she brought home spelling tests with full marks and she was the first in her class to know her times tables, he nodded approvingly, which made Justine feel as though her chest was swelling. She'd known, then, what work could do. It wasn't Dad's fault. He had to work and Mum had to teach, and so she and Alex had to be grown-up, and she'd just been slow and stupid and not mattering to not realise it, the sort of person who _doesn't make a difference._

Alex wasn't as grown-up as her, but then Mum hugged him more and he was smaller, but sometimes, just sometimes, their dad would take Justine into his study and teach her the names of different parts of the skeleton or translate a few sentences into Latin for her or get her to recite the periodic table. Once, he patted her hand after she recited every element correctly three times, without making a mistake, and Justine had cradled it to her chest, not wanting to wash it until she went to bed that night.

Work was important. Justine knew that. She would get good marks and her father would be happy. She would take drama as an extracurricular activity that might make some money for university, because that was showing original thought. She would have a great job, that did something her father thought mattered, that would make a difference. She would marry someone responsible and sensible and suitable, that her father would like. She'd have two children, so they weren't spoilt, but there weren't too many.

She would do these things and she would matter.

Work was the most important thing. She knew without having to be told. And it had to come first, the way that she told herself when she walked to school- _You're old enough to take Alex, aren't you, sweetie? Only Daddy and I really do need to get going-_ fingers folded tight around Alex's wrist, because he didn't understand, he wasn't grown-up enough, and he needed to learn to, and her breath held tight in her chest, so she wouldn't breathe in any of the car fumes and damage her brain, because her brain was what she needed for her work, and her work was what would make her matter.

 _It wasn't a cold house_ , Ed had said to her once, when they'd first known each other, and she'd asked him about his family. That was one of the first things he said, quickly, immediately, for all the world as if she'd stated it to him. And she'd shaken her head, as he glanced at her nervously, because _no,no, no, of course not_. It was one of the things that had made Ed a suitable boyfriend, she had thought later. He understood work, he understood what had to come first-and he was Labour, which was another good thing, another thing that would slide together well with her parents' lives, with her father.

Now, Justine thinks about the night she told him he should stand, and then firmly picks up her own papers and begins to read them.

It's people like her and Ed who can make a difference. To show all the people who said they couldn't, that there's something better, that they can make a change, make things matter. The boys will understand. She did. They will, too.

That's why now, when her father rings every two weeks, and asks about the boys, she tells him they're fine, well, healthy. She'll slip in occasionally a detail about school, or a walk in the park, the way they're learning to for Ed's speeches, _so people can relate more_ , Stewart says.

Then she'll move on to the work she's doing, whatever case she's working on, and she'll sense his approving nod, and she'll swallow, shoulders sinking in relief.

She loves them, of course she does. She must do. Mothers love their children. So do fathers, so he must love her, he must do.

She begins reading the brief, folding her legs over, feeling again the gratitude sinking into her shoulders that the boys are asleep.

She just has to make priorities, and it's easiest when they're away. Asleep, quiet, safely in Marion's flat, down in the basement with their nanny-just _away_ so she can work more easily, away from her.

* * *

 

"How did you, then?"

David glances up at Miliband over the bowl of escargot.

He'd persuaded Miliband into ordering it. _Persuaded_ might be too mild a term-Miliband's eyes had stretched comically wide when David had suggested it.

 _"Snails?"_ he'd spluttered, in a tone that suggested David had just asked him to lick the pavement.

It had been an effort for David not to burst out laughing. "They're delicious. Thought you were supposed to be open-minded-it's _multi-culturalism_ , Miliband-"

"Open-minded, not _suicidal-"_

David _had_ burst out laughing, then. "Suicidal? _Suicidal?_ They're _snails-"_

Miliband had been giving him that look of exaggerated patience David is all too familiar with from across the chamber, but tonight, it had teased him into the jibe that comes easily, because he'd loved the indignation that had narrowed Miliband's eyes.

"Chicken, Miliband?"

Miliband's eyes had narrowed still further and David had been able to order a bowl for them to share- _"You're_ eating them if I don't like them, Cameron-"

Now, David grins and reaches for a snail, stabbing it carefully with his fork. "How did I what?"

Miliband shrugs and toys with a snail cautiously. David grins, slipping one into his mouth. "You were talking about th-Sam-"

"Oh-" David grins, mind drifting back to that holiday, Clare gesturing to Sam next to her-"This is Sam. You know her, you idiot, you've met her before-"

"Actually, when she was sixteen" he says, taking another snail. He feels his brow furrow. "Or eighteen, maybe. We have a slight disagreement on that, neither of us can remember properly. Though we didn't talk properly the first time we met. She was at one of Clare's parties-they were friends at school-" He chuckles at the memory of the young girl Sam had been then, the girl whom Clare had rolled her eyes at when David had asked her name, as if David's very existence was something she needed to apologise for. "This is my brother, David. This is Sam-" and Sam had looked up at him a little uncertainly, dark blue eyes almost drowning in black eyeliner-their gaze wavering a little, perhaps from a little too much of Clare's pilfered alcohol-from under a curtain of dyed black hair, and muttered a little "Hi, David", chewing at her lip as she did so. David had stifled his amusement with great difficulty, taking in the handmade-admittedly well-skull-patterned black skirt and the chipped black nail varnish with a stab of something like fondness as they shook hands awkwardly.

"She was a sulky little goth, then" he says, taking another snail on his fork. "I was at Oxford. We didn't properly get to know each other until she came on holiday with us a few years later. She was at art school, then. I was working for Lamont."

Miliband's eyes drift to the snail, and then away, and David grins and waves it tauntingly. "Come on, Miliband. You said you'd try-"

Miliband rolls his eyes, reaches out for the fork, and nearly knocks his glass of orange juice over. He blushes, a deep, fiery scarlet. David acts as if he didn't notice, then deliberately, as he proffers the fork, knocks his own knife into his lap.

He grins at Miliband, picking it up. "Sorry. Always doing that-"

It's a complete lie, and David drops it again, thinking he might as well.

It's a complete lie, but it makes Miliband smile, so David considers it worth it.

"Here-" he says, and maybe it's because the table's so small or maybe it's the relief of seeing Miliband smile again, but somehow-

Somehow, David leans over and puts the fork up to Miliband's mouth.

He catches himself a second too late, but there's nothing he can do about it, now. Nothing except-

"Open." He says it in the same singsong voice that he uses with Flo, when she won't eat the last two spoonfuls of baked beans.

Miliband's eyebrows arch incredulously. "I'm not a _ch-"_

David slips the fork gently into his mouth and has the satisfaction of seeing Miliband's eyes stretch impossibly wide, his cheeks flushing so beautifully that-

Wait.

_What?_

_Beautifully?!_

_Miliband?!_

David's still reeling when Miliband gives him an impatient look and gestures. David pulls the fork back a little too fast, his mind still screaming at alternate moments _beautifully?!_ and _Miliband?!_

Miliband hardly has a beautiful expression on his face now, with the scowl he's giving. David has to fight not to burst out laughing, even as Miliband chews reflectively.

"Knew it." He leans back triumphantly. "Knew it. You like it. _You like it-"_

"I didn't th-say that-" Miliband says it in his usual slightly huffy tone, and something about it makes David want to laugh even more.

"You didn't have to."

"And you could have _choked_ me."

"It was a necessary evil, Miliband. I was expanding your horizons-"

Miliband snorts. "Neth-eth-"

He blushes. David feels a pang of something. Something that's-

Miliband's gaze moves over his shoulder. "Doesn't that ever bother you?" he says in an undertone, his eyes drifting to the tablecloth. David glances over his shoulder, but sees only his protection team.

He glances back to see Miliband hurriedly helping himself to three snails at once. He freezes, and David hastily pretends to be fascinated by a piece of artwork on the wall, suppressing a laugh with great difficulty.

"The protection team?" he asks, taking a snail for himself and surreptitiously turning the bowl towards Miliband. "You get used to it, I suppose. Sam was a bit like that-" He nods at the way Miliband is peering over David's shoulder. "The first few times we went out after the election." Saying "After I became Prime Minister" sounds a little odd.

"Must have been difficult."

"The first time, she asked me who the strangers watching us at the next table were because she'd kept seeing them the whole night, and should we call the police. I think she panicked more when I told her they _were_ the police."

Miliband laughs a little and David waits for the question. He waits for Miliband to bring up Justine. Because when he brings up Samantha, Miliband should bring up Justine. Because that's how this works, isn't it?

Then again, Miliband doesn't seem to work the way everything else does, or at least, not with David.

He doesn't bring up Justine, and David could ask but he stops himself. The silence isn't awkward.

It's never really awkward with Miliband.

He could ask, but he doesn't. Instead, he just sits back and grins to himself, and watches Miliband steal more than his fair share of snails.

* * *

 

It's not until the steaks come that Ed thinks to ask "What did you like about her?"

"Who?" David's already tucking into his French fries. Ed helps himself to his own, only now realising just how hungry he is. The escargot only filled a very small part of the hole.

"Sam." He stuffs the fries into his mouth, only to feel the heat rise to his cheeks. "Um-th-sorry-" He can feel the chips bulging in his cheeks.

Cameron just smirks, then reaches for a handful of his own chips and does exactly the same thing. Ed feels himself smile so hard his cheeks ache.

"What did I like about her?" David's cutting his steak as he talks, while Ed chews at his French fries. "She was lippy, sometimes. Feisty, when she wanted to be. She was-challenging, I suppose you'd say. She didn't let me get away with things."

For some reason, Ed feels his cheeks flame.

"But she could be quiet, too. Well-" David puts a piece of steak in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "Not quiet. Or rather, quiet and-knowing. I suppose she looked at the world and knew the answers to whatever you were saying, but let you work it out for yourself. If you know what I mean."

Ed stares at him, swallowing slowly. "That sounded like poetry, Cameron."

Cameron laughs. "I'm not a poet, Miliband. I'm pretty hopeless with _reading_ it."

Ed laughs, and Cameron grins suddenly. "Didn't you have e.e.cummings at your wedding?"

Ed swallows. "Not perth-sonally."

Cameron snorts and Ed feels a rush of something almost gleeful in his chest that he's made Cameron laugh. He ducks his head, hiding his smile.

"But yeah. I think so."

Cameron's still laughing but his brow furrows. "You think so?"

Ed swallows. "Well. I didn't choose it."

He hadn't. Neither had Justine. Someone else had suggested it. A wedding had seemed a lot to organize, even when he'd been trying to tell himself it should be enjoyable.

Cameron's brow furrows deeper. "You didn't choose it?"

For some reason, Ed feels a little nettled by this, discomfort sinking into his chest. "No, I didn't" he says, a little shortly, cramming a couple more fries into his mouth.

He avoids Cameron's eyes for a few moments, and when Cameron doesn't say anything, Ed looks up a little defiantly.

Cameron is chewing reflectively on a piece of steak. Ed stares at him, waiting for some comment.

But Cameron just keeps staring, head on one side, lips pursed a little. Ed finds himself staring at Cameron's mouth a little too long, and the sight makes him feel oddly distracted.

"What?" he asks, a little more sharply than he intends.

Cameron just smirks a little and carries on staring. The intensity of the blue eyes and the smirk makes something curl in Ed's chest, an almost pleasurable irritation.

"What are you doing?" he asks, trying to sound unruffled, but gripping his fork a little too tightly.

Cameron smiles a little, then, smiles and cocks his head to one side. "Watching you."

The words are slightly teasing but they're soft and-

And-

Ed can feel heat creeping up his cheeks. He snatches up his knife and fork and begins attacking his steak, bitterly fantasizing about picking it up and smacking Cameron about the head with it.

"Don't know why" is what he mutters, furiously, mostly to the steak.

"Why I'm watching you?"

Of course Cameron would hear it.

He raises his head then, eyes skittering up from the steak, which has suddenly become a fascinating dinner companion, to meet Cameron's. The teasing edge is still there, but his eyes are soft. Too soft.

Ed has a sudden memory, then-it must have been three or four years ago-of walking across a lobby with Cameron-it might have been for a State Opening, something like that-and glancing at him, just noticing the blue of his eyes, under the dark of his hair, the smoothness of his skin. Just noticing, and something about it had just-stuck.

"You're watchable, Miliband." Cameron gives him a grin. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"Why are you telling me what you think I want to hear?" Ed pauses now, knife and fork still stuck in the steak. "You never do that."

"Isn't this a welcome change, then?" Cameron gives him a quick wink, takes another bite of his own steak.

Ed has to think about it for a minute before he replies, truthfully "Not really, actually."

Cameron stills only for the slightest moment. Then, meeting Ed's eyes, he smiles, lifts another forkful of steak to his mouth. "I see" is all he says, and Ed bends his head to hide the grin suddenly pushing at his own mouth.

"Don't think of using that next time you don't want to answer a question" he says, a little more huffily than he means to.

Cameron grins. "You're interesting."

Ed jumps, halfway through spearing a chunk of steak. "What?"

Cameron points a French fry at him like a weapon. "You. Are interesting. Which is why I was watching you." He gives Ed another grin, and bites the end off the chip.

Ed can't think of a single thing to say, so he shoves the steak into his mouth as quickly as possible.

For a moment, he thinks Cameron is just going to stare again, but then Cameron grins. "Forgotten your questions, Miliband? It's like Wednesday lunchtimes all over again-"

"Oh, shut up."

Cameron bursts out laughing and Ed chews at his steak, the word _interesting_ shining in his thoughts.

"So-" Cameron grabs another fry. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What did you first like about Justine?"

"Oh-" For some reason, the question makes Ed feel oddly off-kilter. He takes a gulp of orange juice to hide it.

"Um-" He thinks, trying to remember when he first met Justine. Usually, when he's asked this by journalists or press officers getting him to rehearse his answers, he knows what qualities to go over-they go through it beforehand with Tom and Stewart.

This isn't the same, though, and it's not as though it's an interview.

(He has no idea why he feels more comfortable with Cameron than a journalist.)

"She was stable."

Ed blinks.

What?

Cameron's eyebrow twitches. "Stable?"

"No. No, not stable-well, yes, stable, obviously, but-you know-" He waves a hand. "Steady. Um-"

Come on, there's got to be more than that-

"She's a good counsel-"

What the fuck.

(The words actually _sound_ like that, when he thinks them-deadened in Ed's mind. They don't even sound like a question, because really, _that's_ the- _that's_ the first thing that comes to mind-?)

"I mean-she gives good advice-I-" He can't look at Cameron. "I'm saying thith-s wrong-I-"

I'm making her sound like a table.

"She's a good-er-"

Not that again.

He trails off, then meets Cameron's eyes.

Cameron's just watching him again, head tilted to the side, but there's a slight furrow in his brow. For once, Ed doesn't blame him.

"So she's reliable?"

Ed feels himself nod, and hates that it's so uncertain.

It's just-he's never really-

It's not that Ed doesn't _believe_ in the overwhelming, head-over-heels type of love. It's just that-

He's _tried_ to feel it.

He's tried to _make_ himself feel it.

But it just-

He _does_ love Justine, he tells himself. She's steady, reliable-there's a-a humanity-

She-

He _cared_ about her, he knows, and-

Well-

And that's enough-that counts, of course it does.

He's never been absolutely head-over-heels with anyone, anything. And that's normal. That's completely normal and healthy and logical. It's logical.

Maybe it's just something about him.

(He doesn't _need_ it, anyway.)

Cameron gives him a grin. _"Corrective_ sounds good, though. You _need_ a corrective-"

"Shut up." Ed holds out a fry, warningly, and Cameron grins, holds up his own. "No new comebacks, Miliband?" He hits Ed's fry with his own.

"Cameron, _what_ do you think you're doing-"

 _"You're_ the one sticking a fry out-"

"I was _pointing at you-_

"With a _fry?"_

Ed hits his fry back. It snaps in two and half nearly drops in his orange juice.

Cameron bursts out laughing, and Ed shoves the chip onto his plate, his own shoulders shaking. Cameron's eyes twinkle at him, and it sends a spark of something, something bright and grinning and happy through his chest.

* * *

 

It's when they're looking at the dessert menus that Cameron says "Don't you drink?"

Ed takes a gulp of juice. "Well-yeth, a bit. I just-was never particularly-interethted. They made me drink beer once for an interview and I had to pour it into a plant."

Cameron bursts out laughing. "Ever tried wine?"

"Of course I've _tried wine._ I've been to as many of those bloody receptions as you have."

"What, so you've been the leader of the Labour Party since 2005, have you? No wonder you lost the last election-"

"You know what I bloody mean-and it's not as if _you_ managed to win it-"

"Who's in government, though?"

"Can I bring that up again, come May?"

"You're not answering the question-" Cameron's voice is singsong.

"Cameron, _you're_ one to talk about not answering questions-"

"Don't want to be a hypocrite, do you, Miliband?"

Ed rolls his eyes. "No, Cameron, I don't drink. At least, not often."

Cameron points at his own glass. "Want any?"

Ed swallows. "I'll pas-th, thanks."

Cameron winks. "What? Afraid you won't be able to control yourself if you're mildly intoxicated?"

The words hover between them. Ed blushes. Cameron smirks, but there's a hint of colour in his cheeks.

Ed tries to laugh. "H-hardly, Cameron."

Cameron grins at him. Ed glares, then reaches for Cameron's glass.

He can feel himself scowling. "I'm not going to like it" he warns, and Cameron just grins.

He tips the glass to his lips awkwardly, and gets ready to wince as the wine tickles his tongue.

He doesn't wince. Instead, his eyes open a little wider in surprise, because the wine's far sweeter than he expects, and then fresh and cool on his tongue.

His eyes have fallen shut and he hears the "Mmm" sound come from his own throat before he can stop it.

Cameron's grin is horribly triumphant. Ed glares at him.

"It's not awful" he announces, trying to resist the urge to take another gulp of the wine before he hands it back to David.

Cameron grins triumphantly. "Well. Good thing I got the second glass, then-" He busies himself filling it.

"I didn't th-say I'd have a glas-"

"You didn't need to."

Cameron puts the glass rather ostentatiously near Ed's hand. Ed rolls his eyes, trying to resist the urge to grab it.

"It didn't come from our wine cellar" Cameron adds, with a wink. "Which I'm sure you imagined."

"If your only oppreth-sion is people thinking you're in possession of a wine cellar, then maybe you don't need-need to worry too much-"

Cameron gives him an odd smile, then-an odd, almost strained little smile. "Not quite my only oppression" is all he says lightly, but in such a way that Ed almost tells him then, even as he looks down at his menu.

"Why can't you th-see it?" The words burst out instead, almost before he can stop himself, but he looks up at Cameron, because he really wants to know. "I mean-you can't-" He bites his lip. "You're not- _bad,_ Cameron. You're not-but it's like you don't _th-see._ How-how _hard_ people can find it with things like-like, juth-st take the Bedroom Tax. It's like-I don't know how you can't _see-"_

Cameron's just looking at him, and somehow, that's worse. That's a lot worse.

Ed shakes his head. "I just don't underth-stand-" he mutters. "Because you're _not_ bad. I don't understand why you don't want to _see-"_

"I do see" Cameron says, and he doesn't sound angry. Instead, he sounds merely-curious. "The Bedroom Tax isn't a tax, Miliband. It's a small welfare cut."

Ed drops the menu, exasperated. "That'th-s _th-semantics_ , Cameron. It leaves people worse off-"

"It frees up houses. Plus, a whole group of people will be exempt-"

Ed could scream. Another time, he might just walk out of the room, but that doesn't seem particularly appropriate right now. "Thith ith-isn't- _PMQs."_ The words burst out once again. "I juth-I know you _know._ I juth-st don't-I don't know _why-_ or-"

"We have to save money and we have to free up space, Miliband." Cameron arches an eyebrow. "And it's just a small cut."

"But it's not small for _them."_ Ed forces his voice not to rise. "And if you'd just impose more taxes on the richest-"

"If this is your negotiating for a mansion tax again, Miliband, I think you'd remember how that went down with Myleene-"

"It'th-s not a _joke_ , Cameron-the richeth-st _should_ pay the most-"

"We agree on that. I just don't agree that we should punish people for aspiring to do _well-"_

"But-" Ed's grasping for an argument here, because people keep _saying_ this, and-

"But if people _did_ thith-s-we could reduce inequality-"

"What, by not allowing the people who work hard to reap any of the benefits-"

"No-by-by-asth-asking them to _help-"_

"Just answer me this, Miliband. Why should someone who works hard have to hand over the money to someone who doesn't work at all?"

The words sound maddeningly reasonable.

"But-what about the people who _want_ to work and just need _help-"_

"And what about the people whom you encouraged to keep relying on welfare?"

"But that's only _th-some_ of them-"

"And dealing with them shouldn't be a priority?"

"No, but-but-if you _helped_ people first-"

"Then hardworking people will spend God knows how long lining the pockets of people who've never done a day's work in their bloody lives-"

"But th-some of them juth-st have _bad luck-"_

"That doesn't answer the question." Cameron's looking at him now, and he could almost be smiling, but not quite. "Are you saying people who are working hard should be helping people who aren't working at all, even if they could be working?"

"That'th-that's not-"

Ed doesn't know how to answer. All he knows is that something has to be done and if people could just-

If people could just _understand-_

"This isn't even about the Bedroom Tax" he manages, lamely.

"That's it, isn't it?" David is staring at him suddenly. "You really think that there can be this-this _world_ where everyone is a complete altruist and that-everyone else just has to _believe_ it and this will happen-God, you really, honestly _believe_ it-"

David's staring at him. He doesn't sound mocking. He sounds...a little wondering. Almost incredulous.

Ed nearly throws the menu down, but only just remembers he's in a restaurant. He glares at Cameron, searching for an answer.

Cameron, however, seems to be suddenly absorbed in his menu. "What are you having?"

Ed blinks. "What?"

"What are you having?" Cameron gestures at the menu, arching an eyebrow. "I mean-I'm quite partial to cheesecake, usually-"

He trails off when he sees Ed staring at him. "What?"

Ed just stares at him. "What-how you-"

He does throw the menu down this time, almost flinging it. "How do you do that?" he demands.

Cameron stares at him. "Do what?"

 _"That."_ Ed gestures at him impatiently. "Switch off. Forget. Change the subject. How do you _do_ it?"

His voice trails off, and it's only then that he notices the small, nagging feeling in his chest-the small, nagging feeling that feels a lot like _envy._

He expects Cameron to give him a line, a grin, but Cameron just looks at him. "Well" he says, and there's an attempt at a grin. An attempt, and something about that makes Ed's heart squeeze sympathetically. "That's easier, isn't it?"

Ed opens his mouth, and then sees the genuine confusion on Cameron's face. Ed stares at him, then looks down at the menu. "Not for me" he says, and his own voice is quieter this time. "Is it for you?"

This time, when he glances up, Cameron's brow has furrowed again. "Well, yes" he says, looking at Ed as if he's a creature from another planet or a UKIP voter. "You can't-I can hardly let it _bother_ me, Miliband." He laughs, but it's a little quieter than usual. "I mean, this is the way it's going to be. The way it _is"_ he adds, a little quietly.

Ed opens his mouth, then, looks at Cameron sharply. For some reason, he's remembering Cameron sitting in his dining room munching toast, talking about a six-year-old boy, sent across the Atlantic Ocean alone.

He looks at Cameron, suddenly. "How do you do _that?"_

"Do what?"

 _Make me feel sorry for you_ , Ed thinks.

Aloud, he says _"That._ Look all down-in-the mouth."

The furrow in Cameron's brow disappears immediately and Ed curses himself, though not as much as he'd expect. Indeed, seeing the grin spread over Cameron's face, Ed feels something like relief sinking slowly into his shoulders.

 _"Down-in-the-mouth?"_ Cameron's laughing already, his eyes creased, and Ed shakes his head. "You _know_ what I _mean-"_

"Rather an Etonian turn-of-phrase, that, Miliband-not dropping your class war act, I hope-"

"Claiming it as your class phrase now? Didn't know class ownership had gone that far-"

"First, we're the _same class_ -second, _Etonian_ isn't a _class_ , Miliband, though I've no doubt _you_ think it is-"

They're arguing , laughter breaking out of their mouths in little snorts that could almost make Ed forget the conversation of a few moments before, when there's a very pointed clearing of the throat and they both look up to see the waitress standing there, looking from one to the other with a distinctly amused expression.

Ed stops immediately, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks, but Cameron just grins. "Do you know what you want?" he says, and Ed glances quickly at the menu. "Um-how big are-"

"We could share one."

Ed almost jumps a little. "What?"

Cameron's smiling, but he looks a little tense suddenly. The waitress seems to be smirking slightly.

"We could-um-share a dessert. If you wanted, that was-"

Ed clears his throat. "Well. Um. Yes. Yeth-yes. If you feel like it."

Cameron gestures at the menu. "You pick."

Ed stares at the menu. The waitress appears to be biting her lip and staring with utter fascination at her notepad. "Um-you're sure?"

Cameron nods.

"Nutella crepe?"

Cameron leans over, glances at the menu and nods again. "With ice cream?"

Ed nods eagerly. Cameron glances at the waitress, who in turn is glancing between the two of them, a grin deepening as she scribbles down the order. "Two spoons" she says, which isn't a question.

It's only when she leaves that Cameron meets Ed's eyes. "Hope that's all right with you, Miliband. I mean, I'm rather aware that you hate me-"

Ed feels himself flinch. "What?"

Cameron's mouth twitches, but he says nothing.

When Ed speaks, his voice is much louder than he expects. "I do _not."_

Cameron, who had been lowering his eyes, looks back up at him slowly. He just looks and Ed feels the same squeeze of sympathy that he'd felt a few moments ago, remembering Cameron in his dining room.

"I-" Ed swallows. "That's the problem" he manages.

Their eyes meet very slowly this time, and Cameron's eyes are bright, his mouth parted a little. He stares at Ed, and there's this light in his eyes and-

"Oh" is all Cameron says, quietly, but he's smiling a little.

Ed's heart is pounding and he doesn't know what to do with his hands. He doesn't know whether to meet Cameron's eyes or not.

He needs to say something. He _needs_ to-

"There's a letter" he blurts out, and then he reaches for his glass of wine and takes a large gulp. It's as nice as it was before, which Ed isn't sure if he likes or not.

"A letter?"

Ed keeps his eyes on the table. "From me and Nick. And Farage. About the TV debates." He picks up the wine glass again, but doesn't drink from it. "A letter. Asking you to take part. A public letter." Ed's fingers tighten around the glass. "To attack you. Telling you that we'll go ahead without you."

Ed takes a longer gulp of his wine this time. It saves him having to meet Cameron's eyes for a few moments.

"All right."

Ed takes a moment to look up, he's so surprised.

Cameron's leant back in his chair, the crease in his forehead smoothing out, taking another sip of his own wine. "Thanks for telling me" he says casually, as if Ed's just remembered to inform him about a change of signature required on a document.

Ed stares at him. "That's _it?"_

Cameron stares back. "Well-yes." He frowns. "Unless there's something else?"

Ed shakes his head slowly. "No. It'th-just-"

 _How do you do it?_ he thinks again, but less bitterly this time.

Instead, he just takes another gulp of wine and it's then that Cameron, examining his fingernails, says "Your brother."

Ed freezes with the glass at his lips.

Cameron looks at him. "Your brother. That's one of the things they're going to have a go at you about."

Ed can't look at him for a moment. He keeps his eyes on the tablecloth, lowering his wine glass with exaggerated care.

"You said _they're."_ He keeps his eyes on the tablecloth. _"They're."_

"Yes."

"Not _we're." Not you._

When he looks up, Cameron's watching him. His blue eyes are fixed on Ed. They rove up and down Ed's face, and then he says quietly "Well. I don't hate you, either."

Ed freezes once again, hand closed tightly around the stem of his glass. Heat rushes to his cheeks.

"Right." His hand trembles a little. He bites his lip. "Right."

There's a pause, then "Told you I wouldn't lie to you, Miliband."

Ed laughs. He thinks he laughs, a little nervously. "I didn't say you would."

Cameron's eyes sparkle and he-well-

He holds out his hand again. Ed takes it, and they shake awkwardly.

"See, I did keep a promise, Miliband-"

"So you admit you've only kept one? Even a stopped clock gets to be right twice a day, Cameron-"

"I believe it was you who said I've kept others-" Cameron's hand is so warm around his own. Ed's hand seems to fit strangely around and in Cameron's fingers. "Though it's hardly a good sign if you can't remember your own declarations-"

"This from the Prime Minister-" Cameron bites his lip. "Th-stop laughing, Cameron-" He can feel a giggle making its' way treacherously out of his own mouth, even as he notices that his lisp is reappearing more and more often these days. Maybe he's just not paying as much attention to it as he should.

"Ahem."

They both look up to find the waitress, barely concealing a grin, clutching their dessert. Her eyes flicker down a little pointedly to his and Cameron's hands.

Which are still joined across the table.

Ed almost yanks his hand away as if he's been burnt, and his only comfort is that Cameron snatched his hand back just as quickly. The waitress raises an eyebrow.

It's Cameron who says something. Ed's blushing and he doesn't even know why.

He barely hears what Cameron or the waitress say, and manages to mumble out a "Thank you" in the general direction of the table.

He doesn't know _why-_

It's not as though he was-

They _weren't-_

It's nothing, he tells himself firmly. It's nothing.

He's still blushing.

* * *

 

David tries not to look at the colour that's high in Miliband's cheeks. He tries not to notice how the candlelight is casting them a soft pink.

(The _candlelight_. He hadn't noticed there was so much of it.)

He picks up a spoon and takes a cautious mouthful of the ice cream. "Mmm-" His eyes flicker closed for a moment. "God, that's gorgeous."

He realises Miliband hasn't reached for a spoon yet. "Not hungry?"

Miliband blinks. "Oh-yeah-just-"

David, on an impulse, reaches for the other spoon, and loads it up with some crepe and ice cream.

"Open wide, Miliband-" He keeps his voice light and teasing, waves the spoon a little tauntingly. "Come on-"

Miliband just stares at him for a moment. "You muthst-must be-"

David just grins at him, arching an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

Ed looks back at him and then arches his own brow and opens his mouth a little-a challenge of his own.

David has to admit he's grudgingly impressed, but he has no intention of letting Miliband know that, so he simply leans over and gently guides the spoon into Miliband's mouth.

Miliband's eyes flicker, then close as his lips close over the spoon. His eyebrows arch a little and then his eyelashes flutter blissfully. "Mmm." The sound seems to come out of his throat without him even noticing and his eyes flutter again.

David swallows, his heartbeat suddenly heavy and rapid. Miliband looks almost ecstatic-his eyes fluttering and his head tilted back like that-

David lowers the spoon carefully and Miliband, eyes opening, takes it a little too quickly. "Um-wow." He stares at the crepe. "That's gorgeous."

David beams smugly, choosing to forget that Ed chose it. Ed rolls his eyes , but takes another spoonful, and David digs in himself.

"I loved these as a kid" he remarks, relishing the coldness of the ice cream, wincing at the shiver it sends through his teeth. "Didn't get to have them too often, though. Didn't really go abroad, much."

Miliband frowns. "I thought you went to Florence? And the Concorde-"

"Yes, but that was just me." David takes another mouthful. "And the Concorde thing was with Peter, remember. When I was a kid, we mostly just went to Cornwall. We didn't start to go abroad until we were teenagers. Our late teens, actually." David glances at him. "What about you?" He tries to picture a Miliband family holiday-perhaps a visit to the birthplace of Karl Marx or some obscure museum of socialism.

"Oh, not much. We went to Majorca a couple of times, but mostly just-" Miliband shrugs. "Yorkshire-the moors and things. And Scotland, a couple of times. Apart from when we lived in America."

"And you became a baseball obsessive-"

"Not an obth-sessive." Miliband takes another defiant bite of crepe. "It'th just-fascinating. And to study, statistics-wise, too."

Only Miliband could make supporting a sports team sound like a university project, David thinks with, he's surprised to realise, a complete absence of irritation, and instead, a pang of something a little like fondness.

"But it was nice, in Boston." Miliband takes another bite of crepe. "Dad was away for work a lot, so it was nice just to be with him."

David stares at him. "I didn't know that."

"What?"

"That your dad was away a lot."

"Well-" Miliband licks at his spoonful of ice cream, his tongue darting out. "It's juth-st-what he had to do-he was trying to make a difference-"

 _That's what happens when you have_ _principleth._

"Still, though-" David chooses his words carefully. "That must have been hard."

Miliband shrugs. "We juth-st-had to get on with it" he says, in an odd tone, as if he's learnt the words by heart many times. David frowns, but decides not to press the point.

"What was your dad like?" Miliband asks the question quietly, taking another spoonful of ice cream as he does so.

"Dad?" David cuts off another piece of crepe. "He was fun. Kind. Cheerful. He didn't let things get him down, even when they got difficult."

"Difficult?"

"He was disabled."

Miliband pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth. "I didn't know that."

"Well, you wouldn't." David reaches for another spoonful of ice cream. "He had a club foot. He was born with it-"

"Oh. So it wasn't related to-"

Miliband stops dead and his cheeks flush almost painfully. He drops his eyes to the plate, staring at the crepe as if he wishes he could vanish into it.

David keeps his eyes on him and his face calm and pleasant. "It wasn't related to the condition Ivan had, no."

Miliband nods quickly, and then glances up at David awkwardly. "Sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

Miliband bites his lip. "I didn't mean to bring it up-"

"It's all right." David's voice is softer now. "I don't mind talking about him."

"Your dad?"

"And Ivan."

Miliband's eyes meet his, dark and soft in the candlelight. "Your dad passed away, didn't he?"

David nods. "Five years ago. Just after Flo was born."

"I'm sorry."

David shrugs. "We didn't know before it happened, but he'd had a good life. I just wish he'd got to see more of Flo. And she of him."

Miliband nods. "Dad didn't meet Daniel or Sam. Or David's kids, either" he adds, almost as an afterthought.

"He passed away when you were young, didn't he?"

Miliband's lips tauten. "When I was twenty-four."

"Did you know it was going to-"

"Not really." Miliband's voice is a little shorter, the words quick, as if they hurt his throat.

David notes the whitening of his knuckles, the compression of his lips, and decides to drop the subject.

"Quiet, isn't it?" he remarks, glancing about. "I suppose people are still scared."

"Understandably. It'th-" Miliband glances about. "I mean-do you think it's all right?"

"What?"

"That we're out." Miliband glances around again. "Do you think it's-you know-"

David frowns and takes another forkful of crepe. "I mean-I think so. And-I mean, if we let them frighten us...well, then they've _won_ , haven't they?"

Miliband looks thoughtful. "I suppose. I mean-"

He takes another sip of wine. "I suppoth-se-it must feel awful-I mean-you might not want to let them win-but-"

He meets David's eyes. "It'th scary" he says, his voice a little smaller. "I suppose-it's-"

David feels something squeeze in his chest at the wide-eyed look Miliband's giving him.

David's hand sneaks across the table, almost without him noticing. "I suppose-" His own voice sounds a little tight. "I suppose that-well. We've got to be the ones who get on with it."

"That muth-must be hard, though." Ed just looks at him now, and his hand creeps an inch closer. "I mean-for you."

David blinks. "Well-"

Ed's fingers brush his. A rush goes through David's chest. "I-"

"All done?"

David's fed up of jumping when the waitress comes over.

(He's also fed up of snatching his hand back from Miliband's.)

(And that should not have happened more than once tonight.)

* * *

 

It's when they're paying that the waitress glances between them, and then just mutters something out of the corner of her mouth. She's smiling, and her eyes glint wickedly as they dart between them, but the colour rises in Cameron's cheeks, and Ed doesn't know whether to ask him if he heard her or not.

Outside in the street, he asks instead "Do you think she recognized you?"

David shakes his head, glancing at the protection team hovering behind them. "No. I thought maybe she had at first, but-no." It might be Ed's imagination, but he thinks he sees the colour in Cameron's face deepen the slightest bit.

For some reason, Ed finds himself a little flustered and grasping for something to say. Then, Cameron catches at his sleeve. "I-um-I'd like to look at something. Do you mind?"

Ed shakes his head, and is surprised to feel a sense of relief settling into his stomach. Somehow, the thought of the night already being over leaves him a little unsettled.

A smile lights up Cameron's face then.

Literally _lights up._

His eyes crinkle. His dimples deepen. His cheeks crease.

Ed knows he's grinning back. He looks away, tries to stop himself, but something about-

Something about that _grin-_

Ed looks away hastily but something about the look makes him bite his lip, something squeezing pleasantly in his chest.

There's even fewer people about the Champs-Elysees now. Ed reflects, with a stab of guilt, that usually it would be packed, surely.

The few people he and Cameron do spot are walking with their arms linked. He and Cameron seem to notice at the same time.

Cameron glances at him quickly, then away. "Um-"

"I suppose-it's a th-symbol, isn't it?" Ed speaks a little too quickly. "I mean-of today-"

"Yes, um-" Cameron glances at Ed, then away again. "I-um-do you think we-"

Ed is silent. His heart is thudding. Suddenly, he's not entirely sure how he's putting one foot in front of the other.

"Well-" Cameron clears his throat. "I-ah-I just thought-since-um-"

Ed nods, eyes on the ground, because if he stays silent and does nothing, this just gets bigger. If he stays silent, then it feels like there's some _reason_ to stay silent.

And Cameron's the one suggesting it, they both know that, and maybe that's why Ed's arm is suddenly moving, fumbling its' way through Cameron's.

Cameron jumps a little and Ed stares straight ahead, heat rushing into his cheeks in the icy air. He stares straight ahead, because he can't look round, he can't, for some reason, he can't bear to look at Cameron right now-

Cameron's arm is fumbling and then slides through Ed's and they're linked.

Ed can't look. Cameron's arm is warm. A tickling, tingling sensation spreads through Ed's chest. He can feel himself smiling, smiling so hard that it hurts, a shrill ache in his cheeks. David's hand nearly brushes his.

They don't speak. They're walking with their arms linked and they're not speaking-and God, Cameron's warm. He's lovely and warm and-

"Here-"

And they're on a bridge. Ed blinks, momentarily distracted from how warm Cameron is by the sheer vastness of it. He stares down the bridge, even as they take their first steps onto it.

"Wow." The bridge is lit up, lamp after lamp after lamp lined up along the edges, making Ed blink against the darkness. "God, that's-"

"It's lovely." Cameron's voice is so soft that Ed can't help but look at him. Cameron's staring at the lights, his eyes very, very blue. There's a softness to him, a dreaminess, and Ed suddenly just-

Well-

Squeezes his arm a little.

He can't help it. Because it's _this_ Cameron that he-

Well, partly-

"Look-" David's voice is softer now, and he tugs Ed gently over to the edge of the bridge. "Look." He points gently. "Look at that."

Ed looks. Below them, the Seine shimmers under the city, almost black, but lights ribboning their way across the dark water, illuminating the liquid path.

"Wow." It comes out like a breath as Ed peers down over the river. "Wow."

"Yeah." Cameron's own voice is a little breathless. "It's fantastic."

He doesn't sound polished and smooth and Prime Ministerial. He just sounds-a little awed. When Ed stares at him, Cameron's blue eyes have caught the light. The sight makes Ed's breath catch in his chest.

Their arms are still linked but their hands rest on the bridge. They're gazing at the water. It looks strangely beautiful under the Parisian sky. From here, Ed can see the Eiffel Tower, lit up in red and blue. He stares at it, then the water.

"It's strange." Cameron's voice is low, a little wondering. "It's like seeing something like this. Or nature. The countryside. I don't know, something about it makes me feel-"

He trails off a little, and Ed glances at him. This close, he can smell Cameron's aftershave, his shampoo. He smells good.

"Better?" he asks quietly, without thinking. Without having to think.

Cameron breathes in, tips his head back. "I suppose. I just suppose-" He looks down at the water. "It's like-I just-" He sighs and turns his head so that he's staring out over the river. Ed does the same, listening to Cameron's voice at his side. "I can't help thinking about things. When something like that happens. You know. Why do they happen? And-when I see-I don't know, something about-seeing things like this-it makes me feel-feel as though-"

His hand brushes his arm, as he makes a small, rueful noise. "I don't know. Like there's something good there."

Ed can feel his heat against his arm. Cameron's voice seems to vibrate in the air, tickling his skin. He risks one glance, taking in the line of Cameron's jaw in the dark, the softness at his chin. He looks away, feeling Cameron's arm again, warm and tight through his own.

"You mean like faith?" Ed's voice sounds a little wondering, and he winces at the words.

But David says "Maybe. I suppose so."

"You believe in God?"

David nods, with only the slightest hesitation. "Yeah. I mean, I've thought about it a couple of times-" Ed feels him tense a little. "But, yes."

Ed stares at him, then at their hands.

They're lying next to each other. Ed watches his own hand move an inch closer, almost of its' own volition.

"Do you?"

Ed shakes his head, turning his gaze back to the river. "No."

"Never?"

Ed shakes his head. "Well. When my dad was ill, I-ah-I tried to."

His voice shakes a little in his throat. "Then he died."

His voice cracks. He stares down at the water, swallowing hard, a faint feeling of horror rising in his chest at the thought of crying _here_ , in front of _Cameron_ , of all people.

Cameron's hand moves, just out of the corner of his eye, and then it covers Ed's own.

Ed swallows past the lump in his throat. Cameron's hand is warm, and gives Ed's a gentle squeeze.

Ed can't look at him. He hears his own voice, a little wavering. "It must be nith-ce. To have something to believe in."

To know that you were going to see people again. That you could ask them things.

If it was enough-

"You have things to believe in." David's voice is low and firm. "Just-the fact they're not religious doesn't make them mean any less."

"I suppose so."

Cameron's hand squeezes around Ed's, and then Ed says "Thank you."

"What for?"

"Showing me this."

Ed expects Cameron to say something, to make him laugh, but Cameron's hand just tightens a little over his own.

Then, David's voice is low in his ear. "Do you really think I don't care about people?"

The words tickle Ed's ear. His heart is banging furiously against his chest. He stares down at the water at those lights tugging his eyes in, shimmering in the middle of all the blackness.

"I don't." He doesn't know he's going to say it. "That's what makes it worse."

Cameron's hand is still over his. His fingers have tightened. Ed wants to grasp it back.

(He's never really wanted to hold hands, before.)

(He's never really thought about holding hands. It's just been something you have to do.)

But-

This is-

It's _Cameron._

Why's he-

_Holding his hand-_

_Why's he-_

His eyes are meeting Cameron's and Cameron's staring at him and-

One of the protection team makes a vague noise-they're not watching, but they're huddled together at the end of the bridge.

They're not watching but he and Cameron each step back a little. Ed stares at the water.

"It's beautiful." The words catch a little in his throat.

Cameron's voice is only a breath. "Yes it is." Ed can feel Cameron's gaze, heavy on his face.

He shivers, an icy breeze biting at his cheeks. His fingers fold in on themselves, stinging now that Cameron's hand is no longer covering one, and he blows on them, wincing a little.

"Cold?"

"Yeah. Forgot my gloves-"

Cameron's already carefully pulling out his own, and Ed bites his lip. "No-no, you need them-" Cameron's fingers, in the glow of the lights, are as red as his own.

"You're cold-"

"So are you."

"Expect Etonians to be selfish, do you?" The joke's a little laboured, but Ed laughs, a little too relieved at this familiar ground.

"Fine." Cameron pulls on one glove, and then reaches for Ed's hand, lifting it before Ed can put it in his pocket.

"What-" Ed's voice trails off as Cameron's hand tucks the glove over Ed's hand.

"There. This should appeal to your Labourite sense of fair play-" Cameron gives him that grin that makes Ed's insides crinkle pleasantly.

"Here-we'll have one each-"

"What about the other hands?"

Cameron glances down and, with a grin, gestures to Ed's hand. "Come here-"

He slides his hand down, lifts Ed's and tucks it into his pocket, then places his own inside Ed's pocket.

Ed stares at him, dumbfounded. _"Cameron!"_

"What?" Cameron's eyes twinkle. "Surely that Labourite sense of fairness isn't letting you down-do as I say, not as I do, all that sort of thing-"

"Oh, shut up" Ed retorts, more out of habit than anything else. But, as if in defiance, his fingers sink a little deeper, stretching luxuriously in the sudden warmth.

Cameron merely arches an eyebrow, but his eyes crinkle a little and that just makes it harder for Ed not to smile.

* * *

 

David knows that his arm's been linked with Miliband's since they left the bridge, but he doesn't want to think about it.

He tells himself it's just respectful and that makes it easier not to think about it.

It's when they reach the British residence that David realises, quite abruptly, that he doesn't want to say goodbye to Miliband just yet.

(Their arms aren't linked anymore.)

(When did that happen?)

David glances at Miliband once, then again. He's wracking his brain for a way to persuade Miliband to stay with him a little longer. Maybe something they need to discuss, something they-

(What's he _doing,_ trying to think of ways to hold onto _Miliband?)_

But he is, and as they reach their floor, he realises his chance is rapidly slipping away.

"Well-"

They've stepped out of the lift, and they're standing, looking at each other.

Fuck. He's going to have to ask.

"So. Ah. What are you-doing with yourself this evening?"

David could wince. If he was anyone but him, he would.

Miliband blinks at him, looking a little bewildered. "Um-nothing much. Went over my speech on the plane-just thinking of reading, really-"

"Oh? What were you-ah-what are you reading?"

The truly pathetic part of the question is that David really wants to know.

He's just suddenly-he just wants to _know._ What Miliband's reading. What he thinks.

God, as if he doesn't have to put up with _enough_ of what Miliband thinks-

Miliband blinks-then grimaces. And blushes.

David feels himself cheer up instantly.

 _"Oh._ _Oh,_ what are you _reading-"_ And he feels himself cheer more because there's no _way_ Miliband will leave while David's teasing him, he'd outlive _God_ if he's trying to have the last word with _David-_

Miliband blushes deeper. "You're being _childish-"_

"That means you're reading something you shouldn't be-" David makes his voice singsong, knowing he is being childish and taking an odd sort of pleasure in it. "What is it?"

"No, it doesn't." Miliband's now blushing so deeply, he closely resembles a tomato.

"What is it?" Maybe it's the wine going to his head, but David feels a little giddy. Maybe it's the build-up of emotion that's been happening throughout the day.

Whatever it is, David grins at him, keeping his voice light and teasing. "Not a _magazine,_ is it-"

Ed blushes even deeper. David stares at him.

"O-of courth-se not!"

"What is it, then?" David grins. "Is it some Jackie Collins novel?"

 _"No!"_ Ed's squirming. It's a lovely sight. David feels as though he's tickling him.

"Not a-" He gasps and leans forward, arms either side of Miliband's shoulders. "Not one of _Thatcher's memoirs,_ is it?"

Miliband blushes even deeper and all he manages is something that sounds like an _"eep"_ in response.

David feels his own eyes widen. _"Is_ it?"

Miliband manages to clear his throat. It still comes out as a mumble. _"Hardly."_

"So what is it?"

He waits for Miliband to tell him it's none of his business.

Instead, Miliband's eyes flicker down to his mouth, so quickly David isn't sure if he imagined it or not.

Then he sighs. "Wait here."

David can hardly stop himself from grinning, even as Miliband rolls his eyes as he sets off round the corner. He becomes aware that his cheeks are aching with it, that his protection team are watching him with some amusement. A minute or so later, he realises he's been staring straight ahead of him, grinning, ever since Miliband left. That look on Miliband's face was just-

"Here."

Miliband's back at his side.

"What?"

"Here." Miliband's blushing so deeply now that it makes something squirm pleasantly in David's stomach.

Miliband holds out a book. A book that David recognizes.

"Oh." His voice is quieter than he expected, as he reaches out to take it. "Oh-"

Miliband bites his lip.

"This is the one I got you-"

"Yes."

"For your birthday."

"Yes."

David swallows. The pages are clearly already well-thumbed. A few corners are folded down.

"They're-um-the parts I like the most" Miliband manages, the babbling David hadn't realised he liked so much until now starting to take over. "And-there are a few-it's a brilliant book, really informative-"

"Would you like to come in for a bit?"

David winces.

Miliband stares at him, brow creased in confusion. "Oh-come in-"

"Um. My room. Just for a bit. Only if you'd like to-"

David has no idea why he feels as nervous as he did at Heatherdown, right before they'd sneak out, knowing that there was a girl waiting for him in the bushes, girls and his friends' laughter and slaps on the back ringing through the air around him.

"Only if you-"

"Y-yeth, I'd like-"

Miliband blushes furiously. David feels his stomach do a swooping sensation, as if he's just gone down a loop on a rollercoaster.

"Good" he says, Miliband's eyes meeting his a little uncertainly, as David wonders why his heart is suddenly pounding so loudly. "Good."

* * *

 

Ed suddenly feels, the second the door closes behind them, as if he's never seen Cameron's suite before, which is bizarre since he saw it this afternoon.

This afternoon feels strangely long ago now.

He clutches his book a little more tightly than usual. Cameron just drops his suit over an armchair and turns to give him a slightly tired grin. "You can sit down, you know, Miliband."

Ed's about to sit down on one of the armchairs and then Cameron's taking a seat on the bed.

Ed doesn't know if it's the wine or the way Cameron grins at him but he sits down on the bed next to him.

They sit there for a moment in silence, and then Cameron breaks it by laughing a little. "You look like you're waiting for me to shove you off."

Ed glances up, and then down at his own arms, which are crossed defensively over his chest.

"Oh-" He unfolds them slowly, which is when Cameron asks "Want a drink at all?"

Ed blinks. "Oh, um, yeah-thanks-"

Cameron gets up and heads over to the drinks cabinet. "I've got some of that wine we had in the restaurant if you like-or orange juice-"

"Oh-the wine's fine, it's-" Ed rolls his eyes at the slight twitch of a smile at Cameron's mouth. "Hilarious."

Cameron manages to refrain from comment until he's sitting on the bed next to Ed, and then he says, passing him the glass, "By the way, you haven't told me I was right, yet."

Ed rolls his eyes. "About the wine? God, your self-esteem can hardly be that fragile-"

"Oh? My Bullingdon-bolstered, Eton-cultivated self-esteem-"

Ed rolls his eyes again, trying not to gulp the wine too fast. "So you think there's th-some truth to that?"

Cameron laughs. "See? It's almost like PMQs, Miliband."

"What? Me making point-th-s and you not coming up with anth-answers-"

"Don't you mean you not understanding the answers?"

Ed draws in a sharp breath, feeling his eyes widen indignantly, but then Cameron gives him the smirk. _The_ smirk, with his head tilted to one side.

That smirk does odd, pleasant things to Ed's insides, he suddenly notices. He takes a sip of wine quickly, before he can feel that grin make its' way to his mouth. That grin, that Cameron somehow pulls out.

"So you like that book, then?"

"Yeah." Ed takes another sip. "It's brilliant and it's really informative about the 2004 Red Sox victory-it was fantath-stic, it'll go down as one of the moth-st hith-storic-"He can hear his voice trembling suddenly, with the details. "I wanted to go but-I'd only juth-st come back from Boston and I couldn't really go back-and we didn't have all the live TV feeds and everything, so I had to wait until the next day to find out-"

He trails off, because Cameron is looking at him with a smile a little different to the smirk-his head tilted on one side, his smile smaller and softer, his eyes crinkled. He doesn't look as if he's laughing-instead, he's just smiling quietly-but Ed trails off, feeling his cheeks flush scarlet.

"Anyway, the book's really good" he says, in rather a rush, and quickly takes another gulp of wine.

"I never knew much about baseball-" Cameron props himself up on one elbow, leaning back on the duvet. Feeling hot, Ed wriggles out of his own suit and lets it fall onto the duvet next to him.

"Knew about cricket and football-you got into it when you lived in Boston, didn't you?"

Ed frowns. "Been checking up on me, Cameron?" He takes another gulp of wine. He feels oddly light-headed and it doesn't bother him nearly as much as it should.

"It's hardly difficult, Miliband." Cameron takes a sip of his own wine. "It's not as if you aren't constantly talking about it. You could write a book on that baseball team."

Uncertainty tugs in Ed's chest as he tries to work out, whether Cameron is annoyed or not. "Sorry?" he tries, the question in his voice giving him away.

This time, Cameron laughs a little, blue eyes narrowing. "Why are you sorry?" His brow's creased as he takes another sip from his glass. "It's nice when you talk."

Ed feels a wave of something rise dizzyingly high in his chest. His heart is suddenly rapid.

Cameron clears his throat, a little more colour appearing in his cheeks. "Well. I'm glad you like the book, anyway. Had to ask Frances for help, I was convinced I'd end up getting you the wrong one-"

"Oh, yeah-you said, I think-" Ed takes another gulp of wine. "Did you th-speak to Justine about it?"

"Er-no, actually, I don't think I did-" Cameron wriggles back a little further on the bed. "I think Frances might have. Didn't she say?"

Ed takes another sip, and casts about for a way to change the subject. "What do you read?" he asks, draining his glass and looking at it with some surprise-Cameron grins a little and refills it for him and his own, but this time makes no comment on his own correct guess on Ed's taste for wine.

"Not much, unfortunately. I used to read more when I was younger. But I suppose-you just run out of time for things. Sam's a great reader, though. And Nancy." Ed tenses, but David doesn't hesitate over his daughter's name. "I used to like novels, though. _The Book Thief_ was good. And _The Kite Runner."_

"I meant to read that. I read _One Day-"_

"Oh yeah-I think Sam read that. She probably nagged me to read it, but I never got round to it. Is it good?"

Ed feels himself make a face. "Depreth-dep-depressing, really. She dies at the end."

Cameron bursts out laughing. "Fantastic. That's one book I don't have to read."

Ed curses himself. "Oh. Oh, God-th-sorry-" He can feel himself blushing scarlet. "Th-sorry-I didn't mean to-"

Cameron shakes his head. "Why are you apologising-" His hand catches Ed's arm. "God, Miliband-" He shakes his head and suddenly his eyes are far softer, and he says quietly "You really are-"

Ed's heart is suddenly rapid. His teeth clink awkwardly on the rim of the wine glass. He wants to say "What?"

He should be able to say _"What?"_

Cameron's eyes are on his. Somehow, Ed's forgotten to look away. They're just...staring at each other.

Cameron's hand brushes his.

The touch is warm and soft and gentle, and sends something like a jolt up Ed's arm. Something that tingles, makes his heart suddenly rapid.

They both pull away at once. Ed's heart is pounding and his face is hot. He's suddenly clutching his glass of wine very, very tightly.

"So-" Cameron's voice is a little more hesitant than usual.

Ed blinks.

"What about you?" Cameron's taking a sip of wine, suddenly very carefully not looking at Ed. "What do you read?"

 _What just happened?_ The words ring over and over again in Ed's head.

_What just-what was-_

Cameron's looking at him and Ed suddenly becomes horribly aware that he's staring.

"Oh-" He swallows, takes a sip automatically. "Um-a few. A lot of history mainly-biography, economics-" Cameron's mouth twitches again, but he's watching Ed now, his head on one side. "Thing-ths like that-and J.K. Rowling-"

_"Harry Potter?"_

Ed eyes Cameron suspiciously, waiting for the laugh, but Cameron looks perfectly serious, even as his eyes twinkle a little.

"Yee-ees" he says slowly, cautiously, still watching Cameron for any signs of teasing. "But some of the crime novels, too. You know-the ones under the pseudonym-"

"Oh yeah-"

"And some books on the economic crash." He eyes Cameron once again, knowing that there'll be a jibe this time.

Sure enough, Cameron's mouth twitches. "Do you ever find your Shadow Chancellor's name in there?"

Ed glares at him, feeling oddly relieved at the familiarity of this. _"You_ should read them-you might _learn_ th-something-"

"And then renounce our wicked Tory ways and start singing The Red Flag?" Cameron's eyes are dancing mischievously. They shouldn't look as good as they do with that smirk.

Wait-why's he thinking that Cameron's eyes look good-

Ed's head's spinning a little.

"Maybe you'll-" He fumbles for a remark, but all he can come up with is something about _wicked_ , which he doesn't think would go well.

Cameron grins. "PMQs again, Miliband?"

Ed takes another furious sip of wine.

"Then again, I did quite enjoy Tony Benn's works myself-"

Ed rolls his eyes-and then spots Cameron staring at him.

Cameron shakes his head. "No, seriously."

Ed chokes on his wine.

"Bloody hell-" Cameron almost spills his own as he wriggles across the bed to pat Ed on the back. "Calm down, Miliband. That's the sort of reaction you give if there's a man standing behind me with a _gun-"_

The words hang too heavily in the air between them and Ed sees that ceremony again today. Cameron clears his throat and bangs him a little harder on the back.

Ed clears his own, but it's still several seconds before he can sit up and stare at Cameron, his brain scrabbling madly, one of Cameron's hands still resting awkwardly in the middle of his back. "You've-you've-" He can barely get the words out. "You've read-"

Cameron is looking at him with an expression torn between amusement and consternation. "Yes, _I've read"_ he chuckles, giving Ed one final pat on the back. "I am capable of that, you know, Miliband."

"But-but-but-" Ed's tripping over the words, there are so many questions fighting to get out. Amusement is definitely winning on Cameron's face now; his grin is growing more and more pronounced by the moment.

 _"But,_ Miliband?" Cameron's watching him with his head on one side and that grin that _annoys_ Ed so much-that sends that wriggle through his chest and makes him want to just-

 _Grab_ Cameron-

 _Grab_ him and just-

_(What?)_

The words burst out of Ed's mouth, high-pitched and indignant. "But you're not a _socialist!"_

Cameron's jaw drops. (Literally-his mouth actually falls open. Ed didn't know that actually happened. Certainly not to Cameron.)

For a moment, he just stares at Ed with his eye stretched wide-and then they sparkle, and his mouth slowly closes, his face positively brimming with glee.

"You little _snob."_ Cameron's voice cracks joyfully on the last word.

Ed feels himself pout like a child, even as the heat rushes to his cheeks.

Cameron's beaming at him, delight etched into every crease of his face. _"But you're not a socialist_ -so people have to be _socialists_ to read Tony Benn's books now-there's a _criteria-"_

The grin is sending crinkles of electricity through his chest, pulling out one of Ed's own against his will, making his cheeks ache.

 _"Th-stop_ it-" A giggle wobbles treacherously in his throat. "You know I didn't mean it like _that-"_

"Oh?" Cameron nudges him now-Ed feels like he used to being tickled as a child, shrieking and begging for it to stop, but at the same time never wanting it to end. "I juth-st meant-your under-th-standing of it-"

"My _understanding?"_ Cameron's eyes stretch comically wide. "So anyone who's not a socialist is incapable of _understanding-"_

Cameron's shaking his head. "You're meant to be a man of the _people,_ Miliband-and here you are, exercising class hierarchy on intellect-it's _awful-"_

"Oh, would you _shut up-"_ A few drops of wine splash onto Ed's shirt, but for some reason, the sight seems suddenly hilarious, and a giggle breaks treacherously loose from his throat, then another, until a full bout of laughter is shaking through him.

Cameron is laughing almost as hard as he is. "Clearly, I'm just _incapable_ of reading-" He seizes the remote control and points it at the TV. "I'll have to just flick through-"

Ed's still sniggering, cheeks aching with laughter. "You're just proving a point-" He shakes his head, trailing off as Cameron arches an eyebrow with an affronted look.

"So now you're patronizing the daily television habits of the average British voter-" The channels are flickering by one by one, and Ed's thoughts are doing something similar-each time he manages to grab hold of one, he can only hold it for a few seconds, and then it's gone, darting away through his fingers. He feels almost giddy.

"Nothing about you's average" he manages to snort, even as Cameron cocks an eyebrow, giving Ed that grin that confuses him.

"That could be an insult or a compliment, Miliband." Cameron's watching him with a hint of his usual smugness, but his cheeks are flushed, his eyes unusually bright.

"Well-" Ed can't quite seem to get his words in the right order. "Well-it was meant-well-"

He can't decide what he wants to say, and he laughs again, a little uncertainly. Cameron's gaze is darting between him and the TV, and Ed thinks one of them's about to say something-what, he doesn't know, but then Cameron's eyes flicker back to the screen, and he stops channel-flicking, attention apparently caught by something.

(Ed still isn't sure what either of them was going to say.)

"Wait-I think I know this film-"

Ed peers at the screen, where Steve Coogan and Judi Dench are sitting at a table together. "Oh, yeah- _Philomena-"_

"That's it." Cameron wriggles back on the bed a little, reaching for the control. "Have you seen it?"

"Yeah, when it came out-" Ed wriggles back himself a little, draining his glass. "I saw it in the th-cinema actually-"

"I think we might have, as well-"

Ed stares at the screen. Cameron glances at him. "You don't mind if we leave it on, do you?"

Ed shakes his head, his ear already picking up the dialogue. "I like it-"

"Sad, though." David nods at Steve Coogan. "He hates me, doesn't he?"

"He doesn't _hate_ you" Ed says, wriggling a little further back on the bed before he can think about it. "He just-doesn't vote for you."

"And thinks we're evil." Cameron's making his voice sound annoyingly singsong. "Like _you_ -"

"I don't think you're evil!" The room spins a little as Ed turns to stare at David indignantly. "I don't think you're evil at _all-"_

The wine makes his words a little louder than usual.

Cameron just watches him for a few moments before his mouth twitches. "Glad to hear it."

He turns back to the screen and so does Ed. They watch in silence for a few moments and then the words trip out of Ed's mouth, almost bumping into one another. "I hate it when you th-say things like that."

"Like what?" Cameron doesn't look at him, but he wriggles a little closer, their legs nearly touching.

"When you th-say I hate you....." Ed's watching him. He can't remember when he first looked at David. "You must know I don't."

Cameron doesn't look at him for a moment and then says, a little more carefully, "I know."

"Unleth-ss you hate me." The words feel a little too big for Ed's mouth.

This time though, Cameron looks at him, with an arched eyebrow. It sends a tingle of something through Ed's chest. _"You_ know I don't."

For some reason, Ed feels something squirm pleasantly in his stomach.

They watch quietly for a moment, and then Cameron says "Could you pass me that pillow?"

Ed glances back and wriggles further up, reaching for the pillow. He overestimates his own reach and promptly loses his balance, falling back onto the bed. The room spins around him.

"Ah-" He tries to sit up but only manages to succeed in dragging himself a little further up the bed.

Cameron bursts out laughing. _"Miliband-"_

Ed manages to prop himself up on one elbow, with a grin and a shrug, and then Cameron's wriggling up beside him.

Ed's drunk too much wine. He's.....drunk far too much wine.

"Here-" Cameron reaches behind Ed, and for a moment, his arm's behind Ed's shoulders as he pushes a pillow up. Ed's head falls back against it.

Cameron's tugging a pillow out himself and Ed becomes aware that they've somehow ended p sitting at the top of the bed. Next to each other.

A vague part of Ed's brain notes that this is unusual, but his thoughts are bumping into each other.

He leans back. Cameron's still holding his wineglass. Ed glances down at his hand, wondering when he finished his own drink. His eyes fall back to the screen and he lets himself watch quietly.

Cameron's leaning next to him. His leg brushes Ed's. Something like a shock of heat goes through Ed's stomach. He stares straight ahead at the screen, feeling his lip catch itself between his teeth, suddenly intensely aware of how close Cameron is to him.

He doesn't know if he wishes he still had his suit on or not.

The hairs on his arms are prickling. Cameron's bare arm is there, warm and-Ed can feel his body heat. His heart is rapid.

He keeps his eyes on the screen. Keeps himself as still as possible. Feels Cameron's arm just a few inches from his own.

He feels like he's holding his breath. He's only just noticing how dim the lights are, the TV screen casting a glow on the bed. His thoughts feel like they're dancing.

"I've never drunk that much before" he says, somehow, the words wobbling. "Never drunk-" He laughs a little.

Cameron's eyes are soft then. He's smiling, but his eyes are soft and blue and-

"Wouldn't have guessed" he says musingly, but gives Ed that grin-

Ed nestles back into the pillow and then sits up. "Exth-cept at university. Once. On tequila."

Cameron laughs then. "God, Miliband. You're so-"

He trails off. Ed turns to look. "You do that a lot."

"What?"

"Say that. You're _th-so-"_ Ed's tripping over his words a little. "And then you th-stop. You never say what I'm _th-so."_

Cameron doesn't look away. He just keeps watching, and his eyes are even softer now. "I suppose I don't" is all he says, and his voice is-

It's just-

Ed wants to reach out and touch it.

"Not anth-swering the question." Ed's own voice is softer. He feels strangely sad, though he isn't sure why.

Cameron-

Cameron looks sad, too.

"Maybe not" he says quietly and Ed feels a lump swell in his throat. He blinks.

Cameron's hand brushes his. Ed's breath catches in his throat.

"I wish you would" he says, looking at the screen. "Sometimes. I really wish you would."

He's staring at Steve Coogan on the screen and remembering how his voice had sounded on the other side of the phone and how it sounds now, through the words of a character on a TV screen, and something about that reminds him of what he's just said to Cameron-

But he's not sure why or even what he just said.

"So do I" Cameron says softly. It could be in response to whatever Ed just said or to some thought of his own.

Ed leans back. The characters play on the screen, words crashing into one another. He listens, taking an almost childlike comfort in the words.

"I think Justine cried at this part." He remembers Justine's hand going to her eyes in the cinema.

He'd sat there and wondered what to do, he remembers. He'd thought about reaching out to comfort her, but the thought itself had felt odd, bizarre. Like putting a jumper on his legs.

"Or maybe it was another part. She doesn't usually cry." Ed glances at Cameron.

"I think Sam did. She often does, at films."

"I think Juth-stine cries because she should." Ed's not quite sure if he just said that aloud or what he meant.

Cameron's watching him, but Ed stares at the screen. He moves a little closer. Cameron's leg presses itself against Ed's. Ed can smell his aftershave-that soapy smell that's just-Cameron-ish.

"My head-th spinning."

"Mine too. A little-"

Ed laughs. They've fallen further back into the pillows. Cameron's leg is still pressed into his own.

Cameron looks at him with a grin. "God, you sound Milibandy."

Ed watches the film, and then turns slowly to David. "What did you just call me?"

Cameron smirks. "Milibandy."

The word makes Ed bite his lip. There's an odd warmth in his chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think?" Cameron arches an eyebrow annoyingly.

"I don't know." Ed lets his head fall back. "I don't know what you think ith-is a compliment, Cameron."

Cameron doesn't look at him for a few moments-and then does, slowly. His mouth twitches in a grin. "I think it's a compliment" he says, and it's a moment before Ed says "Thanks" and then wonders if he said it at all.

* * *

 

It's after a while of watching the film in a comfortable silence that Ed's thoughts start to clear a little. The room stops spinning when he raises his head. Slowly, apart from a vague feeling of unreality, of contented sleepiness, some of the strange feelings are starting to recede a little.

He's still lying on a bed with Cameron, and that should bother him more, but he settles back onto the pillow, feeling heavy, almost content.

They watch quietly, an odd sort of peace between them, and then Ed glances down and sees Cameron's leg pressed against his.

It seems to take a little while to hit him and then it does, sharp and sudden. _Cameron's leg is against his._

He freezes, waiting for Cameron to notice and move away. He waits for Cameron to look.

Why isn't he-

Why isn't Ed moving-

It doesn't mean anything. Of course it doesn't. They're just-sitting together. That's all.

(On a bed.)

It doesn't mean anything, because Ed won't let it mean anything-

And it doesn't, anyway-

God, Cameron's leg is warm-

Ed suddenly feels a little hot. He tugs at his collar awkwardly. He's doing anything he can not to look at Cameron.

He tries to focus on the screen. Not to listen to his suddenly, almost audible heartbeat.

And then he catches the dialogue.

_The sex. Oh, it was wonderful, Martin._

Oh God.

Ed feels himself still. A smile's tugging at his mouth, but his cheeks are burning. Words are stuck in his throat.

Because that word. That word, between him and _Cameron_ -

Ed suddenly can't bear to look at him. His cheeks are far, far too hot.

He laughs a little awkwardly. Cameron's laughing next to him. Ed can smell his aftershave, his soap-

God, he smells so good.

His leg is still pressing against Ed's.

_And I thought I was floating on air._

Oh God.

(This is _Judi Dench_ talking, for God's sake.)

(Ed's never felt like that.)

(He's always thought it was a myth, or at least an exaggeration.)

(He's tried-he's _tried_ to make himself feel like that, but sex has always just been-)

(Just-)

Now, his fingers curl and grip into the duvet hard. His heart is thumping. His fingers curl and uncurl.

(Just an _addition_ , really. Just something that's there.)

(Like a starter before a meal.)

(Quite nice, sometimes. Other times-more times-just something to get through. A necessity, before going on to something more interesting)

But his cheeks are so hot and he can't breathe properly and his smile feels awkward.

(What the hell's _happening_ to him?)

He wants so badly to look at Cameron, to see if he's feeling like this, to see it-

But oh God, he can't look at Cameron. He doesn't know why, but he absolutely cannot look at Cameron.

_He was so handsome and the way he held me in his arms-_

Oh God, shut up.

(And suddenly, he's wondering if Cameron has ever felt like that, if Cameron has felt like he's floating, like he's, he's-)

(Something hard and tight gnarls in Ed's stomach at the thought.)

_And after I had the sex, I thought anything that feels so lovely must be wrong._

Ed's eyes skitter to Cameron and his mind grabs onto the thought, the thought which had sneaked in and grabbed him when he'd first seen Cameron tonight.

_God, he looks good._

Ed's eyes drop to Cameron's forearms. They look strong, warm-of course they're _warm_ for God's sake-

Steve Coogan's talking, now. _It's just that, why would God bestow on us a sexual desire which he then wants us to resist? Is it some weird game that he's invented to alleviate the boredom of being omnipotent? Baffles me..._

Cameron's leg moves a little against him. Ed feels a tingle creep through his whole body at the contact. Everywhere their bodies are touching feels electric. Ed sits as still as possible.

(Oh God, has Cameron felt like that-)

(God, it's _Cameron_ , why's he thinking about-)

_I thought I was floating on air-_

Cameron, with his posh, clipped voice and that curl of the lip and the way he can be so _cocky_ and-

_He was so handsome, and the way he held me in his arms-_

Ed can't look at him.

His face is so hot.

He stares at the screen. Their legs are pressed together.

He can't move away.

It's only when the scene ends and Cameron laughs uncertainly that Ed manages a tentative, wobbly smile.

(Their legs are still pressed together.)

(Ed still can't move away.)

* * *

 

_What was he like?_

_Erm, well, I can't remember, it was a Republican thing-_

_But you must remember something-?_

David feels the tears burn in his eyes a little.

_I-well-he was by the door when I went in, I shook hands with him-_

_Well, what kind of a handshake did he have?_

He remembers Ivan's little eyes crinkling, his cheek nestled against David's chest. Almost a smile. The closest Ivan usually got to a smile.

_No, so he had a firm handshake. What else?_

_He was smart-?_

_Oh, I always kept him smart._

David blinks and feels a tear trickle down his cheek.

_"You're smiling today, aren't you?" Sam had been rocking Ivan back and forth while his eyes drifted, one finger stroking his cheek rhythmically., her own eyes red and tear-stained. "You gave us a lovely smile, earlier, didn't you?"_

_And-did you remember anything he said?_

_"Hello?"_

_"Hello?" "Hello"-_

_It might have been "Hi"-_

_"Hello-"_

_He was polite-_

Ivan's eyes would move just a little. And David would hold onto it, the tiniest bit of movement that showed that his son's brain was still working, that he was still there. While he waited for Ivan's smile to come back.

_No, well-he was smart. And he had a firm handshake._

_He said hello._

_And he-he said, hello. Hello-_

_He was polite._

_Oh, Martin-_

David doesn't realise he's crying for a few moments. It's only when he feels the tears on his cheeks that he realises, and he puts his hand up to his face, surprised.

Miliband turns and stares at him. His eyes are big and dark. "You're crying" he says baldly. His voice wavers a little.

"David." Just his name, breathed between them.

And Miliband's hand touches his cheek.

His hand catches a tear and he wipes it gently off David's cheek.

David tries to laugh. It catches in his throat.

"I suppose so" is all he says, when he realises the silence has dragged on a little too long.

Miliband tilts his head to the side. And then his hand presses a little closer into David's cheek.

"Don't you cry?"

David isn't sure which of them asked it for a moment.

Miliband's eyes are fluttering. And then, "I don't know. I'm not sure-I just-"

Miliband blinks a few times, looks back at the screen. The light casts his face in a glow, reflecting in his dark eyes. "Didn't even cry when my dad died." His voice is like a ghost. Just taking a breath between them.

David can't not look at him. Miliband's hand is still on his cheek. Something about that-

"When it's your child-" He's not even sure what he's saying. "You want to know everything."

He thinks he sees Miliband nod, but he's not sure.

"It was always like that with Ivan, when he couldn't smile."

Miliband stills next to him. Against him.

David isn't entirely sure what he's saying. All that he knows is that the tears are trickling down his cheeks and he isn't sure why.

"Sorry" he says, to Miliband's big, dark eyes. "Sorry. Didn't know I'd-"

"It'ths fine." Miliband speaks before David can finish the sentence.

His hand moves up and wipes at his tears.

(The worst times were when Ivan couldn't smile.)

Miliband's turned over, staring at him. The film is still playing. David thinks about it for a long moment-the details you cling to about your child. Not just little things, like what cereal never to serve them, what cartoon character they love probably more than you. Different things. The things you scramble for when you can't touch them anymore. The details you cling to, even as they start to slip through your fingers.

"It's weird" he says. "When you start to forget."

The words hang there, ringing between them.

"I know." Miliband's voice is quiet, and then "But not like that."

_Not your son._

Because no one knows. No one knows until it happens and if it does, it is far, far worse than you will be imagining.

"No" he says and then "I don't want you to know it. I don't want anyone to know it-"

The wine is playing with his words. He doesn't know what he's saying.

The film's playing and somehow Miliband's hair has ended up against his cheek.

Just for a moment, and he's not even sure why or what's happening.

And then they pull away from each other.

It's after a while that David's thoughts start to clear. Miliband's quiet now. His head's tilted to the side, watching the screen. His fingers are sliding in and out of each other, like a kid's would. David watches him, amused, for a few moments, before he turns back to the screen.

(His hand was on his cheek.)

It doesn't matter, David tells himself. It doesn't matter, doesn't matter, doesn't matter.

(His hair was against my cheek.)

(It doesn't matter.)

(Their legs are still pressed against each other.)

* * *

 

It's when she hugs her baby son tightly that David hears Ed's breath catch. He doesn't look purposefully , noting the way Miliband's fingers have dug tightly into the bedcovers.

When his breath hitches again, David debates with himself. Maybe it's the wine and maybe it's-

(the way Miliband's hand pressed itself clumsily into his cheek)

but David clears his throat. "Ah. Miliband. Are you-um-are you all right?"

Miliband's breath catches a few times. He swallows. David watches the movement of his throat.

He takes in a harsh, shaking breath. Then another.

"Um-Miliband-" David looks at his own hand, daring himself to place it on Miliband's shoulder. "Um-"

Miliband scrubs at his eyes a little frantically. His cheeks are crimson.

David searches for words, a little clumsier than he should. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to have problems with crying?"

A moment of silence, then a slightly muffled "What?"

"You know. The old boarding school question. Does boarding school completely addle your brains, that sort of thing-" His voice is light, amused.

(Those scars burn a little, but there's nothing to burn them, now, anyway.)

Miliband knuckles at his eyes like a child, and David says "I cried the first time I saw it."

"Well, th-so did I." Miliband's voice is sharper and lisping- _Miliband's_ voice, a little sulky and defiant.

"You said Justine did-"

"Not because Justine did" Miliband manages, and suddenly he laughs. "Actually, not. _Not_ because Justine did. Should be-"

He murmurs something that sounds like _opposite_ or the _opposite._ David frowns.

Then, settling back against the pillow, Miliband says "You bring the boarding school thing up a lot."

David blinks, unusually wrong-footed. "What?"

"You often mention the boarding-school thing, how happy you were" and Miliband's words are running into each other, and they've drunk too much. They've both drunk too much.

"You're one to talk about mentioning the boarding-school thing." David's voice struggles to sound light. _"Can the boy from the Bullingdon Club, etc., etc.-"_

Miliband winces but then he says "Exth-cept at mine."

"What?"

"You always say you were happy at school, except at mine. On my birthday." Miliband's voice is softer, looser than usual. He's watching David, head on one side. "You were different, then."

"You're different _now."_ The words come out without thinking.

Miliband's mouth twitches, an eyebrow arches. The credits are playing on the screen now, and Miliband lies back suddenly.

(Their legs are still touching.)

"It was hard, today." His voice is more nasal than usual. That isn't a bad thing. "You were right."

David reaches for the control, turns the volume down. "So were you."

"How?"

"Nobody knew what to say."

They watch each other for a moment, Miliband's dark eyes peering at David over a pillow.

"I do say I was happy."

Why the hell's he saying that?

Miliband's rolling onto his back, but somehow he feels even closer. "Were you?"

David takes a breath.

_(burning burning ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts)_

(cigarette glowing, struggling, hands digging into skin, knowing it'll hurt, _knowingknowingknowing)_

He looks back, straight into Miliband's dark eyes.

( _Come on, take it like a fucking man.)_

"Were _you_ always happy at school?"

Miliband just looks and then says "Not anth-swering the question, Cameron?"

David laughs and then Miliband says "That wasn't even the same queth-stion."

It starts out as a laugh. It ends in almost a whisper.

"Well?" David's lying on his side, watching him. "Were you?"

Miliband laughs a little, then. "Do you think I was?"

"Copying my tricks again?"

"So you admit they're tricks?"

David just laughs, because typical Miliband.

"It wasn't like that" he concedes, pointing at the silent screen. "But it was-ah-"

He laughs a little again. He's not sure why.

Miliband's just looking at him when he stops laughing and just looks back.

"So?" he manages, voice cracking a little. "Are you going to tell me this just proves your point about boarding schools? That they're all morally corrupt institutions that should be shut down?"

"You th-said it, not me." But Miliband's voice is low and soft, and David can't listen to that for some reason, because this is not how he and Miliband are supposed to sound.

"Don't worry, Miliband" he says, voice a little louder than he means. "I'm sure I managed to end up relatively unscathed, without cuddles and teddies and bedtime stories, all that sort of thing-"

He trails off at the look on Miliband's face.

Miliband's brow has furrowed. For a second, his face almost contorts and he looks so-

Then, suddenly, it's cleared, and Miliband is just watching him. "Well. Maybe bedtime stories are overrated."

His voice is almost inaudible when he says "I wouldn't know."

David goes quite still before he rolls over to look at Ed. "What?"

"Oh-" Ed falls back a little, staring up at the ceiling.

"It's just-I thought you said your dad used to tell you stories. Those stories about the sheep on the moors." David stares at him. "You know. The ones you were telling Flo and Sam-"

Ed laughs a little. "Booboo and Heehee. Yeah."

David ponders quite how to ask his next question. "Then-ah-how-"

"I mean, my dad told us stories" Ed says suddenly, reaching down to tug at his sleeve. "He used to make them up when we were little. But I th-suppose-other things were more important. And there were nannies and things. Before we got old enough."

Something about the phrasing jolts oddly in David's mind, but before he can say anything, Ed says "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Didn't anyone read you anything at school?"

_(Take it like a man.)_

David feels himself tense only for a moment before he says, voice a little smaller then he'd like "The first few nights. But only for the littlest ones. Sometimes, just the first night. Before we saw where we were sleeping, though."

(Ice on the windows, shoulders shivering, aching and shivering from the cold, teeth won't stop hitting each other, tears too hot on your cheeks)

"What?" Miliband's watching him, head tilted and David curses his own mouth.

"Ignore me" he says, voice a little too light to fool Miliband.

(God, how has _Miliband_ become one of those people who can't be fooled?)

Miliband's lips part a little. He stares at David for a moment. The skin on the back of David's neck prickles because he knows Miliband is about to say something, he just _knows_ it-

"Um-"

"I-ah-" Miliband leans back on the bed. "I-ah-"

He bites his lip and reaches for his book.

 _Wait, don't go_ is what David nearly says. _Don't go. Not yet._

(But if not yet, then _when,_ because it's late and he's got to be up early, and, and-)

(Why doesn't he _want_ to-)

"Thought you were remedying the situation for a moment, there" he manages, as Miliband's fingers close around his book.

Miliband blinks, then glances at the book. "Oh-"

David immediately wishes he hadn't said anything. "It was-ah-"

Miliband's opening the book and David's about to say something, to shake his head, because no, he was joking, and Miliband's taken it literally-

(typical Miliband)

(typically Milibandy)

But then something makes him stop, let Miliband flick through the pages, because something-

(Curiosity?)

just makes him want to-

_"Although the Sox seemed capable of beating New York, every single time they had a chance to make a definitive statement about the Yankees, they failed to-"_

Oh God.

Miliband's actually reading aloud.

To him.

Something about that is just-

Very-

Miliband trails off, and then his eyes flutter up to David. His teeth sink into his lip and his eyes open wide, colour rushing up his cheeks.

"Oh. Oh. Y-you didn't m-mean it-o-oh God-I-"

"Ed." And maybe it's the wine or just that feeling David got when he saw Miliband gazing at his book, his eyes so intense and his hair falling forward a little and that lisp, or maybe it's just the whole day, but-

He ends up-

Well-

He's touching Miliband's sleeve.

"I wasn't" he says, and then Miliband's eyes flicker up to his, wide and dark.

"Wasn't what?"

David isn't sure he's going to say it before he does. "Joking."

They stare at each other. Their legs are touching again. (When did their legs start touching each other?)

Miliband swallows. David can't take his eyes off the movement of that smooth, olive skin.

"You mean-you-you want me to-"

"Only if you want to-"

Miliband's eyes widen a little, then narrow. "Are you-" He trails off, flushing again. "Are you-um-"

"I'm not making fun of you!" It comes out a little more indignant than it should.

Miliband's cheeks flush even deeper. David bites his lip at the impasse.

Maybe if it was another time, he wouldn't have managed it. Just made some joke, managed some line, told Miliband not to worry about it, gone to bed and both pretended to forget about the whole thing.

But it's not another time. It's here and now and after this day and they've both drunk too much and Miliband's there on the bed next to him, so close.

"Look" and he's stumbling over the words. "It's been a bad day. It's been a bloody awful day. And when you started reading, then. Don't know. It just felt nice. And you don't have to-I know you don't, but-I don't know. I just thought if you wanted to read it-then I'd like you to."

Oh God. He's never felt this uncomfortable. He can't have done.

But then, he's never had a conversation like this before.

(And with _Miliband_ of all people-)

(Though maybe that shouldn't be a surprise. This whole conversation is rather Milibandy, after all.)

Miliband's blushing and shrugging and then he huffs, almost pouting. "Th-sorry it was so _bad"_ and he's sulky and scowling and almost childish, and oh, for God's sake-

David just says it, because at this point, there's no reason not to, and the wine's made the words a little easier anyway. "Yeah, well, the best parts were with you anyway."

He doesn't look at Miliband. He doesn't look anywhere near Miliband.

(It's true, he knew that. How true it is still surprises him.)

When he looks up slowly, Miliband's watching him. His face is scarlet and his eyes are dark but he's watching David and David can't quite read his expression this time.

(Can he usually?)

(Does he want to know the answer?)

Miliband just looks back at him and then, in barely a breath, says "OK."

He picks his book up and David-

David leans his cheek on the pillow before he can even think about it.

(It's natural. They're on a bed, after all.)

(That shouldn't be natural, not for them.)

God, the bed's comfortable. His head's heavy.

Miliband's turning over so he's facing away from David. David frowns and then Miliband's voice says, haltingly, "My shoulder's tense-it helps me-"

"It's fine." David's mouth is suddenly dry. The room is rocking a little.

For a moment, he thinks Miliband is going to say something else, but then there's just a silence. And then, _"In the end, stripped of all the spin and stats, this Red Sox team was really not a whole lot different from a lot of Red Sox teams over the years-"_

David watches for a while. Occasionally, he'll lean up on one elbow, faking a cramp or a stretch, because then he can get a glimpse of Miliband's face for a few moments and there's something-

There's just something about it. His eyes widen a little, getting lost in the pages. His eyebrows arch, as though he's never heard the facts and figures and story before, though David would bet he knows the tale back to front, even if not in this particular form. Even his voice rises and falls a little, as he seems to sink into the reading, into the story of an unexpected victory when everything else seemed lost.

It's not difficult, really, to see why Miliband likes it so much.

(Though typical Miliband. Heroes and villains.)

David's not sure when his eyes shut but they do. And then it's just Miliband's voice, nasal and faltering occasionally, and lisping. David just listens to it, lets it ripple through his ears.

It's doing something to him, that voice. That voice is just-filling everything up. Like David's feeling the story through it. And his eyes are heavy and shut and all there is is Miliband's voice in that warm dark inside his head.

He can picture it, in amongst the faltering syllables and the lisp that creeps in every other word. The furrow of the brow. The slight pout of the lips. The brush of eyelashes against his cheek.

(It's _Miliband.)_

(God, he missed his voice.)

David's hand creeps out before he can notice.

His fingers are touching the shirt before he knows what he's doing. His fingers are brushing material and David's eyes open the same moment Miliband's voice trails off.

"There's some dust on your shirt-" The words jerk out of David's mouth even before he's fully awake. They're what wake him up, stringing together an explanation.

It's true. It must be.

His eyes must have opened, and he must have spotted-

Of course he-

His hand's still stroking Miliband's shirt. The material crinkles under his hand. He can feel the warmth of Miliband's skin through it.

"Here, I'll stop-"

"No."

Miliband's voice is tiny and caught between them and David freezes. He freezes, his hand still pressing, pressed against Miliband's back.

(Pressed against Miliband's back. He can feel Miliband's skin all over his hand now, through that shirt-far too thin for January, what was he thinking-the only thing between them)

"I mean-it'th-s all right. If there'th dust. You might as well-"

(When he brushes the side of his hand down, he can just stroke the sharp knobs of Miliband's spine.)

"Get it-finish-"

Miliband isn't finishing, but that's OK.

That's-

David slowly brushes his hand down Miliband's back, and then he manages, almost in a whisper "Go on."

This time, when Miliband's voice begins again, halting and a little uncertain, David feels it, feels the vibrations through his skin, through his hands.

(He likes it. Like Miliband's speaking those words from inside his chest to David. Telling him a story, dredged up from somewhere inside his ribs.)

(God, what a stupid thought.)

His hand keeps moving.

It feels as though David's heartbeat is wrestling in his chest. Every few moments, his hand catches Miliband's back, smoothes over his shirt, the warmth of his skin soaking through.

Miliband's voice is there in his ear and David's a bit closer to him, somehow. His hand strokes a little higher. His breath catches in his chest.

_(It's Miliband, it's Miliband, it's Miliband-)_

(There's no way there could be this much dust on Miliband's shirt.)

He can feel Miliband's words and something about it's almost painfully close, to be touching his back through his shirt. Something aches in his chest. He feels as though he can't quite get his breath.

He and Miliband are so close. The pillow's soft against his cheek. They're so close.

David doesn't dare move. He doesn't dare breathe too loudly. He feels like he did as a child when a butterfly landed on his arm, or when Ivan's smile flickered out for a moment- _don't breathe, don't pray, don't think. Don't break it, don't breathe too loudly, it'll be over, it'll be over..._

So he doesn't. He lies there, heart rapid, light drumbeats, barely breathing, his hands working slow, gentle circles into Miliband's back.

* * *

 

Ed keeps reading, somehow. He has to, trying to fill his eyes and mind with the words, anything to keep his breathing slow and steady, as Cameron's hand keeps moving.

It feels so nice. That's the thing. Cameron's hand moving in slow circles like that feels really _nice._

He's just cleaning Ed's shirt. That's all he's doing. He's just cleaning Ed's shirt.

He keeps reading. It feels as though his mind and his thoughts and his feelings have just raced to his back. All his attention's focused itself there very suddenly, under each brush of Cameron's fingers. A strange heat prickles pleasantly at his skin. Every time Cameron's finger brushes his shoulder blade, a strange tingle goes through him.

Ed's eyes flicker and he stumbles over a word. "I-ah-"

Cameron's voice is soft and low. "Do you want me to read for a bit?"

Cameron's so _close-_

Ed should be saying no. Ed should be _wanting_ to say no.

But Cameron's so close.

He's passing the book back wordlessly, and then speaks a little too quickly a moment later. "Yeah, if you-"

He doesn't look round at Cameron.

(He can't look round at Cameron, he absolutely can't.)

But Cameron's fingers brush his as he takes the book and then he's staring at the wall, his heart rapid, because _don't stop, don't stop-_

Cameron's hand strokes his back again, almost reassuringly.

It's a moment before his voice is there, low and smooth and careful. _"It was unspeakable, unbelievable and completely predictable. In a way, it was like every other loss in Red Sox history-"_

Ed's eyes fall shut before he can stop them. Cameron's voice is smooth over each word and careful around the pronunciation, and something about hearing stories of baseball he knows so well in Cameron's voice is just so _bizarre-_

It does something to Ed's heartbeat. It makes something contract pleasantly in his chest. It makes something swoop in his midriff, makes him bite his lip, because just the _sound_ of Cameron feels so close, _he_ is so close, and-

His hand's still stroking gently, back and forth. He keeps reading. Ed's eyes are heavy and his thoughts are pleasantly hazy. He's warm and tired and his head's spinning a little. And Cameron's warm and close and his hand is so gentle.

"Best parts were with you" he thinks he whispers, but he's not sure if he really says it.

Cameron's hand only stills for a moment, then keeps going even more slowly than before.

It's when Cameron's hand taps his arm gently, and Ed reaches blearily for the book that his eyes fall closed again. He'd been lulled into some kind of daze by Cameron's voice and the familiar words and the friendly warmth of it all, the soft rubbing of his back.

 _"There they were, Boston and New York, taking aim at-_ sorry, _taking aim on each other, still falling-_ sorry, _still playing game seven before t-the-_ " He shakes his head as the words fumble out of his mouth. His eyes are so heavy.

"Hey-" and Cameron's hand tightens a little. "You can put it down. S'all right." His own voice is thick with sleep.

Ed should be asking, because when did they get so close, and he has his own bed somewhere, he knows he does, and he should probably go and find it, but he's comfortable and warm here-

"You sure?" The words come out slurred with tiredness, and he feels Cameron's nod, even as his own head nods forward too, the book slipping from his grasp a little.

"Shh" he thinks he hears, but his eyes are already closing.

They're already closing when the hand brushes his hair too, finger skating the back of his neck. Fingers combing through his hair-

"Sleep now" he thinks he hears, but his eyelashes are brushing his cheeks, eyes gratefully shutting, and he's already sinking.

Cameron feels warm and close like this. Ed's sinking into it.

* * *

 

He pats at Miliband's hair automatically, hand straying up of its' own accord, but David's own eyes are closing, even as his thoughts mumble and spiral a little.

He's lying far too close to Miliband, and he should notice that, but he doesn't really. His eyes are closing and his cheek's pressed into the pillow and it's so comfortable.

It's nicer with Miliband here, really.

He notices that as his hand just crawls up and strokes, as though he can stroke Miliband's eyes closed, stroke away those shadows, because he looks so tired.

And it feels good, lying here like this.

"Sleep, Ed" he thinks he says, or something like it, but the words come out in a mumble.

His hand strokes, then falls slowly. His own eyes close. The lamps seem to be flickering at him in a friendly way.

David's eyes are closed. He can feel Miliband's breathing evening out, his shoulders slowly relaxing.

He mumbles something and his cheek presses deeper into the pillow as he drifts, sinking into sleep. Miliband's so near him, almost against his chest, David's hand just touching him, fingers curling gently into the fabric of Miliband's shirt, as he drifts off.

* * *

_Playlist_

 

_Believe In Me-The Pierces -"Just when I was thinking I'd be moving on/Lay my eyes on a baby with a wounded heart/Said I think we're gonna get along/Said I want to find out who you are/Hey, believe in me/'Cos I believe in you...Heads playing tricks because you feel like mine/Never been so easy with a boy like you/Want to love you because you look so fine/Who knows, maybe one day you could be true"-so this seems pretty perfect for David and Ed's obviously, absolutely, not a date in Paris, and the whole push-and-pull back and forth between them. I don't know, this song just seems kind of perfect for them in Paris, and particularly for Ed, who's never really experienced this type of feeling before._

_Ball-Jointed Doll (Harry)-Nicole Dollanganger -"tried to bend your kneecaps and they shattered, tried to move your/legs but they bolted your joints together, and the more you tried, the/more you knew, this had been the way they'd built you, in the body of/a ball jointed doll, you're so fragile you can't move at all"-these lyrics in particular reminded me of Justine's scene here, and the way she's trapped in the role that she's created for herself, but only feels safe in that role, and the way she tries to manoeuvre everyone around her, including her husband and children, into the roles that can be approved of._

_All Of This-The Naked And Famous -"I can't begin to explain/How we disassemble/The parts and frame/Maybe it's the same late morning?/The same no show?/It's the same fucking habits/I guess we don't know"-like I said, this song recurs throughout the playlist, but these lyrics remind me of how both David and Ed are confused by the opposition of opinion between them, and just how opposing their views are on some things, but at the same time, how they enjoy spending time together. For Ed particularly, given how strongly he clings to politics as a form of identity._

_Last Smoke Before The Snowstorm-Benjamin Francis Leftwich -"This is just the start/You've got a cold heart/Don't you wanna spend/More time round here?...We are not departed/From the place in which we started/We just got up on the bridge/So we could see it glow"-obviously, this fits LITERALLY for Dave and Ed being on the bridge over the Seine, but it also fits pretty metaphorically, as well. They're both still rooted in their own desire to win, but they're "getting up on the bridge to see it glow" by spending time together-they still want to appreciate the "glow" of each other's qualities and how much they like each other, while still trying to cling onto their rivalry. It also reminds me of the scene in the restaurant, where each is trying to persuade the other of the value of their own beliefs and trying to entice them to see their side of it-"Don't you wanna spend/More time round here?"_

_Portuguese Voices-Spark Alaska -"And as a young boy, you were just an older man/You're the cold chill left in Southern sand/You're a young mind, old head in disarray/And please God, please no Novocaine/Calm down, you know you've gotta breathe in/And they speak in etereo voices/Far away from home with no return address/And you're a letter never opened and never read"-so this is one of those recurring songs, but I don't know, the lyrics here a) just kind of reminded me of David an Ed, and their various contrasts and similarities, but also the way they-particularly Ed-try to barricade themselves away from the reality of what's happening between them, and in Ed's case, from his problems with his family and his election chances. It also works for their childhood flashbacks, a little._

_Hate To See Your Heart Break-Paramore -"And I, I hate to see your heart break/I hate to see your eyes get darker as they close/But I've been there before/And I, I hate to see your heart break/I hate to see your eyes get darker as they close/But I've been there before"-this kind of suits David and Ed being slightly tipsy, watching Philomena together, and starting to confide a little more about their childhoods. Also, Ed wiping tears off David's cheeks._

_Bookends Theme-Simon and Garfunkel -"Time it was/And what a time it was, it was/A time of innocence/A time of confidences/Long ago, it must be"-this just fits nicely for them being on the bed and first confiding in each other, and then reading and falling asleep together. It's giving both of them a sense of peace and comfort that they may, for various reasons, have both lacked in childhood, and that Ed especially is only really finding now, with David._

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David went to Florence alone as a teenager.  
> Ed claimed Angels was his favourite song because they'd seen it live:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-12446468  
> https://www.pressreader.com/uk/the-scottish-mail-on-sunday/20131124/281908770927988  
> It turned out Ed chose the song because it was recommended in a focus group: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/everything-about-jezza-is-stuck-in-the-past-hxr6rdsc2  
> Justine mentioned reading Goodnight, Moon:   
> https://www.mumsnet.com/books/celebrities-favourite-childrens-books  
> Alex is Justine's brother. Their parents did prioritise work, so as teens, they were apparently left alone quite a bit (they threw parties to try to make themselves more popular:https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/i-know-for-certain-ed-milibands-wife-wasn-t-too-cool-for-school-8590041.html Justine did on extra tutoring bc she only got 99/100 on a maths test: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2315926/How-rebel-Mrs-Miliband-took-extra-maths-lessons--got-99-100.html She was a child actress & is "moderate" Labour: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/8038949/Justine-Thornton-Mrs-Milibands-secret-history.html She did intend to get married & have 2 kids by 30 & Ed's wedding did have an e.e.cummings poem: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/ed-miliband-marries-on-his-happiest-day-8mxzl2k9835. She was also left to walk to school alone at the age of eight-the anecdote about holding her breath is true:https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/jan/12/air-pollution-generation-quality-motor-trade Her parents are Labour-voters:http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/profiles/justine-thornton-no-ordinary-political-spouse-10107571.html br />  
> The first-class plane seats refers to this: https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/news/493709/mili-in-6k-ba-freebie/  
> Ed described Justine as a "good counsel" when asked to describe what he liked about her-it was Justine's idea for Ed to run for leader:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2004950/Ed-David-Miliband-The-real-victim-feud-mother-Marion.html When asked what he liked about her, he said her "humanity" & that she was "a very good corrective": https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/between-myself-and-cameron-i-am-the-one-with-much-more-intellectual-self-confidence-ed-miliband-on-9325924.html  
> "It wasn't a cold house", was a line Ed used about his childhood, but was disputed:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/labour/11991696/How-Ed-Milibands-mother-wouldnt-stop-him-fighting-his-brother-for-Labour-leadership.html br />  
> Dave & Sam met through Sam's best friend, Clare, David's sister-they began dating on a family holiday: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/samantha-cameron-how-david-met-his-match-7kkjfncvlw3 Sam was a goth & made her own clothes: http://www.vogue.co.uk/article/samantha-cameron-fashion-label-cefinn-interview  
> Sam did mistake the protection team for stalkers:.https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/9155905/My-wife-needs-to-be-told-she-is-brilliant-and-looks-amazing-says-David-Cameron.html Dave described Sam affectionately as "challenging":  
> Ed was always more into work than romance, & made sure to emphasise that a holiday with Justine in California was spent entirely innocently.  
> David holidayed in Cornwall as a child-Ed went to Majorca: https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/esmagazine/david-miliband-on-jeremy-corbyn-and-hillary-clintons-fantastic-smile-a3213656.html They had a summer house in Yorkshire. Ed's father went away frequently for work & Ed lived with him for a while in Boston: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/profiles/ed-miliband-dad-indulged-me-in-my-red-sox-obsession-8919253.html  
> David used to sneak out of his dormitory at Heatherdown with friends to meet up with girls, which was described as having a harsh regime with bedrooms cold enough ice formed inside the windows:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1278552/Cameron-Minors-schooldays-How-extraordinary-life-exclusive-prep-school-helped-shape-PM.html  
> Ed did read One Day, & find it depressing: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2011/sep/24/ed-miliband-society-ethics . He has read J K Rowling's crime novels: http://www.redonline.co.uk/red-women/interviews/ed-miliband-pictures  
> Ivan's illness/medication did at times render him unable to even smile:http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/nickrobinson/2009/02/ivans_death.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/4806746/David-Cameron-spent-night-before-his-son-Ivan-died-making-pancakes-in-rare-night-off.html  
> There have been reports of bullying at schools such as the one David attended:https://www.smh.com.au/world/silver-spoon-the-power-and-privilege-of-britains-private-schools-20170406-gvever.html  
> Ed was looked after by a series of uniformed nannies as a child.


	19. Careless Confessions, A Sharing of Suspicions and an Exploration of Equivocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which pipes are not a good excuse for anything, winning may or may not justify the methods, children are not always thrilled with pirates and telling someone they're gorgeous means absolutely nothing at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long, guys (and sorry for how long this fic is, 300k, God above, I'm so sorry, I promise the chapters will be shorter after this one, I was just trying to get into the rhythm of it.) But here it is, THE NEXT CHAPTER.  
> THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN UPDATED SINCE IT WAS FIRST POSTED. :) There's some extra content in Ed and Justine's flashbacks.  
> BEFORE YOU READ: This is one of the first chapters in which all the dialogue in one of the flashbacks-at the beach/playground between Justine, Ed, Daniel and Sam-is all genuine, from a video, as well as Daniel "protecting" Sam, and Justine pushing Sam down the slide, as well as Sam getting upset and Daniel being tugged onto the beach. You can see it in this video here, which I've also linked to at the end: https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/696579430  
> Justine's dialogue in her flashback to conference is genuine too:https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/647978532  
> http://www.itv.com/news/2014-09-21/team-miliband-a-force-to-be-reckoned-with/  
> Stefan is a photographer who often photographs politicians who appears in the video.  
> The Doorkeepers are the House of Commons security, who wear cloaks, & lock the doors of voting lobbies when MPs vote (the division bell summons them to vote.) David's favourite pens are blue Sharpies. The "Plastic Fantastic" is the nickname for the PM's preparatory PMQs notes. "Leveson" refers to the Leveson Inquiry, which Cameron set up to inquire into phone-hacking at urging from Miliband. The "Awkward Squad" are what groups of MPs on both sides of the House who constantly rebel against their own parties are nicknamed.  
> You can get kippers in the private restaurant under Downing Street. The Granita deal is an infamous deal made between Tony Blair & Gordon Brown-Brown would let Blair stand for the Labour leadership & ultimately become PM, if Blair agreed to stand down for Brown, a deal partly responsible for the ultimate wrecking of their friendship.  
> The conversation between Nick & George is a genuine argument that took place in January 2015 in Nick's office at Dover House, over the Budget. Some of the dialogue is genuine, taken from David Laws' book-other parts are based around the account. Nick did refer to it as "seductive."( AV was a 2011 referendum backed by Clegg & Miliband on reforming the way we vote in the UK. Nick expected more support than he got from Cameron & the Tories, who opposed the reform. Clegg & Miliband ultimately lost the referendum, increasing resentment from Lib Dems to Tories, as AV had been part of coalition negotiations:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-13297573 )  
> Palmerston is the cat belonging to the Foreign Office. There were concerns among Lib Dems that Danny Alexander would lose his seat-which he ultimately did: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/liberaldemocrats/11237298/Danny-Alexander-will-lose-seat-in-2015-unless-there-is-a-miracle-turnaround-according-to-Lib-Dem-strategist.htmlThere were concerns that Nick Clegg would lose his which didn't happen:https://www.newstatesman.com/uk-politics/2015/03/believe-hype-nick-clegg-could-lose-his-seat  
> Danny Alexander & George Osborne were part of the coalition negotiating teams for the Lib Dems & Conservatives respectively-they knew each other at Oxford.  
> <  
> Gordon Brown infamously didn't fight a contest to become PM. It was hinted he'd call a General Election, but he backed out due to low poll ratings: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2008/jun/26/gordonbrown.labour  
> https://blogs.spectator.co.uk/2012/10/the-real-story-of-the-2007-election-that-never-was/  
> http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/how-the-election-that-never-was-turned-political-allies-into-bitter-rivals-2081701.html  
> Ed Miliband & Ed Balls were two of his closest aides. Soames is Nicholas Soames, a Tory MP & Winston Churchill's great-grandson. He did indeed find a bar he'd never come across before.  
> <<  
> If you want to ask me anything about this fic or just chat about it, send me an ask on [Tumblr](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask). Love getting asks, so let me know what you like about the fic, which characters you like best, etc.! If there are any articles you want to read and can't access, send me an ask!  
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE COMMENTS, KUDOS, ETC. I love it especially when someone mentions this isn't their usual fandom, but they love reading the fic anyway, or that it makes them interested in politics! Keep the comments coming :)  
> ENJOY THE CHAPTER.

_"It's the best thing that could happen to the...pampered thing to have someone stand up to him that's as spoiled as himself"- The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett_

 

_""I promise you that it will be OK" the Duke said, her voice measured, quiet._

_"You're good at that" I said. "At, like, saying crazy things in a way that makes me believe them."- Let It Snow, "A Cheertastic Christmas Miracle", John Green._

 

_""You wouldn't understand. You are a fetus in a world of Camus and spermicidal lubricant."_

_"And you're an asshole."_

_"I'm just cynical. And you have no idea how far that's going to take me."_

_"Neither do you."_

_"Au contraire, little brother."" - Invincible Summer, Hannah Moskowitz_

* * *

 

 

David only partly opens his eyes when he wakes up. He's mostly asleep, but the lamp's still lit, a dim glow at the side of the bed. The room is dark, the screen still flickering.

His mind's swimming with sleep, muzzy and aching a little from wine, but he manages to turn over a little more comfortably, snuggle deeper into his pillow. He turns over, his eyes falling shut again, and he can feel Miliband's warmth next to him. Something about that's unusual, but David's eyes are too heavy and he's tired and then Miliband makes a small noise in the back of his throat.

He makes it again, but when David opens his eyes a crack to peer at him, Miliband's are shut. But he tosses fitfully back and forth, rolling onto his back.

David rubs his hand on Miliband's shoulder, barely noticing what he's doing. "Shh-"

Miliband makes another sound in his throat but settles, turning over so that he's facing David, snuggling further into the pillow. David, his own eyes heavy, pats at his shoulder gently. "Shh-go back to sleep-"

Miliband obeys, wriggling closer as he does so. He curls tighter into the pillow-tighter and closer to David.

David lets his eyes fall shut, aware of Miliband's hair tickling his forehead when he moves a little closer, feeling the warmth of Miliband's body, so near David could curl his own around it. His eyes close and he shushes them both again, sleep already slurring the words. He sinks into sleep again, them both curled warm and close, with his hand still on Miliband's arm.

* * *

 

When David opens his eyes again, it's lighter.

The lamp's still on, but hints of cold light are creeping in through the curtains. David turns his face back into the pillow, but he's awake now. He lies there, enjoying the feeling of not having to get up yet.

He can feel Miliband's warmth, his chest rising and falling. David's arm slips a little further over Miliband's shoulder.

He opens his eyes lazily, peering at Miliband through his lashes. After a moment, he wriggles a little further up the pillow, just taking in the sight of Miliband lost in sleep next to him.

Miliband's lashes brush his cheeks. The little crease that often appears between his eyebrows has smoothed out. David's finger wants to reach out and stroke where it usually is. Miliband's cheek is pillowed awkwardly on his hand, which creases his skin a little. Something about that makes something scrunch pleasantly in David's chest.

David just watches him fondly for a few moments, hand still gentle on his shoulder. Their legs are lying over one another. David shifts a little, trying not to disrupt the position.

Wait-

Trying not to disrupt the-

Because his legs are lying over Miliband's-

He's-

His arm is lying around Miliband-

He is lying on a bed-

Lying on a _bed,_ having spent the night next to-

David's eyes fly wide open.

It's a miracle he doesn't yell. Somehow, he even manages to rein in a gasp. Instead, he squeezes his eyes tightly shut and then opens them again, with the ridiculous hope that this will all somehow be a dream.

It is not a dream. It is manifestly, and almost insultingly, not a dream.

David's arm is still very much there.

Miliband is still very much asleep.

Everything is still _very much_ , and, and, and-

David squeezes his eyes shut again. OK. OK, breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

He fights the urge to pull his arm back and scuttle to the edge of the bed like a terrified crab.

 _OK, don't think-_ He sinks his fingers into the mantra firmly. _Don't think, don't think, don't think-_

Don't think about what you said.

Don't think about how you got here, _don't, don't, don't-_

He forces himself to stay still, even as Miliband makes a low sound in his throat, a thin, complaining little sound. Just stay still-stay still, then move away slowly, don't wake him up-

David holds his breath, eyes flickering over Miliband's face, that little crease forming in his brow. Miliband makes another reluctant sound in his throat. His eyes flutter-

_Hell._

Miliband's eyes slowly open.

All David can do is stare at him.

Oh God. Oh _God-_

Miliband stares back for barely a moment before his eyes flicker closed again. He buries his face in the pillow, making a small, groaning noise.

David stares at him. "Ed-"

_Ed?_

He clears his throat. "Miliband-Miliband-wake-you need to wake _up-"_

"Lee-meone." Miliband rolls over, burying his face a little deeper in the pillow. "O-way."

David could scream. He takes in his hand on Miliband's arm and, for a moment, thinks he might.

"Miliband." He tries giving his chief opponent's arm a little shake. "Miliband-come on-"

_Chief opponent-_

David once again takes in his hand on Miliband's arm, Miliband's face nestled almost under his chin, and this time, has to fight an urge to laugh hysterically.

This cannot be happening. This absolutely cannot be happening.

"Miliband-"

"Five minutes."

David shakes his arm a little harder. "Miliband. Miliband, it's _me-"_

Miliband makes another noise in his throat.

"Miliband-"

Miliband groans and opens his eyes slowly to look at David. They peer at each other.

"Cameron-" Miliband's voice is thick, rough with sleep.

David has no idea what to say, which is not a feeling he is familiar or comfortable with.

"Cameron-" Miliband says again, and then his eyes flicker up to David's. They narrow slightly for a moment-and then, suddenly, fly open.

 _"Cameron!"_ Miliband jumps so violently that David's hand almost falls off his shoulder, and not quickly enough, as Miliband's eyes flicker down to where David's hand is lying, clasped in his shirt.

Miliband makes a sudden, choking sound and then almost shrieks _"Cameron!"_ again.

 _"Miliband-"_ David lets go of his sleeve. Miliband almost drags himself upright, his eyes darting frantically around the room-from the rumpled duvet to the empty wine bottle to the TV screen, still flickering an unknown story across the bed. _"Miliband_ -calm _down-"_

 _"Calm-"_ Miliband's voice is more high-pitched than David thinks he's ever heard it. _"Calm-_ I'm-what-what _happened-"_

His eyes, panicked and wild, rake over David from head to toe, hovering at his collar, where, when David glances down, he can see his top button's still undone.

 _"Nothing"_ David says, because he can't dwell on these words at all. "Nothing. You just _fell asleep_ -so did I-"

"But-but-" Miliband's stuttering as he sits up. "But-but-how did-how did-"

"I don't know. The wine?"

"How did-how-" Miliband's words trail off for a moment, and then "What did I-"

David swallows. His heart is pounding. The colour's rising in Miliband's cheeks.

He has to force the words out, a little more quickly than usual. "You just-we just _fell asleep."_ It sounds almost pleading.

He can't sound like that in front of Miliband and suddenly he's remembering-even through the dull ache in his head, words scrambling out of his mouth, partly into the pillow. _The best parts were with you._

"That's all" he manages, and then, a little shorter than he means, "Miliband, calm down."

Miliband almost splutters. "You-we-" He gestures at the bed, the duvet crumpled between them. "This it-it-thith-s doesn't-"

He blushes furiously.

"I hope you're more eloquent in the debates" is all David can think of to say, hoping against hope that Miliband will throw a jibe back at him.

Miliband just blinks, face contorting in confusion. He glances down at himself, as though only just realising the state of his own clothes.

 _"Cameron!"_ He almost shouts it at him, and another time, David might find the look of sheer indignation on his face utterly hilarious.

Maybe that thought shows on his own, or maybe he simply doesn't look horrified enough, but whatever it is, something seems to be the final straw. Miliband swings away from him and, in a move which looks as though it was intended to appear flawless, leaps off the bed.

Being Miliband, this fails completely and he promptly overbalances, so that David is treated to the sight of Miliband toppling over the edge with a yelp.

"Oh, for _God's sake-"_ It comes out crumbling into laughter, and it's ridiculous, because he and Miliband _just woke up next to each other, for God's sake-_

But he hears Miliband's aggrieved little "Ow!" and he can't just stand here, he has to-so he ends up heading round the side of the bed, crouching down and reaching for Miliband's arm.

Miliband is sitting on the floor, his hair a complete mess, and his lip pouting out, and David just feels something _unfold_ in his chest. He feels suddenly, terribly fond.

"Miliband-" He reaches for Miliband's shoulder, touches it gently. "Miliband, it-it's all right-" He's got no idea what he's reassuring Miliband about. "It's-um-"

 _"How_ is it all right?" Miliband almost snaps the word out, and wraps his arms around his knees. _"We-"_ He throws a hand back towards the bed, as though he can't even bear to look at it. "We- _that-"_

"That-"

"That as-" Miliband glares at him, fiercely indignant. "People don't-that _isn't meant to happen."_

David isn't stupid, but he asks anyway. "What, sleep on a bed?"

The look Miliband gives him somehow manages to be both withering and endearing at once. "You _know_ what I _mean."_

"Well, yes, but-" David wants to put a hand on Miliband's arm. "It's not that-it doesn't matter. Things like that happen-"

He tries to shout the words at himself, too. _See? Things like that happen!_

Miliband's head snaps up, and his eyes meet David's. "Yes, and what if-"

"What if-"

Miliband opens his mouth and then closes it again. He wraps his arms tighter around his knees, drags a hand through his hair. "I-"

Their gazes meet. David takes in Miliband's eyes, dark and uncertain, remembers them last night in the glow of the lamp, when they'd just looked at him, and his hand had crept up to David's cheek-

There's a loud knocking on the door.

For a moment, David is sure Miliband's going to die. His face goes about three different colours in the same amount of seconds.

"Oh God-" His hands almost knot into David's sleeves. "Oh _God_ -who is it-"

"I don't _know-_ just let me-"

Miliband makes a strangled sort of sound. If David didn't know better, he'd suspect he was choking.

"All right-" His own voice is a fierce whisper. "Just _calm down-"_

He takes a deep breath. "Who is it?" he calls, hoping to keep his voice as even and unaffected as possible.

"Me. Ed."

The Ed on this side of the door makes another panicked sound in his throat. David could kill him.

"Everything all right, Prime Minister? It's just, I thought I heard-"

Another squeak comes out of Miliband's throat. David, in a moment of utter desperation, lunges, and before he can stop himself, has slapped his hand over Miliband's mouth.

"....noises." Ed's voice continues outside, in blissful ignorance of the squirming struggle now going on on the floor. Miliband is tugging at David's hand indignantly, muffled sounds escaping against David's fingers every moment or so, the vociferous sounds leaving David in little doubt as to Miliband's opinion of his handling of the situation. "Like someone was shouting-"

 _"Mmmph-"_ Miliband's mouthing against David's fingers frantically. David puts his mouth to his ear. "Shut _up-_ he'll _hear-"_

The look Ed gives him, David wouldn't be surprised to see flames shoot out of his eyes.

But he stops hissing insults against David's fingers, which David counts as a partial success.

"Um-yeah, it's just the ah-"

David frantically scours his brain for a suitable excuse.

"It's-er-the-um-"

Come on, come on, come on-

"It's the-er-it's the.....pipes."

Miliband stills for a moment-then, very slowly turns and gives David one of the most utterly disgusted looks he's ever seen.

David glares at him. _"You_ try making it up next time" he hisses, and then feels heat rush to his cheeks at the fact he's just insinuated that there might be a _next time._

As it is, right then is when Ed calls through the door "Well, I do actually need to come in."

Miliband gives a sort of rattling gasp that leaves David utterly convinced for a moment that his last hour has come.

He swallows, and takes a deep breath. "Right" he manages, weakly. "Right. Well-ah-that's fine-"

Miliband makes a sort of horrified squeaking sound. David tightens his hold over his mouth, only for Miliband to grasp at his arm frantically, making gasping noises. "Just-give me a moment-"

He lets go of Miliband, only for the other man to slump onto the floor. For a moment, David genuinely thinks he's killed him.

 _"Mili-"_ He only just manages to muffle his own voice.

As it is, he hears Ed's voice, echoing curiously through the door. "Dave? Is everything all right in there-"

"Yes" David maanges somehow, Miliband now sitting up slowly, massaging his throat. "Yeah, just-stubbed my toe-"

He's already reaching for Miliband's arm, tugging him up, even as Miliband splutters and glares at him. "Get in the bathroom."

"What?"

"Bathroom." David's already pulling him across the room-Miliband's grabbed that book of his, he notices. "Hide-I'll tell you when you can-"

Miliband scuttles into the bathroom with surprising alacrity but of course, turns at the last moment. "Does this often happen to you, Prime-"

 _"Would you shut up?"_ This comes out as a hiss as David sends the door swinging shut in Miliband's face to the aggrieved mutter of "You could have _killed_ me-"

"I wish I had" David mutters, turning to the door and making a frantic grab for the wine bottle.

"I _heard_ that-" David rolls his eyes.

 _"I heard that"_ he mutters childishly under his breath, as he tries to frantically tidy the bed, looks down at himself, and curses.

"Dave?" Ed's knocking. David squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath.

As he heads for the door, a familiar-and now even more aggrieved-voice mutters "Heard _that,_ too..."

When David opens the door, Ed gives him a grin. "Had a night of it, did you?"

"No, we didn't!"

Ed looks bemused. David curses himself. From the direction of the bathroom comes a strange smacking sound, for all the world as though someone has just slapped their hand to their forehead.

Ed's brow furrows. "We-"

"No. No, _me._ I. Me. Myself. Me, myself and I-"

Shut up. Shut. Up.

Picturing the expression on Miliband's face is the only thing that allows David to regain his composure.

"I just-ah-had a bit to drink last night" he says, indicating his own dishevelled state. "You know. After the day-" He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, feigning tiredness, and wonders if he's going to hell for even vaguely using that as an excuse.

"Oh, yeah. Of course." Ed takes an amused glance around the room. "Looks like you christened a few ships-"

"Well-"David tries to laugh. "One. But-ah-yeah." He glances down at his shirt. "Fell asleep in my clothes-"

"Apparently."

There's a clattering from inside the bathroom.

David freezes. Ed's eyes skitter to the bathroom door. "What the hell was that?"

"Pipes" David says instantly. "Been like that all night." He gestures uselessly at the bottle. "Hence the wine."

He closes his eyes, cursing Miliband's inability to move around a room without knocking something over, no matter how endearing it might be.

_(Endearing?)_

And then opens them to see Ed heading towards the bathroom door.

"NO!"

In the single second before Ed turns round, David has enough time to realise that the best way to not arouse suspicion about the person hiding in one's suite is probably not to screech hysterically when one's friend takes one step in the direction of the hiding place where said person happens to be hiding in one's suite.

Ed is staring at him as though he's just told him he's converting to Labour. David tries frantically to think of some reason, any reason, why the thought of his friend entering his bathroom should make him yell as if he's just spotted an axe-murderer or Boris about to speak.

"Um-you don't want to do that." His voice sounds almost manically happy. "There's Vaseline on the handle."

There's a pause, during which David reflects on whether or not he could possibly have conjured a more ridiculous lie.

Ed is now watching him as though wondering whether he should be fearing for David's sanity.

"I-spilt Vaseline on it. Last night-" David casts around frantically for inspiration. "Whilst I was opening the wine bottle."

Ed's eyebrow arches the slightest bit. David hastens to elaborate. "I mean, I was using the Vaseline-to open the wine bottle-to, ah-grease the cork-"

He could kill Miliband.

He's not even sure how this is Miliband's fault, but he's convinced that in some way it is.

Ed's staring at him. "Grease the cork?"

If he hears one snigger from that bathroom, David will insert that cork somewhere Miliband will always be able to bloody find it.

"Yes." He knows he must look overbright. He was aiming for calm and relaxed. Not SpongeBob Squarepants on the verge of an overdose. (And he's sat through enough episodes of that with the kids to know that that sponge is entirely too happy, anyway.)

"So. You mentioned-ah-"

Ed's eyeing him with a crease in his brow. "Oh. I just wanted to check you were up, that you'd gone over the speech for the Midlands-"

"Oh." David nods so frantically it feels as though his head's going to fall off. "Yes. Obviously. And-"

"I was going to see if you were ready for breakfast-" Ed gives him a look which somehow manages to take in the unbuttoned shirt down to the socks David has neglected to remove. "But I might give you a bit of time. Will Mr. Miliband be joining us at all, do you-"

There's a muffled squawking sound in the bathroom. David very nearly screams.

 _"PIPES!"_ is what he almost shrieks instead, to block out the almost inevitable sound of Miliband knocking something over, following his little panicked outburst. "Just the bloody pipes-"

Ed turns to look at him a lot more slowly this time. His mouth twitches, almost into a smile.

David's heart pounds, but all Ed says is "Will Mr. Miliband be joining us, do you think?"

David forces himself not to look at the bathroom door. "I'll give him a text, see what he's doing-"

Ed nods, though a smile's hovering about his mouth. "I see. How about I give you a few minutes-"

"Yes." David seizes on this gratefully. "That would be-ah-" He tries for a laugh.

Ed nods at the suit, still crumpled over the back of the armchair from last night."Want me to get that straightened out?" The smile deepens a little as he scoops it up. "Want me to hang it in the bathroom? I can get the Vaseline off the handle-"

" _NO!"_ David spins round and promptly nearly falls over. "No, no-"

Inside the bathroom, there's a sound like a muffled squeak.

Ed grins. "Pipes?"

David manages a laugh. It sounds barely anything like a laugh. "I suppose."

Ed hands him the suit with a grin. "Let me know when you're ready for breakfast."

He waits until he's reached the door before he turns back and adds, "And if Miliband's coming."

David has no idea how he manages to stay still until the door's shut before he moves.

He yanks the bathroom door open and promptly stares at Miliband. "What the bloody hell is _that?"_

Miliband is crouched only inches away from the door, holding a toothbrush.

At the sight of David, he squawks and very nearly drops it.

"What was _that_ going to do-"

Miliband is blushing furiously, now standing up straight, holding the toothbrush loosely. "I thought it might be a distraction."

David stares at him and then bursts out laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation. He leans against the door frame, chest wracked with mirth, and just shakes his head at Miliband, standing there, clutching that bloody toothbrush.

Miliband just stares, which makes David laugh more. He seizes Miliband's arm. "Come on, for God's sake-"

 _"Greath-sing the cork_ -what on earth did you th-say _that_ for-"

"Well, I didn't hear _you_ coming up with anything-" David glances at the door. "You heard Ed. If you just go down to your suite and join us for breakfast, no one has to know-" He falters and they stare at each other.

_That you spent the night with me._

Ed blushes. David opens his mouth, and then, to his horror, becomes aware that he is doing the same.

They stare for a moment. Suddenly, David can feel last night, his hand circling Miliband's shoulder blades-

_Circling Miliband's shoulder blades?_

What was he _doing-_

"Well." He speaks too quickly. Miliband's head jerks, as though David's just pulled him out of a reverie.

He fumbles with the doorknob and David manages "Just turn up in a few minutes, like you've spent the night in-"

Miliband nods, and for lack of anything better to do, David gives his arm an awkward squeeze. He doesn't know why, but God knows what else he should do.

Miliband gives him a quick, awkward nod, fumbles, and then pulls the door open.

Ed's standing right on the other side of it.

Strangely enough, the first thought David has is not where they will be holding the long, ostentatious and deeply sorrowful funeral for his pride. Instead, the first thought he has is that Miliband should really have cleaned that wine off his shirt.

The second is "Oh God."

The third is "That _fucking_ wine."

Next to him, Miliband is absolutely silent, but David can picture the look on his face. Instead of looking, he keeps his eyes fixed on the other Ed.

Ed glances between them, very, very slowly, a slight smile on his face, but says nothing at all.

"Ah-" David puts out a hand, gestures between them both vaguely. "Ah-um-we were just-"

Ed's mouth twitches once again, but he merely looks at David enquiringly.

"We-I mean, me-Miliband and I-"

David risks a glance at Miliband and immediately regrets it. Miliband is absolutely scarlet and it doesn't make it any easier to concentrate.

Ed looks entirely too understanding. It makes David speak even faster.

"I-Miliband-popped by. To tell me something. You see. To tell me something-and then I was going to tell him. About breakfast." He stares at Ed. "Which I have now told him." His face is far, far too warm.

Miliband, next to him, merely manages a strangled "Eeep" in response.

The three of them stand there in silence for a moment which seems longer than the whole of the previous night.

Finally, Ed speaks. Only someone who knows him as well as David does would detect the amusement under the modulated tone. (Amusement and something sharper.)

"Well-" he says. "I see."

David feels colour lick higher up his cheeks. He doesn't dare look at Miliband.

"Well-" Ed claps his hands together. "Just came to let you know breakfast is in my suite. Should be ready in a few minutes, if you're joining us, Mr. Mili-"

He doesn't get any further before Miliband makes a frantic noise in his throat, mumbles something that even David doesn't quite catch, but manages to give Ed a quick nod, before he's pushing past them, down the hall to his own room.

David almost calls after him but Miliband doesn't look back.

There's nothing else to do, but to stand back and let Ed into the room.

The moment the door's shut behind them, David turns to his friend with his hands up. "Look, I know how that looked-"

"What?" Ed's smiling, but his voice is careful. "How did it look?"

David can't say it, so he tries to skate around the words. "Well. It doesn't-ah-" He tries for a laugh. "Look good."

"Oh, what doesn't look good about it?" Ed's voice is as careful as before. "The Leader of the Opposition paying you a quick visit in your bedroom-"

He trails off at the look on David's face. "Unless there's more?"

David curses himself. "Well-"

"Shh." Ed holds his hand up and David falls silent. For a moment, they both stand there, ears pricked for any hint of sound.

Then, Ed lets his hand fall. "Sorry." He gives David a smile. "Thought I heard the _pipes."_

David closes his eyes. "OK."

He takes a deep breath. "All right. Look-all right. It-it looks a bit complicated-"

 _"Complicated-"_ David opens his eyes to see Ed rolling his to heaven. "God. How long was he _in_ here?"

"Look, we didn't do anything _wrong-"_

_"How long-"_

"He just fell asleep-"

Ed blinks. "He was here all _night?"_

David feels himself blush.

Ed's eyes are stretched wide, his mouth hanging open. It could almost be comical.

"Look-"

Ed starts to say something, but David talks over him. "Look, all he did was _fall asleep_. We'd both had some wine, and we _fell asleep_. It had been a long day. It was just a _mistake-"_

Ed's staring at him. When he speaks this time, there's no hint of a smile in his voice at all. "David, that can't happen again."

The seriousness in his voice sends a jolt through David's chest. "Well-" He tries to laugh. "It's not as though it _could-"_

"No-" and Ed steps forward then, putting a hand on his shoulder. "No, David. Really. That can't happen."

David swallows. The words hang, thickening the air between them.

"It's just-I know you're-" Ed looks away, pinches the bridge of his nose as though that might pull the correct word between his fingers. David waits, suddenly unsure what he wants that word to be.

"Think about it. The two of you-in a-"

Colour rises slowly and delicately to Ed's cheeks as he hovers tactfully over the words. David, for some reason, can't stand watching it.

"Look" he says, more brusquely than usual, but God, Ed has to understand-"This was a stupid mistake. Ed- _Miliband's_ probably more worried about it than me. It doesn't mean _anything_. No-one saw. It was just-" His laugh sounds a little too loud even to him. "It was just a hard day."

Ed just looks at him. The silence stretches out between them.

David laughs again. "It's _me and Miliband."_ The words crack disbelievingly in his throat. "That's-that's all it is."

Ed clears his throat. "Maybe that's what-"

Something jolts suddenly in David's ribs, as though he's missed a step on the stairs, something that should have been right in front of him, too obvious not to be noticed.

_Maybe that's what...?_

He should say it. He should be _able_ to.

Ed's eyes meet his. Suddenly, David can remember one of their first conversations at CCHQ, when he'd shaken Ed's hand and he'd said, without even considering the words, in response to the question so many had already asked "Eton and Oxford. Where did you go?"

Ed had looked back at him, their fingers tightening momentarily around each other. "Eton and Oxford" he'd said, with a smile-it really _had_ been a smile, even now, scouring the image in his memory years later. "Similar time to you, actually-"

David had only blinked for a moment, and then he'd gripped Ed's hand a little tighter. "Of course. I remember you-"

Ed had nodded and laughed as David laughed that he was getting old before his time, and he'd be saying he went to Harrow next. Ed, in fact, had worn exactly the same smile he's wearing now, and nodded, and looked David in the eye, and both of them had known and neither had said anything about the fact that David hadn't remembered him at all.

Now, Ed looks at him with that exact same smile and tilts his head to the side, for all the world as if David had asked his question out loud. "Nothing. Doesn't matter" he says, and both of them know that that isn't the answer to the question David hasn't asked at all.

* * *

 

Ed manages to get the door of his room closed before the panic takes over.

Breathe, he tells himself firmly. Breathe. Just breathe.

It doesn't mean anything. It's not as though anything-

_Anything happened._

Ed hears a laugh, wild and a little mad, crack out of his throat.

How has he-

How on _earth_ has he got into a situation where he has to think _that_ about _Cameron?_

Ed pushes his face into his hands. Breathe.

It means nothing. It means _nothing._ It's just-

Oh God, what is it just.

He needs to get changed. One thing at a time. Get changed. Get in the shower. And get changed. Right. Yes. First job.

It's when he's standing under the warm water that he takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to remember.

He doesn't. Not much, anyway. He remembers the film. He remembers-

His book. Which he'd dropped on the bed on his way to the shower, too preoccupied to notice.

They'd been reading from it-

Ed's head snaps up. Oh God.

They'd been reading from it. And-he-

Cameron's hand.

Cameron had been rubbing his back.

Cameron had been _rubbing his-_

Ed's own hand wanders to his back and presses cautiously against his spine, as though Cameron might have left a mark.

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod_

Breathe, he reminds himself even as he tries to soak in the heat of the water. Breathe. It was a stupid thing, just a stupid thing-

But how-how had he-

And now if he doesn't have breakfast with him, it will look even worse.

Ed buries his face in his hands and groans.

(He can't even really tell himself he doesn't _want_ to have breakfast with Cameron.)

(Which might be the worst part.)

* * *

 

It's when Ed walks out of the bathroom in fresh clothes, trying not to look at his own clearly unslept in bed, that he hears the knocking at his door.

Earlier, he might have just opened it, but now, still shaken, he settles for asking softly "Who is it?" even though there's very few people it could be.

"It's me, Miliband."

Ed rolls his eyes. "Go away" he mutters childishly, though he knows Cameron can't hear him.

"Really?" he says through the door instead. "This hasn't raised enough eyebrows?" A part of him marvels that his voice comes out coherently.

"Oh, _come on_ , Miliband. It was an _accident-"_

Ed tugs at his sleeve, squeezing his eyes shut.

"You _fell asleep."_

 _But that's not what happened before, is it?_ The voice in Ed's head hisses, grating and relentless. _That's not what happened. Before you fell asleep._

"Miliband, I appreciate you're annoyed, but I really don't appreciate you acting like this is my _fault."_

The worst and most irking thing about this is knowing that Cameron's _right._ It's not his _fault,_ which achieves the unlikely feat of making the situation feel even worse.

Typical bloody Cameron.

Ed squeezes his eyes shut tighter. "Doesn't this _bother_ you?"

It comes out almost as a wail. Ed immediately cringes, and wishes he'd just shut up.

"Doesn't what bother me?" Cameron's voice is lower, carefully level. The precise enunciation of the words is oddly comforting, but sends a not unpleasant shiver down Ed's spine.

"You know-" Oh, brilliant. Now _Ed_ has to say it. "That we-"

There's a moment's taut silence and then Cameron laughs a little too hard. "Because we fell asleep?"

The laugh makes Ed snap the words out a little more sharply. " _Yes._ There's no _just_ about that. You _know_ there isn't." He feels himself blush painfully. "And Ed _knows."_

 _"_ I've explained." Cameron says it a little too quickly. "I've explained to him."

"And he believed you?"

There's another pause.

"Why wouldn't he believe me?" Cameron's voice is very, very careful now. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

Ed becomes suddenly very aware of his heartbeat.

He leans his head against the door. "Yeah" he hears, but he isn't sure if he's said it out loud or not.

"So-" Cameron's voice trails off. "Well-"

 _Don't do that_ , Ed wants to say out of nowhere. _Don't put on the Prime Ministerial voice._

"Are you still joining us for breakfast?"

Ed opens and closes his eyes, fingers opening and closing with them, suddenly desperate to grab back something he hadn't known was there until a few moments ago. "We talked, didn't we" he says again, with that same odd sense that his voice is not his own.

Another pause, then "Yes. Yes, we talked."

"I juth-just-um-" Ed bites his lip, leans against the door. "I'm not sure I remember-all of it-"

_What did I say, what did I say-_

"It wasn't anything-" For the first time, Cameron sounds a touch uncomfortable. "Well. It wasn't anything bad. Just basic things. About families. Nothing-ah-"

Ed's head jerks up suddenly. His heart is pounding.

_I wouldn't know._

_Before we were old enough._

(He must have meant _when_ we were old enough, but somehow, it doesn't feel like he did)

"What did I-" The words come out strangled. Ed stops himself. If Cameron doesn't remember, then Ed shouldn't remind him.

But-

He bites his lip.

He shouldn't remind Cameron.

It was just the alcohol talking. Of course it was.

It was-

Dad was a great dad. Of course he was.

Ed remembers the squeeze of hands that never became familiar on his shoulders, the cold creases of a uniform against his cheek. _Take the boys upstairs, now._

(Now that they'd said their bit. Now that they'd been there for as long as-)

Ed pinches himself. Literally, fingers nipping a quick, vicious mark into his skin.

It's ridiculous.

"What did you what?" Cameron's saying. Ed, biting his lip, sinks down slowly, so that he's sitting with his knees drawn up, his back to the door.

"Nothing" he says, his voice a little too loud in the quiet of the room. "I juth-st-nothing."

He can feel Cameron's hand again, circling his back like a ghost.

There's a silence, then "Are you angry?"

Ed doesn't expect that.

And he certainly doesn't expect Cameron to sound-

Cameron to sound so-

(Uncertain.)

He waits, and then, softer now, "Not at you."

Which is the most annoying part.

Cameron doesn't say anything , doesn't thank him or anything. Instead, they both wait, breathing quietly on either side of the door. For a moment, Ed's eyes fall shut and he can imagine, since they're on opposite sides, that his breathing has fallen into rhythm with Cameron's.

The silence stretches between them, like some precious, living, breathing thing that they're struggling to hold between their hands, in case any moment it wriggles away.

It's Cameron who breaks it, softly. "Do you want to come for breakfast?"

The words are gentle. Not Prime Ministerial, gentle.

Cameron-ish. But in a way that almost makes Ed smile.

And it's that, he tries not to think, that makes him get up slowly and rub his eyes and take a deep breath, and open the door to find Cameron scrambling upright, from almost exactly the same position, where he's been sitting still, just like Ed, arms wrapped around his knees, just like Ed, back against the door, just like Ed, waiting for each other.

* * *

 

George nearly knocks his own phone to the floor as he dives for it.

_"Dad!"_

George then nearly falls out of his chair at the sound of his daughter, only a few inches away from him, bellowing as if she's been half-killed.

 _"What?"_ he half-bellows back, when he's stopped worrying that his heart's about to give out.

"You nearly knocked my _phone."_ Libbie dives for it furiously.

"Well, I was _trying_ to get to _mine"_ George replies indignantly. "Which is _substantially_ more important."

"What, so you and Ed Balls can have an argument before the argument?" Frances asks, carefully restoring Libbie's phone to her hands, while his daughter scowls and mutters something about "typical arrogance of the patriarchy."

George glares at his wife. "Thank you for your support, Frances" he says icily, before promptly dropping his own phone into his toast.

Luke snorts. Libbie just rolls her eyes. George ignores them, more focused on Balls' text, which has just come through.

_Looking forward to tomorrow?_

_Not as much as you, if you like losing. Which you must, given your leader._

_Like Cameron's a vote-winner._

_At an estimate, I'd say David will probably get more votes than Miliband._

_You two never drop the friendship bracelets thing, do you?_

_Camaraderie unheard of among the Shadow Cabinet?_

"It's so unfair Uncle David won't let Nancy have a mobile" Libbie mutters, fingers flying over the screen of her own. "It takes _years_ to talk to her."

George looks up briefly from his own phone to stare at her. "Why in _God's name_ would you need a mobile phone to contact _Nancy?_ She's on the other side of the _wall-"_

"Oh, that's brilliant, Dad" Libbie snorts, taking another bite of her own toast. "What am I meant to do, bang out this Haylor shade to her on the wall in Morse Code?"

George blinks at his daughter. "Sorry, did you just speak English?"

"Nancy probably already knows Morse Code, knowing her" Frances remarks, with a grin.

"Dad just remembers how he used to speak" mutters Luke, barely glancing up from his own phone.

"Look at the two of you" George mutters, taking another sip of his tea. "The two of you are stuck to those screens. It's like we've slipped into some Orwellian dystopia without anyone noticing-"

"Orwellian suggests people are watching us" Frances points out. "Whereas, in fact, today-"

She trails off at the sight of George making a grab for his own phone. "Sorry, urgent text-" At the silence that follows, he looks up slowly, only to find his wife watching him with an expression that suggests to George that he can get used to the couch for the next few nights. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Frances arches an eyebrow. "The definition of hypocrisy."

George rolls his eyes, eyes moving back to his phone. "You know, none of this is a very polite way to speak to the man who bought you those-oh, _shit."_

A text has just come through, and not from Balls. For the second time in under five minutes, George nearly falls out of his seat.

"What is it?" Frances asks, while Libbie's chewing slows and then stops entirely, her eyes suddenly wide and dark. Even Luke has looked up from his phone, his gaze suddenly sharp, watchful.

George looks round at them all, takes a deep breath. "Nothing. Nothing serious. It's just-a bit of a pain, that's all-" _That's one word for it._

He manages to sound light, amused, even, as he gets up from the table, with a gentle, reassuring chuck under Libbie's chin. "It's nothing serious" he says again, meeting Frances's eyes over their daughter's head. "I've just got to give Ed a call-"

He gives the kids a casual wave, and then heads for the hallway, where he has to ignore Balls' text that's just come through-something about _camaraderie in the Bullingdon Club_ , which is hardly up to their usual standards, anyway-in order to hit the call symbol by the name _Ed Llewellyn_ and hiss, with a hasty glance back at the kitchen door, "What the fuck do you _mean,_ they _shared a room?"_

* * *

 

Ed doesn't know how he's ended up on a private plane with David Cameron, but somehow, he has.

Llewellyn had suggested it with a smile and a glance between them when he'd heard that Ed also had an early speech, the sky only just lightening outside the windows. Ed hadn't dared to look at Cameron and hadn't been able to come up with a logical reason to say no-which is irritating, because of course, now all he can think of are all the reasons he should have said no.

Now, he's sitting here, face resting against a window, still trying not to think of the words he'd somehow ended up saying to Cameron last night.

_Best parts were with you-_

It was just the wine, he tells himself, teeth gritted.

It was _just the wine._

Of course it was-

Cameron's foot catches his. Ed glances up. Cameron's shuffling papers and his team are spilling away, so it's just him and Ed-

It's him and Cameron facing each other.

"Look-" Cameron's eyes are avoiding his own. "I know-it was awkward, this morning-"

"One word for it" is all Ed can manage to mutter.

Cameron sighs, and puffs out his cheeks-as if the act of breathing is beneath him, Ed tries to think uncharitably.

"Look-" Cameron's tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I know it was awkward. But we-"

Ed can't look at David, so he just stares at his knees.

"That's _all_ it was." Cameron seems to laugh, or tries to.

He laughs, and then moves, and Ed looks up to see Cameron moving to sit beside him.

It shouldn't make Ed feel suddenly warmer than usual-they've just spent-they've just spent the night on the-on the-

Ed can't even think the words without blushing, which is ridiculous, like some silly _schoolgirl._

"Look-"

"He _knows"_ Ed says, and his voice comes out as a fierce whisper. "Ed. He _knows."_

"Yeah, but that doesn't _mean_ anything-all we did was fall asleep." Cameron nudges Ed's arm as Ed presses his head against the glass. "Oh come on. You know we just fell asleep. So did Ed, he was just surprised-you're worrying about it more than anyone else, you know. It's not-a big _deal."_

Ed turns to look at him. "You're so.....calm."

Cameron shrugs. "Well....yes." He gives Ed a cautious smile. "It's just.....I suppose I don't really see the problem."

The truth is that Ed can't, either.

It _shouldn't_ be a problem.

It's not as though they-

Well.

Not as though they-

"I th-suppose" he manages to mutter, a little sulkily.

David elbows him. "Cheer up, Miliband."

Ed turns to stare at him. "You're useless at cheering people up."

Cameron laughs, and squeezes Ed's knee.

Wait-

Squeezes Ed's-

Ed feels colour flood his face. An odd, pleasant ripple goes through him at the squeeze of the hand.

But Ed can't-

He just-he just-

The only way for him to not laugh or wriggle or do something as embarrassing as _squeal_ , is to nudge David's leg hard with his own.

David's eyes crinkle, and then his dimples deepen, and then he just _smiles_ back.

That smile that's been there all weekend, that smile that feels almost achingly good, Ed feels crawl again over his mouth.

"You're smiling" David says with a grin.

Ed can't look at him, so he just manages to mutter, eyes fixed on the floor, "So are you."

He can sense Cameron's smile rather than see it, even as he turns away to look out of the window, knowing he's smiling as hard as Cameron is, and wondering if he should be annoyed by that or not.

* * *

 

If George didn't know better, he would swear that David had _deliberately_ chosen this day to be up in the bloody Midlands, not even getting a chance to ring before George gets to be eyeballed by Clegg for however long this takes in Dover House.

Which is currently what's occurring.

But then, if George didn't know better, he'd have laughed outright at the thought that David would have spent the night in a hotel room with _Ed Miliband._

God, it sounds even _worse_ like that.

"I don't _know"_ Ed- _their_ Ed-had been hissing down the phone like a lunatic, as though someone had a gun to his head. "All I know is that Dave tried to hide him in the bathroom."

George had taken a long, deep breath and counted slowly the number of years he's known David to prevent himself losing his mind and attempting to bend the laws of physics by trying to leap through the phone to throttle him.

"Hide him in the _bathroom?"_ George was _fairly_ certain his own voice didn't crack, then.

"Yeah." He could picture Ed's grimace. "Which I didn't mention. I mean, that would have been embarrassing for-well. All of us, really."

George had fought back the urge to throw the phone and instead lowered his voice even more. "Does he-know? That you-"

"He told me. So, yeah."

George had nodded, trying to hold onto those words.

David told him. David _told_ him.

So that meant there must be a simple explanation.

"Does anyone else know?" George had asked, listening to Libbie arguing with Frances over the state of the toast and bitterly wishing he'd never picked up the bloody phone.

"No. Apart from you, obviously. And probably his protection team, but you know what they're like. Discreet." Ed had hesitated. "Think we should tell anyone?"

George had reflected grimly that usually this would be the moment when he'd call David to discuss the issue. Unfortunately, David was apparently about to leave on a private plane and in any case, for once he might not be the most reliable viewpoint.

George had frowned, thought for a minute. David had told Ed-even if he'd tried to hide it, and George had cringed at the thought-he _did_ tell him. And Craig could be trusted.

"Yes" he'd said slowly. "But Craig. Only Craig. No-one else."

Now, looking at Nick, George wishes David's adventures with Miliband in Paris were the only thing on his mind.

_George is crossing the reddest of red lines-_

"Look-"

He hasn't spoken to Nick since then, and certainly not alone.

And he remembers Lynton's words, in the New Year.

_Good work. Exactly what we needed._

He glances up. "Look, I'll be straight with you" he says shortly. "I've heard what you and Danny are doing."

 _At least it's not in a hotel room,_ he thinks wryly, and then immediately wishes he could bleach out his skull.

It had been Rupert who pointed it out-"MacPherson was getting Alexander all interested in some bloody report from '79 about how Healy didn't do a massive Budget before the election-" and when George had stared silently at him, Rupert had sighed and said "You know what that means."

George had. His silence had simply been because he already knew who he was going to tackle about it.

Clegg, for that matter, tilts his head with a politely confused look. "What have we been doing?"

George's shoulders relax a little. This is why he chose Nick. Because Danny-

Danny's too open.

Too....easy.

(That should make it easier, but it doesn't.)

(Not at all.)

Now, though, he stares back at Nick, is gratified that Nick doesn't look away. "That you and Alexander don't want us-"

_Us, not me._

"To be able to deliver a proper Budget."

Clegg, to his credit, doesn't look unduly surprised. "That sounds like things have been exaggerated."

George resists the urge to roll his eyes. "So you are."

Nick doesn't look away from him. "If you're asking if we're trying to ruin your Budget-no."

He pauses. When George doesn't look away, he continues. "If you mean we're uncomfortable with the idea of you using the Budget as some sort of showpiece-yes."

George keeps his gaze fixed on Clegg's. "You being my party" he says slowly, "or you being me?"

Nick's eyes flicker away for a moment. "Both."

George nods slowly, then leans back.

_It'll be hard for them to go into coalition with Miliband-_

_Not fucking hard_ , Lynton had snorted. _Fucking impossible. You remember how Clegg saw him over Syria-_

_That was nearly two years ago-_

_Doesn't matter._ Lynton had snapped his fingers. _He doesn't trust Miliband, even now, and that's all we need._

"It's disappointing to hear that" George says carefully, knowing he sounds bored rather than disappointed, and careful to hold Clegg's gaze once again. "Since we were hoping that we could make the Budget give some advantages to both our parties."

Clegg doesn't say anything. George treads carefully.

"Of course, it may also help to put Labour on the back foot. Particularly with them aiming to take seats." He puts the slightest stress on the last two words.

Clegg doesn't look away, but his jaw tenses slightly.

George lets the silence drag on for a few moments, and then says, as if the thought's only just occurred to him, "Of course, if we were to go for a more novel Budget, David and I were thinking it might be best if the Lib Dems presented some of their own ideas in the House. Maybe allow Danny to make some of the announcements?" He tilts his head. "Of course, it's never been done before, but I'm sure we could work out the arrangements."

Clegg looks George straight in the eye. "You're talking about letting Danny present some of our policies?"

George keeps his voice carefully non-committal. "If you like." He stares at him. "But we'd have to be sure it was worth it. It's an unusual step."

 _And so it'll have to be an unusual Budget_ , hangs unspoken between them.

Clegg is silent for a moment, and then "I know where you're going with this."

George knows better than to feign innocence. He doesn't doubt that Clegg knows his tricks as well as he knows Clegg's.

"I know you want a showpiece Budget" Clegg says, eyes straight on George again.

George keeps his own expression carefully blank. "Who for?"

Clegg's brow creases the tiniest bit. George waits, triumph flickering in his chest a little.

"You" Clegg says, a little more slowly than before. "And your party."

George carefully averts his eyes. "Strange" he says, tracing a pen over one finger. "I thought of it more as for _our_ government."

Clegg stills across from him. George gives him a moment before he looks up.

Clegg's watching him. His eyes narrow a little. Something that could be a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, but not quite.

"Very seductive proposal." Clegg's voice is low and deliberate.

George wishes he hadn't used the word _seductive._ That just makes him flash back to the conversation with Ed.

And it shouldn't.

At the time, he hadn't even _thought_ of that, because-

George wants to laugh at the thought.

But then Clegg's eyes narrow and he wonders, perhaps too late, if Clegg mistook humour for mockery.

"Strange" Clegg says. _"Our_ government isn't always a priority. I mean, we've taken different paths before."

George wants to roll his eyes, but stops himself.

Clegg meets his gaze. "Like AV, for example."

Great. The bloody AV vote. Four years, and Clegg can't let it _go._

"In fact-" and Clegg's eyes narrow a little more. "Our priorities were different rather more recently, as I recall."

George resists the urge to point out that it would be very difficult _not_ to recall, given it would probably be more subtle for Nick to smack him round the head with it.

He waits a moment, Lynton's words ringing in his ears, and then folds his hands together. "So-" He summons a smile. "Take it you're not interested in Danny delivering a Budget, then?"

* * *

 

Craig leans against the wall, waiting for George to emerge from Clegg's office, either with a Budget or another way of fighting for a Budget. He's bored, just lifting his phone to check it, when it goes off in his hand and nearly gives him a heart attack.

"Jesus" he says, none too graciously to Ed, when he answers. "What the hell-I'll be up there in an hour, they're going to fly me-"

"Craig-" Ed's voice is hurried and low, almost as though he's bent over the phone _whispering_ , for heaven's sake. "Ah-George knows, but this-this just needs to stay between me and you."

Craig glances around. "Christ, what is it? Has Dave sprouted a second head or something?"

There's a short silence. "Just promise you're not going to yell."

Craig rolls his eyes. "No, Ed. I won't yell."

"OK." Ed takes a deep breath.

* * *

 

Nick opens his mouth, about to tell George just how badly his and David's plan is working, when from outside the office, there's a strange, high-pitched sound, almost like a strangled yell.

He looks up at George and frowns. "What the hell was that?"

George, brow clearing shrugs. "Don't know. Maybe Palmerston killed a cat."

Nick rolls his eyes, but George is already speaking again. "Anyway, Danny will be disappointed."

 _Not as disappointed as he will be if he loses his seat_ , Nick thinks grimly.

"Danny will understand" is what he says aloud. "Things aren't always easy. We have to put _our_ priorities first sometimes."

_Or never._

George's eyes flicker up. He leans forward a little. Nick has the odd thought that he could almost forget that this is his _own_ office, and his _own_ desk, that George is visiting _him_. He could almost think, that it was the other way round.

"I thought our priorities were rather similar, myself."

If Nick didn't know George as well as he does, he might describe the tone as _light._

"Particularly for the future." George glances away, as though casually, spinning a pen between his fingers. "Which I suppose we ought to be considering, especially with this Budget-"

 _Oh, you're considering, all right_ , Nick thinks darkly.

George glances up under his eyelashes. Nick doesn't need to try to remember the way George had shaken his hand when they'd first met after the negotiations, how Danny had shaken his head when Nick had asked him for his impressions of Osborne.

_I've met him before. We were at uni together, actually....And he's good. But he knows._

_Knows what?_

_What he's going to get out of something. The entire time he's talking, he already knows what he wants out of it. What he's going to get out of it._

Now, he looks back and says "We've forced you to drop some of your plans for cuts."

_And you took all the credit for it._

George, if he's surprised, doesn't show it.

"And your party has a completely different policy on Europe to us." Nick's voice is getting a little louder. "You're planning on a referendum."

"No" George says quickly. "Myself, personally-I'm opposed to a referendum."

Nick stares back. "But Cameron isn't." _And on this at least, you'll give him what he wants_.

George looks straight back at him. Nick returns the gaze. "You're against raising inheritance tax. You're far more supportive of grammar schools than we would ever be."

"We're not bringing more grammar schools in."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

Nick's fingers curl slowly over the edge of his desk. "That we don't have as many beliefs in common-"

_As I thought._

"As you like to think."

George stares back at him.

_As we thought we would._

Because they didn't know. They didn't know when they went into coalition,

(when _he_ took them into coalition)

they didn't know.

Before the protests. Before the smashed windows. Before Antonio's face, staring up as Nick tucked him into bed one night. _Dad, why are you the one everyone hates?_

They didn't know back then.

"That's not all." George's eyes have narrowed, dark, his voice suddenly certain.

"What?"

"Us being different. That's not all." George leans forward a little. "There's more you're worried about than that."

Nick grinds his teeth and reflects grimly that knowing each other's coalition partners a little too well isn't the sort of advantage that just one side gets to enjoy.

(Advantages that just one gets to enjoy might have been something else that they didn't know before going into coalition.)

(Or know enough, anyway.)

"Well" he says

(he's not sure how long they stare at each other for)

"It's not exactly your party that's facing an existential crisis, is it?"

George's brow arches. Nick glances down to see his fingers curling around his desk again.

Because to add to the list of things that he didn't know before he took them into coalition-he didn't know that he'd be wondering if there was a small but increasing possibility that their party might no longer be known as a party by the end of 2015.

"Nick." It's the first time today George has used his name. "Look, we know what you're facing at this election, all right?"

_We. Not I._

"And it's not just you-" George spreads his hands. "Look, everyone's necks are on the line here. If David and I lose, our heads are chopped. We're just as finished as you are." He raises his eyebrow, again. "Perhaps worse, actually."

For a moment, Nick's torn between screaming and laughing. Instead, he manages a "What?"

George shrugs. Nick's knuckles whiten. "I don't see either of _you_ worrying about your seats-"

He stops dead. George is looking at him with something horribly close to pity in his eyes.

"That's" George says slowly, "what I meant."

At this, Nick can't speak. He doesn't even know if he should try.

George, however, doesn't need prompting.

"If you lose your seat" he says, far too casually, "at least, it'll be over for you. Quick. Easy. Like ripping off a plaster."

He gestures to himself. "With us-"

Nick sometimes wonders if it's easier for George to say _us_ than _me._ "We'd have to stick around. On the backbenches for another five years. After being in government."

This time, Nick nearly does scream. He imagines, madly, for a moment, grabbing George by the shoulders and screaming in his face.

_Yes, but you've been there! That's the point, you've been there! You've been Prime Minister and Chancellor. Even if you go-_

_Even if you go, you've got something._

_And if I go-_

No seat. Tuition fees. Deputy Prime Minister.

Failure.

That's all he'd-

He doesn't want to look into George's eyes anymore, for fear of seeing this reflected back at him. So he glances down at his hands and concentrates for a long moment on tracing his fingers one by one.

"I hear what you're saying." It's his own voice he hears, too uncertain. Too wavering.

_Perhaps more, actually-_

"But the answer is the same." He looks up then, manages to smile. "No great giveaway Budget."

He leans forward. _"We-"_ He lets his eyes dart back and forth between himself and George. "Just need a steady-as-she-goes Budget with minimum content."

He smiles again. "That's what we need" he says.

_We. Not you._

Because Nick doesn't need any reminding that whatever George might say about having things in common, their parties fortunes' days of being tied together are long gone. Now that he thinks about it, they may never have really been there in the first place.

* * *

 

_Ready to console your Shadow Chancellor, Miliband?_

**_Is that a common scene for you after Budgets, Cameron?_ **

_No, those are the benefits of having someone up to the job as Chancellor._

**_Is that an attempt at sarcasm, Cameron?_ **

_You decide. Are you all right, by the way?_

**_Is that sarcasm?_ **

_I refer you to my previous answer._

**_Amusing. What did you mean?_ **

_After last night. You know. I wanted to check._

**_Yes, Cameron. I told you._ **

_I know. I was just checking._

**_Thanks._ **

_You're welcome. I just wanted to be certain._

**_I'm not that sensitive, Cameron._ **

_I'm aware._

**_Thank you._ **

_Once again, you're welcome._

**_Oh, shut up._ **

_Go to sleep._

**_You go to sleep._ **

_Night, Miliband._

**_Night, Cameron._ **

* * *

 

George opens his mouth, and is immediately elbowed by Craig.

He shoots him a furious look. Craig rolls his eyes and indicates David who, if he were facing them, would have to be blind not to notice the silent exchange.

"We'll handle it" Craig had hissed, gripping George by the shoulder as he deliberated over the kippers this morning. "While you're having it out with Balls. We don't need you distracted before that."

This was fine, in theory. But throughout the Quad and Cabinet meeting that morning, something about it had niggled uncomfortably in George's chest. He's not used to keeping secrets from David. He's certainly not used to keeping them from David with Craig and Ed.

As David turns to face them, Craig immediately pretends to be fascinated by his phone.

"Right." David claps his hands a little, drops in a chair opposite George. "All right for today?"

George feels Craig's hand squeeze his arm and smiles wryly. To anyone else, the gesture would look sympathetic, encouraging, even.

To him and, he knows, to David too, it looks like what it is-a warning.

David's eyes flicker only the tiniest bit, but it's enough for George to know the gesture hasn't escaped him. For the first time, he feels his shoulders relax.

He meets David's eyes, widens his own ever so slightly. "Yeah" he says, and knows that at least now, Craig's warning won't just be taken as such by him.

* * *

 

David's leaning back in his armchair, watching George with a grin as he listens to Labour scrabble desperately for an argument when Craig says "David-"

"You know." He says it, without even looking away from the screen, and has the satisfaction of seeing Craig's eyes widen a little, the same way he had when he'd told him about the letter.

(Craig had listened and then slapped him a high-five. _You don't even need to look at it. We'll put out a statement reiterating the same point we've made earlier, but that's all we can do-it's just good we got an advance warning of it, doesn't look like we've been caught off-guard-)_

On screen, George is sticking to the message well. "He has no intention of sticking to the £30 billion worth of cuts-he doesn't want to do that, he wants to spend and borrow more-"

"What do I know?" Craig's voice is too careful and David turns to look at him with a grin.

"What _do_ you know?" he manages, but he remembers the slight widening of George's eyes, the warning squeeze of the arm.

There's silence for a few moments, and then Craig says very quietly "What were you thinking?"

David keeps his eyes on the screen. "Did the wine part of the anecdote get censored?"

"David-" Craig leans forward this time. "This could have brought us _down-"_

At _this_ , David almost bursts out laughing.

On screen, George is grinning across the chamber at Caroline, saying "Now, I will give way to the Green Party member-we want her and her colleagues in these TV debates, because-"

"Brought _us_ down-"

"At least the Green Party is being straight about the fact they want to-"

"We _fell asleep_ , for God's sake-"

"Borrow more money, spend more money-why doesn't the _Labour_ Party tell the truth about that-"

Craig, to David's surprise, doesn't explode. Instead, he stares at David for a long moment. "The party" he says slowly, "isn't what I meant."

David stares back. "Oh, for-we _fell asleep"_ he says, because that's _all_ it was, and-

(he shoves that moment in the shower away because that doesn't count, and it meant absolutely nothing)

"We fell asleep-both of us-God, Blair and Brown had a weirder relationship-"

"Blair and Brown were _friends-"_

David only arches an eyebrow to that. After a moment, even Craig looks away, mouth quirking suspiciously. "OK. Maybe not _good_ friends."

For a moment, David thinks that Craig's going to laugh, that they're both going to laugh, but then, as quickly as it appeared, the hint of a grin curls away from Craig's mouth and his eyes narrow again. "But people didn't know how bad things really were between them. Campbell saw to that. And this is different."

_"How?"_

Craig levels him with a stare. "Did Blair and Brown ever get caught in a hotel room together?"

David rolls his eyes. "Oh, for God's _sake_ -we weren't _caught in a hotel room together_ -that makes it sound-"

He falters.

"That makes it-"

Different.

More.

_Wrong._

A problem.

"We just fell asleep" he says, a little quieter than he means to. "Him as much as me-"

"I didn't mean just you-" Craig says, more quietly still.

On screen, Balls is yelling about something, despite the fact that Labour are _supporting_ the bloody Bill, of all things-

"Look, we haven't told Lynton-"

David's head snaps up. "We can't tell bloody _Lynton_. If _Lynton_ finds out-"

All he can picture is them having to call an ambulance because Lynton's lying on the floor, stabbing a toy koala with his glasses, choking on screaming obscenities.

Craig takes in a breath. "I know. But-" He swallows. "It's just-we've got to think of the next few months."

Right then, of course, the words _"hand-in-hand with the Tories"_ echo from the TV.

David winces. So does Craig.

They glance at each other. David sighs. "Right. Look, I told Ed-" Craig's eyes narrow. _"Our_ Ed-I told him that it wouldn't happen again. We all had breakfast together. It was fine."

Craig's brow furrows. "I-look. Look. Things are going to be different-"

"I know."

"You know that."

 _"Yes."_ David tries very hard not to snap, focuses instead on the way Balls is stammering.

Craig nods. "Good. I just wanted to check. That everyone knows where they stand."

David almost snorts. _Where we stand?_

Miliband's words in that restaurant on Sunday night. _This. Us. How does this work? How do-_

Craig nods again. "And no one else can know."

David, who'd been taking in the sight of Ken denigrating Balls on screen, feels his head snap round for the second time. "What do you mean?"

"What?"

 _"No one else can know."_ David is suddenly tense, his thoughts racing. "Who else knows?"

"No one apart from us. And George."

_"George?!"_

Craig winces. "Only him. Ed phoned him from Paris-"

"From _Paris?"_

Craig winces again. "He wanted to tell you. I just didn't want him to have a huge argument right before-"

"Me and George don't argue." David brushes that away easily-he knows that as well as he knows George, as well as he knows his own heartbeat. "I'm just-surprised, that's all."

He turns to stare at George on the screen, feeling a wave of affection squeeze his chest. Balls is glancing across the dispatch box, saying, almost too quickly to be heard "Should have let that one in, George." David can picture the grin on George's face.

"Who else knows?" he asks, watching Balls fall apart-

suddenly-

-without really seeing it.

Because suddenly, all he can think of is Miliband-

-and the look on his face if anyone found out

-and the way his fingers thread together nervously-

(and the sharpness of his spine under David's hands)

(oh God, no, he'd forgotten that part, oh God)

Oh God, Miliband will fall apart if anyone finds out.

He blinks, the thought gripping tight, and when Craig says "No one else. Just us", the relief that sinks into his shoulders is a little too great.

When they watch George lean over the box, saying "He should try using his _piano_ fingers- _1, 2, 3-",_ they both laugh a little too hard. David wonders if George has ever so much as contemplated falling asleep on a bed with Balls, and then, with more consternation, if he would ever have contemplated sleeping on a bed with Miliband until two nights ago.

* * *

 

Night is falling, which makes the electric lights of Portcullis House seem brighter than ever. George is sitting, perched on the edge of the white marble, idly watching the water, when he spots David coming towards him, carrying two polystyrene cups.

David sits down next to him and grins, protection officers hovering a polite distance away. George sighs. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Craig ambushing you." Off David's look, he frowns. "Wait-he-"

David grins and George rolls his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

David laughs and George elbows him. "Did he talk to you after my speech?"

 _"During_ your speech." David nudges him gently. George catches a glimpse of his hands, smeared with tell-tale blue Sharpie ink-he's been working on PMQs. "Don't worry. We still saw all your finest moments."

George lets his gaze wander to the water again.

"What do you want to ask?" David glances at him.

George takes a breath, and then reaches for David's arm with his other hand. "That's all it was." It isn't a question.

"All what was?"

George meets his eyes, then. "You fell asleep together" he says, baldly. "You know how that looks."

David looks back at him. "Well, you know that I know."

George shakes his head. "It's just-"

_Just._

It's different.

That's what it is.

Different.

The way David and Miliband are with each other-

"It's unusual" is what he says, instead. "I don't mean for us. Or the party. I mean-it might make things worse for you."

David stares at him, before slowly passing him one of the two plastic cups he's carrying. George's hands wrap around it, grateful for the warmth.

"Tea-"

"Thanks."

"We talked about it." David says it quickly. "We made a deal."

George freezes. He takes a deep breath, forces himself to look round at David. "What kind of deal?" he says, very carefully, very slowly.

"Just an agreement." David takes a sip from his own cup. "That if we can warn each other before the personal attacks, it might make things easier."

"Or harder." George looks him straight in the eye. "It might make things harder."

"Why?"

George doesn't look away. "Because you like him" he says, and it's only now that he's saying the words that he realises how true they are. "And he likes you."

Sometimes, when he's watching them at PMQs, George can't decide if the reason David and Miliband argue so much, yet can't seem to keep away from each other is because they're similar or because they're different. But what he does know, is that he can see the way Miliband is prone to sulking when he doesn't get his own way, the way he's as happy to duck and dodge as David is, and oddly, wonders if that makes him and David enjoy their arguments even more.

Now, colour slowly creeps into David's cheeks. He didn't deny the words this time, George notices.

"You like Balls" David says, with what only George would notice is an effort. "And he likes you."

"It's different, though, isn't it?"

David's jaw tenses. George decides not to push it.

"All right" he says, taking a cautious gulp of tea. "Just be careful, OK?"

David is, uncharacteristically, silent for a moment. Then, "What about?"

_Being so-_

"Deals" George says, leaning back as heels click past on the polished tiled floors, and some familiar faces appear on the spiralling staircases-Portcullis House often reminds George of an airport, somehow. "They can go wrong. Remember Blair and Brown?"

To his surprise, a grin dents dimples in David's cheeks. "That's what he said."

"Who, what, when?" George tilts his head to take in the rest of the room.

"Miliband." David's grinning. "When I mentioned a deal. He said we should be at Granita."

George stares at him. David frowns. "What?"

George shakes his head. "You do" he says, mostly to himself. "Really like him."

The colour returns to David's cheeks. George feels his eyes narrow. But then there's a tap on his shoulder and George looks up to see William next to them. "Doorkeepers might be about to lose their cloaks. As will Bercow if the Prime Minister and Chancellor don't turn up for a vote on the Chancellor's bill-"

As if on cue, the division bell rings, long and loud, making everyone jump. George and David both get up a little too quickly, as though they've been caught discussing state secrets-which only serves to make George feel even more rattled, because David's feelings towards Miliband should not ever even remotely resemble something that needs to be considered a state secret.

* * *

 

Stewart nudges his arm. "Ed, are you OK?"

Ed jumps. "Oh-yeah-"

Justine peers at his hands. "What's that?"

Ed blinks a few times, jerking himself out of his daze. "Nothing-"

Justine's hand brushes his and Ed's fingers curl quickly into his palm before he can stop himself. His hand jerks away, and he quickly scratches his head, carefully avoiding her eyes as he takes in the blue streaks across his palm.

It hadn't been his intention to bump into Cameron on the way to the voting lobbies, but when he'd heard Cameron's voice-"Miliband?"-Ed had fallen into step beside him. "Hi-"

For some reason, it had been difficult to meet Cameron's eyes. The last two days had been full of suddenly remembering something and then dragging his mind away.

Pressing his hand up to Cameron's cheek.

Cameron's leg pressed against his.

Cameron's hand over his-

It's _fine._

That's what Ed's been telling himself, over and over again. It's fine. It's completely normal.

He's probably squeezed Balls's hand before. And Sadiq's. And Douglas's.

Of course he has.

It doesn't _matter._

But every time he thinks about it, even as he wrenches his mind away, something shivers, like a warm drop of water suddenly sliding down his back. An odd shudder that leaves him feeling flushed and oddly fidgety, unable to concentrate properly.

But then, he'd suddenly found himself sneaking another glance at Cameron, only to feel a tap on the shoulder.

"Hello, I'm George, the person standing next to you."

Cameron had rolled his eyes. Ed had felt the heat rush to his cheeks, only just managing to do the same.

"You're being childish" Cameron had muttered to Osborne.

"You're the one who talked about sitting on a lemur."

Ed had glanced at them, confused. "What?"

Cameron had shaken his head, and Ed had felt a stab at what was clearly an inside joke. Something that wasn't exactly _jealousy_ , but-

"Anyway, you've managed to get that all over you-" Ed had looked up as they reached the door of the voting lobby to see Osborne tugging at Cameron's hand.

Cameron had grimaced. "Well, the Sharpie nearly bloody exploded all over me-"

"And all over the Plastic Fantastic, probably." Osborne had rolled his eyes.

Cameron had been grimacing, even as all three of them were jostled as more and more crowded into the chamber. "Oh, shut up. And don't bring up lemurs again."

Osborne had grinned, dark hair a little rumpled. Cameron had given Ed a rueful grin and extended his hands. Ed had returned it at the sight of them, smeared with blue ink. A pang of something like fondness had hit him hard in the chest.

Ed had blinked and cursed himself. _It's fine. It's fine, it's fine, it's fine-_

Cameron had still been holding his hands out and Ed had reached before he could stop himself.

But that was fine, and to prove it, he hadn't stopped, just rubbed his own hand across Cameron's and said, a little more brusquely than usual, avoiding Cameron's eyes, "How did you _do_ that, anyway?"

Cameron had immediately launched into the story, even as one of the Doorkeepers' cries of _"Locking-"_ had rung out across the lobby. Ed had kept his eyes very firmly on Cameron's blue-tinged skin, tried to ignore the way his heartbeat was suddenly rapid and the fact he could feel Osborne's gaze resting a little too heavily on his face.

Now, Ed tries to smile, even as he folds his fingers over, carefully hiding the blue ink, like a child who's been caught playing with matches.

"Right." Tom leans forward, arms folded. "I've spoken to the BBC. Robinson would be the one doing the interview, obviously. We just need to decide what angle we're doing this from."

Tom looks between them all, a sharp, taut look-the kind Tom only wears when he wants them to agree to something. Ed wishes he could just say "What?" but that isn't helpful. It's not helpful at all.

So instead, he just sits there, and waits, and then Tom says "You know we want to put the emphasis on you as a family man."

"Makes it more relatable" Lucy says, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Something people can identify with-we're hoping to shoot some of it in a park-perhaps one you guys go to-" She looks at them hopefully. "It'll look more natural if the kids are familiar with it."

More natural.

Justine's already turning to look at him, eyes widening a little at the suggestion. "We go to Parliament Hill a lot" she offers, looking at Ed for confirmation. "Hampstead Heath-"

Ed nods, and so does Stewart, but Tom doesn't look convinced, and neither does Bob.

"Thing is" Bob says slowly. "That could be used to play into the whole Hampstead socialist image. You know, a _one of the North London elite_ kind of thing-"

Ed feels himself frown. "But that's _Cameron"_ he says, because Cameron's politics scream elitism, putting the rich first, of _course_ they do, and people will see that, they _have_ to-"That's not _me."_

The silence lasts just a breath too long. Tom and Greg glance at each other.

It's Stewart who says "Of course. But you know how the Tories are going to play this-"

"It'll be bad" Bob advises him, scribbling down something. "It'll be open season on you-you saw what they did with the tax avoidance thing-"

Ed feels his jaw tense, because _that-that_ wasn't-

"Right" Justine's saying, nodding, and then Lucy's saying "So, perhaps just a smaller park-there'll be a few local ones, whichever others you've taken them to before-"

"Right-" Ed takes the boys to Parliament Hill when he takes them at all. He turns to Justine, already knowing that she'll be as clueless on this as he is.

"We can ask" Justine says immediately, with a shrug, as though this is no small concern. "Our nanny-" She's telling the others her name now, and explaining. "We'll ask her for a few of the places she takes the boys-she gets them after school, you see-"

The others are nodding, this detail clearly already slipping through their fingers, and then Bob looks at her with a smile. "Now, Justine. We were thinking, if it's not too much trouble, we'd like you to do an interview."

Ed blinks. "An interview?"

Bob nods. "You know-I mean, obviously, we'd go through it all beforehand-I mean, the BBC thing will be in amongst a couple of other clips-we'll want to see Haverstock, that kind of thing, remind everyone where Ed comes from-and maybe a few clips at home-"

"At home?" Ed lifts his head sharply, even though he's not entirely sure why panic is fluttering suddenly in his chest. He glances around, taking in the tablecloth, the odd, brightly-coloured plastic-like chairs-Justine had bought them, saying they were functional, and Ed had barely even glanced at them at first, and by the time he had, it was too late to do anything about it-, and the coffee machine he'd bought Justine a couple of birthdays ago, which he'd grabbed online, panic-stricken at the last minute for something that Justine might like at all, and she'd told him yes, thank you very much, with a kiss on the cheek. Now, he looks round at them all, trying to see them as they might appear through a camera lens.

"Well, when ITV do their shows, they'll be filming in leaders' houses" Stewart says a little more gently. "So this would be a kind of test run."

Ed can't think of any reason to object to this, which annoys him for some reason, so he just says "The interview."

Bob brightens immediately. "Right. The interview. Cameron will probably talk with his wife there, so we were thinking of having it be just Justine and Robinson. Not in a studio-in a coffee shop, or something-"

"Looks casual" Tom says. "But it gives Justine an independent edge."

"The Tories will want to use SamCam" Lucy tells them. "Like they did last time. This'll help to neutralise it a bit-make it look as if she's not as independent as Justine-"

"SamCam is loyal to Cameron" Bob cuts in. "We can turn that around-we thought Justine could maybe talk about Leveson, that kind of thing-"

"Sure" Justine's saying, nodding as she tucks her hair behind her ears.

"That'll get you looking good-standing up for the little people, all that kind of thing-and it'll make Justine look better. You know, working mother kind of thing-"

"And it'll make Cameron look that bit more pathetic if his wife can't speak on her own" Tom interrupts, and something unpleasant curls down Ed's spine. "If it looks as though he's just crouching behind SamCam-"

"That's not her name."

Bob frowns and looks up. "What?"

Ed swallows nervously. "That's not her name. SamCam. That's not her name." His fingers drum back and forth on the table. "Her name's Samantha."

Ed's team stare at him for a few moments. He can feel Justine's gaze on his face, but deliberately doesn't look at her.

Bob shrugs. "Fine. It'll look like he's hiding behind _Samantha."_ He puts the slightest stress on her name.

Ed's fingers, still smeared with blue, curl over the edge of the table.

Is this personal? Is it an attack? Is it a _hint_ of an attack?

 _It's an unfair hint_, rears suddenly, sharply in Ed's mind.

"We shouldn't bring Samantha into it" he says, a little more loudly than he means to. "It's not about her."

This time, Tom's eyes bulge but before he can open his mouth, there's a suspicious, thudding sound from under the table, and he winces.

"I mean-" Ed glances at Justine. "I'd hate it. If it was Justine."

Justine squeezes his hand. Ed smiles weakly, feeling horrible.

"Look-" Bob holds out a placating hand. "We're not going to be attacking Samantha. That's not what we're planning. At all."

Ed nods, then nods again. "Just so long as-"

"Yeah, obviously" Bob says, waving this away now it's been dealt with. "But the interview. You up for that, Justine?"

"Yeah-" Justine's nodding, with a glance at Ed. "If you're all right with that, darling?"

Justine always comes out with _darling_ in front of other people-as though she thinks they might judge them an Invalid Couple if they don't hear it enough times.

"Yeah, yeah-"

But Bob's leaning forward, the way he always does when he's about to make a difficult point. "But the thing is-we really need to ram home the family message. Your-"

Ed notices Lucy avoiding his eyes, taking a careful sip of her tea.

"Your poll ratings-" Bob says delicately. "We need to get them up. And the family-well, the family can be one way to do that."

Ed looks round at them all slowly.

Bob holds out a hand. "Now we're not asking you to do anything with the kids you wouldn't be comfortable with." He gives Ed and Justine a quick, reassuring smile. "Obviously."

Stewart, sitting between them, gives exactly the same smile. "Obviously."

Lucy nods. "Obviously. Of course. _Obviously."_

Ed wonders how much more obviously it could be. Even Tom's smiling, though it looks rather painful.

"But-people see you walking with the boys in the park-" Stewart says encouragingly. "Could make you relatable. Definitely help with the women vote-"

"So-" Ed glances at the door automatically, though the boys have been asleep since before he got home. "You'd want to see them?"

Bob nods a little too eagerly. "And just hear them talking. That kind of thing. It'll look good."

Ed glances at Justine. "What do you think?"

He's not entirely sure why he looks at Justine. He already knows what she'll say.

"I think it's a good idea" she says, living up to Ed's expectations.

 _Or down to them_ , he thinks before he can stop himself, and then frowns.

"I mean-" She glances at Bob. "If the whole aim is to look- _relatable-"_

She doesn't say normal, but Ed knows everyone thinks it.

"Then it might look-a little less-have less impact, you know, without them-"

"Yeah." Ed has no idea why he says this. He's already wondering how they're going to get the boys to smile for longer than the Christmas photo.

"And it seemed to work quite well on the beach last time" Justine's saying, and Ed can suddenly remember that almost a little too well.

They'd been standing there, in a carefully chosen playground on the Brighton seafront-Bob had scouted the area beforehand, checked it didn't look too exclusive-and he'd been standing there, watching Daniel peer through a pair of binoculars, not too aware yet of the cameras inching closer and closer to them. _Get him distracted_ , Tom had said. _Get a bit of dialogue going-interaction will look more natural to voters-_

 _What can you see, sweetie?_ he'd said- _Sweetie_ had been a term of endearment Bob had suggested saying he used years ago, and he'd got into the habit of using it to the boys, as though even then he'd known they'd need to be filmed one day-aware of the camera coming up closer to his son, of what a good shot it would be.

 _I can see-_ Daniel had said, a little brighter than Ed had been expecting-he'd just started school at the time, and Ed had wondered about taking him to Brighton so soon afterwards, but Justine had said it would be good for him to see the difference Ed was making, and with whispers about poll ratings, Ed had given in.

 _(Secret weapon,_ Tom had said with a wink, as they tried to push Daniel's hands into each of theirs', for the first shot heading down the boardwalk-they'd been swinging him, at Bob's suggestion, rehearsing the chant _One, two, three_ a few times beforehand, so they could be sure to get it right, make it look as if you do it a lot-)

(Ed had laughed, he thinks. He thinks he laughed.)

 _What can you see?_ he'd asked, prompting, aware that the cameras would be zooming in-he could see Justine on the other side of the climbing frame, lifting Sam for the cameras. _Here you are, go up to Daniel, by Daniel-_ pointing at the cameraman standing next to them, snapping pictures every few seconds.

 _What can you see?_ he'd asked, as Justine pushed Sam onto the boards. _Are you up?_ She'd let go of him a little too soon, so he'd had to pull himself the rest of the way.

 _People,_ Daniel had said at one point, but then suddenly, he'd said _All done_ , deciding to cease being co-operative.

Sam had been saying, in what was still mostly just baby babble, _Mummy cam-ra-_

His face had been creased in confusion and the cameraman had been laughing as Justine said _Well, yes-_ and, too aware of the cameras on his own face, he'd said quickly, to cover Sam's look, _I think there might be pirates._

This had got Daniel's attention a little, but he'd already been turning towards Sam, who was alone by the edge now. _Yo ho ho_ , he'd blurted out a little suddenly, but he'd been putting his hands up to the climbing frame's tiny roof now, glancing at his little brother and Ed had suddenly realised that Sam had been crouching, scared, and that Justine had already walked away, and Daniel was watching him worriedly.

 _Yo ho ho_ he'd blurted out himself, trying not to wince at the inane chant, and then Daniel had turned to his younger brother, who had looked up at him with big, dark eyes. _Yo ho, ho ho_ he'd said encouragingly, looking away from his parents, so that his brother looked away from the drop towards him.

And then Justine had been there, walking round towards him in that red coat- _Something red_ , Tom had said. _Works better, fits in with the Labour colours_ -tilting her face up to the little climbing frame. _So, no pirates, Daniel?_ The words had been a little too loud, a little too bright.

Ed had looked at Daniel, keenly aware of the cameras over their shoulder, but Daniel had just stayed silent, angled towards Sam, who was cautiously moving now towards his brother-Ed had wondered briefly if Justine should have left him alone round there by the drop, but then there was a camera there, pressed right up to their son's face, and Daniel still wasn't co-operating.

 _He's seen the pirates_ , Ed had said quickly, and Daniel had been looking away from them then, touching Sam's shoulder. _You up_ he'd been saying gently, even as Justine said, brighter still, _Do you know, I think I spotted Cutthroat Jake._

 _Did you?_ Ed had said it in the same overbright tone, hoping to attract their sons' attention.

 _Yeah,_ and Ed had known from the way Justine pushed her hair back that she was willing Sam to quieten down, as she said in an undertone to him _Look, over there_ and pointed towards where Ed couldn't see Cutthroat Jake, but _could_ see the black lens of a camera.

Sam had sounded scared. _Where's my_ -something that sounded like _house_ , but they couldn't encourage him, they needed him to smile-

 _Sam, can you see Cutthroat Jake?_ Justine had fixed her gaze on their younger son, who'd been crouched down in his little black coat, dark curls blowing a little in the breeze coming off the sea.

 _No_ Sam had said, still crouched down, even as Justine pointed up to the binoculars, but it was Daniel Ed watched then, even as Justine said _Have a look out of there_ , her eyes snapping quickly to the cameramen, the cameras waiting hungrily for the shots they needed, of the boys smiling, laughing-not even that, for God's sake, just looking like kids-

 _It's not much to ask_ , had reared sharply in Ed's head, then.

 _Come on, _Justine had said then, and Ed could hear the bite of irritation creep into her voice, the way it did on Daniel's first day a couple of weeks earlier, when he'd tried to slide behind her legs, fingers curling into her trousers, and she'd been peeling him loose. _Go on, go and play-go on-_

But it had been Daniel he'd seen, and suddenly, not wanting to look at any of them anymore, Ed had been looking away, casting his eyes about for something, anything else, away from Daniel's hand touching Sam's shoulder comfortingly, glaring at the cameraman, gently tilting Sam away from the camera, so that the lens couldn't get a shot of his little brother's face.

 _Now, who's-wants to go on that slide?_ , he'd said, and Justine had turned to stare at him, a frown creasing her brow.

 _Look-_ She'd been gesturing towards the camera, but Daniel had been turning round, attention already grabbed by the mention of a slide, and Sam had been peering, following his brother's gaze, and Ed had said again, almost a little defiantly, ignoring Justine, _Who wants to go down that slide?_

And then Daniel's little voice had been between them, saying _Oh-yes, please-_ and Ed had repeated it, almost to reassure himself- _Do you want to go on the slide?-_ and so Justine had had no choice but to grab one hand as Ed reached for the other and Sam crawled after him, because that was a shot, at least, and that was what mattered.

Now, Ed looks at Justine and thinks of her voice _Hey, look, chaps_ on the beach afterwards, while Daniel had wriggled, picking up stones and throwing them, and Sam just hadn't been _looking-_

(He tries not to think about the moment at the top of the slide, which he'd tried not to think about even then.)

"Especially if it's explained to them" Justine's saying now. "I mean, they quite like leafleting-"

Ed's never been leafleting with the kids, actually, but Justine always says they like it, and if it helps-

Ed remembers being little, a bit older than Daniel, when Dad was talking with his friends. He used to sit on the stairs, bannisters digging into his cheeks, his fingers curled around the spokes. Dad had been talking and David had gone out to play football in the garden, even after everyone had said hello to him and asked how he was doing in school.

Ed had sat there, trying to listen to what Dad was saying, because what Dad was saying was very important. Dad always said that when Ed asked him about it-he was talking about socialism, which was about making things better for people, and that was important, which was why Dad had to go away and talk all the time.

His nanny had tapped his shoulder and Ed had got up slowly, trying to catch a few words, wishing he could go in and show Dad how much he knew about it, how he'd been taking some of Dad's books off the shelves and trying to read bits, so that he could help, because then Dad would want him to sit in there with him and help make a difference.

Now, Ed stares down at the table, curls his hands around his mug. "Yes" he says, and then he looks up at them all. "Yeah, we'll explain it to them."

And they'll want to do it, once they understand. It's making a difference. And that's what's important.

He stares into his mug for a moment and sees his own hand, far smaller, seized in a nanny's-he can't remember which one-tugging him up the stairs, even as he craned his neck back, struggling to catch the last few words in his father's voice, drifting out of the door.

He sees that and then he sees his own son's hand, perched gently on his little brother's shoulder, turning him away from the camera lens, hiding his face, keeping him safe.

_They'll do it. Once they understand._

* * *

 

"So, nothing new to tell us about how you're failing to coup your glorious leader?"

Ed snorts, glares at Osborne over his drink. "Not familiar with the concept of loyalty to your leader?" he remarks, without much feeling-if there was any more loyalty towards Cameron from Osborne, it would be almost obsequious. But Ed has to admit, reluctantly, that the whole best friends act doesn't exactly ring false, no matter whether or not that falls under the heading of loyalty to the glorious leader.

He glances at his phone, sees Miliband's name on the screen, loyalty still ringing in his head.

"That little _shit."_

Maybe loyalty was negotiable.

"What?" Ed hadn't counted on Osborne being so quick-he's already diving round to get a glimpse of the screen. Ed doesn't fight as hard as he would have if it had been hugely important, but he still wrenches the phone away from Osborne before he can get more than a quick glimpse.

"Miliband doesn't want you to sit next to him?" Osborne asks, with a grin. "Would have thought you'd be cheering at that, Balls-"

"Oh, shut up." Ed shoves the phone back in his pocket, immediately wishing he'd not shown Osborne the message at all.

"Hey." Osborne elbows him. "How many people will be sitting on the frontbench, then? You could use your piano fingers-"

Ed slugs him in the arm. George elbows him back. "That vitriol come in handy when you were getting Blair out of office, too? Not that we blamed you, you did us a favour-giving us Brown-"

"Oi." Ed gives Osborne the look reserved for when he goes too far with the Brown jibes, which Osborne usually respects.

"Anyway." George takes another sip of his drink. "At this rate, I'll find myself sitting next to Miliband before long."

Ed snorts. "How'd you work that one out?"

George clinks their glasses together. "Have you-ah-heard from Miliband? He got back yesterday-"

"We had a Shadow Cabinet meeting this morning-"

"Copying our Cabinet meeting times-"

"Oh, shut up-back from where, anyway? He came back from Paris on Sunday-"

It's only thanks to Ed knowing Osborne so well, that he notices him freeze. "Ah-"

Ed waits, and then turns slowly to face him. "What do you mean?"

George stares at his drink for a moment, during which Ed can almost hear the gears in his brain whirring, and then looks up sharply. "He didn't tell you?"

Ed blinks. "He didn't tell _anyone"_ he says, hearing his voice grow, louder and louder, the way he's got used to over the years. "So we wouldn't know where he's been, because he hasn't told anyone he was going or staying _anywhere."_

He stops dead, aware suddenly that they're attracting attention. That _he's_ attracting attention. The Strangers' Bar is quiet this time of night, but the few of their colleagues who are in here are looking up, Tapsell's brow wrinkling in confusion.

Ed takes a deep breath, then another. He swallows, already going back in his head to the tricks he's taught himself over the years, when he feels the stutter rising back into his voice. He can feel Osborne's gaze on him, suddenly intense, watchful.

"Hey", and a hand awkwardly fumbles itself onto Ed's shoulder. "Um-are you feeling-"

Ed jerks away, cursing himself a second later. "I'm fine" he manages to snap out. He lowers his head, taking a deep breath, getting his breathing under control. Osborne is silent at his side, but he doesn't get up and walk away, which, Ed has to conclude reluctantly, probably means that Osborne's a better man than him.

"Sorry" he manages, a little louder than he intends, and then grabs Osborne's arm a little too tightly. "Sorry", the way he's had to say a few times over the years.

Osborne's dark eyes meet his own. "It's fine" he says, far too nicely. "All right?"

Ed winces at the absence of a pre-empting _Are you-Are you all right?-_ a sign that Osborne is treading carefully, when he shouldn't have to.

"Yeah" he says, once he's sure he's able to speak clearly. "Fine. Thanks." Another pause, before he manages "Staying where?"

When he meets Osborne's gaze, the other man's brow is creased, eyes narrowed. "Paris" he says slowly. "He and David both went."

"Yeah, I know that, but _stayed-"_

"Well-they both stayed overnight. At the Elysees. Came back yesterday."

Ed is silent for a long moment. Then _"What?"_

He only just manages to stop himself from thumping the bar. (He manages it by reminding himself how it will feel if some hack's sneaked in and he has to listen to Brown comparisons for the next three years.) As it is, it takes some considerable effort to lower his voice to a fierce whisper. _"What?"_

Osborne's staring at him. "Didn't he tell you?"

"We knew he'd gone to _Paris._ To join the rally. Well-" Ed shrugs. "Think they kept it from Tom as long as possible. But we knew _that._ He didn't tell us he'd _stayed_ there. And he _didn't_ tell us he'd met up with fucking _Cameron."_

For some reason, Osborne winces, but right now Ed's too busy fuming to dwell on it. "God, does he know how that _looks-_ do _they_ know how that looks-"

Osborne doesn't confirm or deny. Instead, he just shakes his head and takes a long gulp of his own drink. "I agree" he says finally, pressing both hands to his cheeks and blinking hard. "If it got out, it would look awful." He glances at Ed. "For both sides-"

Ed snorts. "Don't worry, Osborne. I'm not going to go running to the press with it."

George gives him a hint of a grin. Ed returns it for a second before he says "But, seriously, what do you mean? They met up or-"

George takes a deep breath, meets his eyes. "As far as I know? They met up. Had a couple of conversations. Maybe a dinner-"

"A _dinner-"_ Ed takes a deep breath, forces himself to rein it in. "Is that all?" he asks, without looking away, studying Osborne's face for any sign of blinking or avoiding Ed's gaze.

George doesn't look away from him. "Yes" he says. "That's all."

Ed eyeballs him for another moment, then looks away. "You're worried, too" he says, mostly to the bar. "Otherwise you wouldn't be telling me."

He senses rather than sees George's shrug. "Is that so?"

Ed's mouth twitches a little. "Do you think there's something to be worried about?"

He can feel George's gaze on his face but the other man doesn't speak until Ed looks up to meet it.

"I think it could be pretty detrimental for both sides if they feel too close to attack each other" he says, slowly. "It could be as damaging as two people on the same side constantly disagreeing."

Ed lets Osborne know what he thinks of this hint with one look.

"Deal with your own Awkward Squad. So" he says, once Osborne's stopped smirking, "what would you do about it?"

"What do you mean, do about it?"

Ed glances at him. "Well, you were giving your opinion" he says carefully. "What would you suggest? A way of them spending less time together-"

George's head snaps up. "I'm not doing that" he says, all pretence of the hypothetical gone from his voice. "They _like_ spending time together. It would just have a detrimental effect on them both. I'm not going to come between them-"

Ed splutters, unsure if he's laughing or not. "Come _between_ them? They're not a-a-"

He falls silent, unable to precisely articulate what they're not.

(Unable to _bring_ himself to-?)

"Keeping them apart wouldn't do any good" Osborne says, after a moment. "Wouldn't do any good at all. For either of them."

Ed's silent, mainly because he hates to tell Osborne he's right.

"You know this isn't all one way."

Ed looks up, then. "It would be easier if it _was"_ he manages. "On either side."

He's thinking of more than just this-whatever it is. The way their eyes meet across the dispatch box, the way Miliband's brow furrows when people just won't see things his way. The way he can slide down sulkily in his chair, arms folded across his chest, pouting, when he suspects he's being diverted away from his _vision_ , which is such a poncey term Ed has a hard time not guffawing whenever it comes up.

They might like to give the impression that Cameron's a spoilt brat, but Miliband makes it pretty hard not to throw around the old glass houses line sometimes, and Ed's on his _side._

Maybe that's why Miliband hates it when Cameron beats him so much.

Maybe that's why they _like_ arguing so much-

He laughs, then, suddenly. "Are we making too much of this?" He pushes his glass away, lowers his voice. "Is this really something we need to-"

_Need to-?_

George's voice is low. "I don't think-" he starts, and then-"It's unusual."

"Yeah. That doesn't mean good."

"No. Doesn't mean bad, either."

Ed gives him a quick look. "I've known Miliband for nearly twenty years" he says, quietly. "This-this isn't-"

He stops dead, wondering if he's given away too much, and slowly looks at Osborne.

Osborne just looks back. "I've known David for nearly fifteen" he says quietly. "And this isn't-"

He too falls silent.

For a moment, they watch each other. Then Ed turns his gaze back to his drink, pulling his glass back towards him. "We just need to keep an eye on it" is all he says.

"Maybe-"

"It's just-"

_Just._

When Ed raises his gaze, George is watching him. "Yeah" he says. "Exactly."

There's nothing more to say to that. Nothing else to do, but sit in companionable silence, drinking quietly, that _just_ breathing too deeply between them.

* * *

 

Justine waits until the others have left before she looks at Ed, who's sitting at the dining room table staring at his hands, fingers interlocking, and says "We'll explain to the boys. They'll understand."

Her own voice sounds bright, confident-the way Ed needs her to be, so she can remind him of what's important.

Ed doesn't look up for a few moments, and when he does, she can't quite read the look on his face. His eyes are narrowed a little and he says quietly "Will they?"

Justine blinks, but she knows her job, what she needs to do. It's her job to manage things, to change things. To help Ed change things. And the boys have to help with that.

"It's letting them help" she says, pulling out a chair to sit down next to him. "And they'd want to. You'd want to help _your_ dad-"

Justine tells herself this isn't being cruel, she's got to make Ed _see-_

Ed nods slowly. He doesn't quite wince, but the crease of confusion in his brow when he meets her gaze is similar to the look he gave her when she sat him down one night when they'd been discussing moving into a place together, and explained that they'd been together for nearly four years now, and this was a time a lot of people thought about starting a family unit, and maybe it was time to start thinking about it. (Justine had decided it was time to start thinking about it a few months beforehand, but Ed hadn't been getting the signals. He didn't pay as much attention to a plan as Justine did, as she needed to, so it had been up to her to organize it.)

Ed meets her eyes, and then says quietly "But-I'm not entirely sure if they'd be happy with it."

Justine keeps her breathing even, gathering her arguments up, the way she does in court, ready to sculpt the sentences around the arguments, shape them into the answer she wants.

(She's done this before with Ed. When she explained they needed two children. When she'd known that they needed to get married, because it would look better, and they wanted to be progressive, but Ed needed to _win_ , to make a difference.)

(When he was deciding, and Justine pushes that memory away, the way she often does these days.)

"But they'll be fine" she says. "The boys like leafleting." Daniel might complain, dragging his feet, but he doesn't mean it. _Justine_ would have wanted to help.

(If her dad had asked her, she would have wanted to help.)

"But this isn't leafleting" Ed's saying, and Justine's reminded of that time in Brighton, when she'd been trying to get Sam to look at the cameras, keeping her voice light and gentle and coaxing, and then Ed had been saying _Now, who's-wants to go on that slide?_

 _Look_ , she'd said, trying to point somehow, to make Ed see what a great shot it would be, even as he said again _Who wants to go on the slide?_ -the kids on a climbing frame, looking towards the camera but not straight at it, the way the director used to tell her when she was standing there, awkward and feeling too tall or too small or too quiet, waiting to be told when to smile, the only thing the camera would see.

It would make them look good. Natural. Like a family.

But then Daniel had been saying _Oh, yes, please_ and Ed had been saying _Do you want to go on the slide?_ Daniel's hand had been reaching, and she couldn't pull it away, the cameras were watching. And then Sam, who wouldn't say anything when Justine tried to make him look except _No-_ they _like_ pirates, that was one thing she thought she knew they liked _, most_ children do-had been saying more clearly than she'd thought he could, _I want to go on the slide_ , and there'd been no other way then but for her to salvage it, lifting him up _-You want to go on the slide? OK, come on, then-_ trying to pull him quickly, quickly, to get another shot- _You carrying the little one, that looks good, maternal, resonates with the women voters_ -and his head had banged into the bar. _Ooh_ , _you all right, sweetie?_ She'd gripped him a little tighter, hoping he wouldn't cry.

He didn't cry then, but he didn't smile, either. Daniel had come down the slide without a problem, with Ed lifting him up when he was told to- _Do you want to pick him up again? Yeah, that's it-another on the slide-_

She hadn't realised Sam was being problematic, then, saying to Daniel _Right, I'll put you up on the slide-Right, Sam, are you coming?_

One of the crew had been helpful, lifting Sam awkwardly when he'd looked like he was stepping away- _Shall I put you up on the slide?_

 _Mister, you wait for-_ She'd been tapping Daniel- _Mister_ had seemed a good nickname, a term of endearment, really-and it had been then that she'd turned and seen Sam was crying quietly, nose running.

She'd kept her smile on, nice and bright-the camera wasn't on Sam, it wouldn't catch it, and hopefully they could clean him up between shots. _OK, you ready?_ She'd bent down, hoping that would encourage him, that he'd see that even if he was scared, the cameras were getting into position around him, he needed to do it, now-

 _No, Mummy, I don't want to-_ Sam had snivelled it through his tears-Daniel hadn't been looking, his own face puckered a little as he stared resolutely away.

Justine had made sure to stay still, keep herself calm. _Ohhh_ , she'd been saying, in that ridiculous sing-song way mothers are supposed to do, and then Ed had given her a bit of hope by saying, a little more sharply than usual, _Oh, come on._

Sam had just sat with his head down, his nose running more, tears trickling down his cheeks. Justine had stood there, at a loss for a moment-she doesn't know what to do when they cry, panic at the tops of playground equipment or at the sight of unfamiliar food-she's not usually there, it's their nanny who's good at getting them to open their mouths or coaxing them into her arms.

 _Do you want me to stand nearer you?_ was all she'd been able to think of, but Sam's face had been crumpling, and even as exasperation grated in Justine's chest-it was only a _slide_ , for God's sake, and one that had to be less than three feet off the ground-

Sam had looked at her with such a miserable face, that she'd done almost exactly the same look back at him before she could even think about it. She'd stopped instantly, even as Ed said _I think he needs his nose wiping_ - _could look bad on camera, could look mocking, not motherly_ -and tried to make up for it by making her voice a little higher, a little more sugary around the words _Sweetie, do you need-_ , stepping towards him with her arms outstretched, because he needed to get cleaned up, it would look no good if he was crying.

One of the crewmen was _awwing_ , which was an irritation because that would just encourage him, and then one had been saying _Shall we look the other way?_ , Ed already saying _Shall I wipe his nose?_ and Justine had shaken her head instantly-they needed these shots, they just needed to get Sam together, Sam needed to get _himself_ together.

(It wasn't really mocking. Not really.)

(She was just exasperated, and it wasn't as if Sam would understand or remember anyway.)

 _Yeah_ , she'd said, standing at the side, forcing herself to pat him gingerly, while Ed said _Here, let me wipe his nose_ and she just caught Daniel darting away, but she didn't have time to chase after him, and they could do without him for a moment.

 _We can edit this later_ , one of the cameramen said, as Ed scrubbed the tissue under Sam's nose, while Sam blubbered quietly, silent tears running down his cheeks. She'd nodded gratefully, because Sam would cheer up and they'd get the shot done. They'd get the shot done and it would help, it would do something.

 _Well done, Dave_ one of the cameramen had said to another as he chucked Sam under the chin, getting him to smile a little a few moments later, and Justine and Ed had stepped back, Justine keenly aware of the camera. _Right, how are you doing?_

She'd made her voice singsong again, her fingers wanting to curl but stopping themselves at the last moment. _OK, Mr. Sam?_

Sam had stared at them both, brows furrowing and lip pushed out. _No._ The lack of tears and runny nose meant he could speak clearly again, which was an annoyance.

 _No?_ was all she could think of to say-Sam was muttering something about _I don't want to-_ but that was silly, and it couldn't be helped, anyway.

 _Shall we-shall we look away?_ Ed said then, and Sam's eyes had flickered, only for a second, but enough for Justine to catch it, to the cameras.

Perhaps that was what made her make her own tone brighter. _Would you like us to p-we'll look that way?_ She'd been about to say _pretend_ but no. Too mocking.

 _We'll look away_ , Ed had said and they'd both turned around, Justine bearing the laughter of the camera crew behind her with a smile through ground teeth-it was worth it if they got the shot.

The exasperation nearly crept into her voice when she turned round and saw Sam still sitting at the top of the slide. But she fought it back, turned it into something sweeter, the way her drama teachers used to tell her to- _Oh, come on, sweetie, shall I hold you then? OK-_

She'd already been walking towards him, because he had to get down the slide, and Ed was saying something to the camera man, and Sam was burbling something at her as she stood next to him. _I don't want to, I don't-_

She'd nodded, smiling and forcing herself to pat his shoulder, and waited until the cameras had moved round so that they could get a good shot of him. She'd waited until Sam was quiet and calmer and then, slid her arm round, so that it would be harder for Ed to see-she knew the camera crew would, but they were there to get shots, anyway, and she and Ed would have to see the editing, probably.

She'd slid her arm round and pushed Sam, a little harder than she probably should in the middle of his back.

Sam had sat, stiff and still, and slid down the plastic slide. His feet had thudded hard as he reached the bottom, his little body jolting, harder than it should have done.

  _Yaaaaay_. She'd heard the inane sound coming out of her mouth, hands clapping, the way she knew she was supposed to, and Sam had just sat there, looking straight past her. He looked straight past Ed's _Very good_ , straight past the cameras, his dark eyes slowly dampening again.

(They needed these shots, the _party_ needed these shots-)

(Ed had walked away too quickly, barely even looking as he clapped, his eyes searching for Daniel, and that was how Justine knew that he'd seen.)

The only one Sam's eyes had flickered towards was Daniel, calling out _Good one, Sam_ , even as he darted backwards, away from his father and the cameras, and something about Daniel's tone had rankled in her ears, something about it a touch too defiant.

Tears had been trickling down Sam's face again, even as he stared at his brother.

_Do you want to go in the s-in the sand-_

Sam had shaken his head silently and stared past her, those silent tears trickling down.

She'd hovered for a moment, remembering the way those damp little eyes had widened slightly as she pushed him, and then she'd steeled herself, thinking of how it would look if he didn't want a hug, and bent forward. _Shall I give you a-shall we have a carry-_

Sam hadn't looked at her then, even as her arms had fastened around him awkwardly. He'd just stared past her, past the cameras and what they needed him to do, his eyes, still damp, fixed on his brother.

Now, she reaches out and squeezes Ed's hand-it always feels a little odd, as though she has to guide her own fingers to his. "You're making a difference" because she knows how important that is to Ed, how important it is to _them_ , all his aims, and if they can't make things better, then what's the point of all they've been doing? "And if this makes us look more relatable-"

Ed chews his lip. "Cameron won't be doing it" he says, almost to himself.

Justine frowns, squeezing his hand, the way she's meant to. "What?"

Ed glances at her, gaze much too far away, so Justine gives his hand a squeeze, just to hurry him up a little, the way she had when she'd managed to make him see sense about starting the family, and he'd been lying on top of her asking if she was sure, and she'd had to tell herself not to snap and tell him to get _on_ with it so that they could get this done and be making some _progress_ on their way to achieving the goal.

"Cameron-" he says, eyes still drifting. "Yeah, he-he probably won't be using his kids-"

Justine bites her lip, unsure whether she should go for the personal touch with the first name or take Ed's lead, unsure which will be more persuasive.

"But David Cameron-" She chooses the words carefully. "Already _is_ the Prime Minister, and so I suppose-" Make it sound as if she hasn't thought about it too much. "For him, it's less of a challenge to look Prime Ministerial." Say it carefully, so Ed doesn't get the wrong end of the stick, and then quickly, before he can dwell on it, "And we're up for a fight, remember?"

Ed's smile flickers a little, and she nods encouragingly because this is _their_ fight. The same way she fights in court because it's proving that there can be a change, that they can know, even when everyone is telling them there can't be, and that voice will be whispering a little too fast in her chest, rapid and fluttering like her heartbeat, _I was right, I was right, I was right, I was-_

It had been like that at the conference in September, when she'd been standing in that green long-sleeved blouse she'd chosen carefully-fashionable, but not too fashionable, something she could have just pulled on-fingers wrapped around the microphone, words trembling into certainty out of her mouth, even as she breathed all the way down and all the way out, the way she'd learnt in those television workshops all those years ago.

 _However nasty, however personal, however brutal this gets-_ and they'd all been looking at her, and they'd been on her side, the same way she'd felt when she was in court, the first time she knew the judge and jury were listening, really _listening_ to her, hanging on her every word and she'd felt coldly, fiercely righteous, the same way she had back in school with all those girls who hadn't been to a comprehensive like her, who just didn't know how things were for other people.

And there they were, all looking at her, listening, and she'd gone on, all the tricks coming back, how to look at each person individually, how to lower her voice a little to make them lean in, that righteousness jabbing sharper and higher under each word- _I'm up for this fight and I hope you are too, because we can't do it without you-_ and the clapping that had started almost before she'd finished speaking and lowered the microphone, Ed leaning in to kiss her cheek, the way they'd agreed beforehand.

Because they're fighting, and the boys have to understand, because surely they must _see,_ they'll see that even if they don't like it, they have to help, because it's more important than what they don't like.

She remembers telling herself that firmly, lying in bed with her hands folded over her chest, staring up into the dark, swallowing past the ache in her throat as her eyes stung. Dad had to make a difference, open doorways for people. That was what was important.

"They'll understand. We're doing it for the Red Team" she says, and she's already calculating in her head how they'll do it, how they'll make them smile-she'll rehearse this time, to make it look natural, like she did for the conference, practicing exactly how she'd incline her head as she said _My role in politics is the politician's wife,_ exactly how she'd shake her head, let people laugh as she said _I'll be honest-it's not a role I applied for_ , turning to almost touch Ed's arm, letting herself laugh a little as she said _Darling-_ , to make it look natural, off-the-cuff, like the second quick touch to his arm she'd made him practice earlier.

That way, it'll look natural so that Sam won't be aggravating, like last time when she'd been crouched on the beach- _Do you want to throw some stones?_ while he just said in his little voice _No, Mummy_ and her teeth clenched tighter as she forced out _What do you want to do?_ and then pointed inanely down the beach, because even _Daniel_ had co-operated for a moment. She'd been careful to get him relaxed, Stefan Rousseau standing just ahead, waiting for them, and Daniel had seemed to co-operate at first, looking up at him- _Hello, Mr Camera Man, hello-_

 _Stefan!_   She'd said it brightly, because if Daniel could just keep smiling- _Stefan-remember Stefan Rabbit? You nicknamed your rabbit?-_ some old toy Daniel had used to have, that he'd played with when Stefan was around, and somehow it had been named after him-Justine wasn't too sure of the details. 

And Ed had helped, saying _Yeah_ , and pretending not to notice when Daniel tried to pull back and they'd had to tug him onto the beach.

 _Throw it here_ , she'd told him, when he'd been throwing stones and even if he hadn't listened to that, at least he'd listened when they'd both chipped in, pointing at the pirate costume further down the beach when the cameraman had asked them to _walk that way-Cutthroat Jake's moving, Daniel, further down there?_ and even Ed had chipped in- _Where's Cutthroat Jake? Where's he gone?_

Daniel hadn't even needed her pointing and saying _He's down there-_ he'd been running ahead of them, chattering away to himself- _Where did you go?-_ until Ed awkwardly pushed him down-Ed didn't have a clue how to wrestle the children, but it had sounded like something that might look natural, playful-and she'd been left, putting Sam down when they asked her to and willing him to just _do_ something- _Do you want to see Cutthroat Jake, he's there-_ while Sam had just stared stubbornly away from her and the cameras, not even _smiling_ the way he should have been.

( _You don't mind, do-_ Stefan had been starting to say as they walked onto the beach, and Justine had already been saying _No, that's fine_ , because it had to be. It had to be and the boys had to understand, the way she and Ed had to.)

Now, Ed loves mentions of teamwork, and he smiles-a little cautiously, but a smile.

Justine knows when to let a point settle, and so she says "Let's sleep on it" with a slightly firmer touch to the shoulder.

She wonders if they should have sex once they get to bed. It's probably what they're supposed to do, after all-at least, sometimes. More often than they do. Justine wonders if she should suggest it, maybe by kissing his neck or wrapping her arms around him-what does she normally do?

She wonders if she should want to do it, more than she does-she could probably make herself if she thought about it, if it was to make Ed relax, help him improve.

But then Ed's saying "I just want to work on PMQS questions-I'll be up in a bit", which Justine knows can mean anything, and so she presses a kiss to his cheek and turns to the dining room door, feeling her shoulders slump in relief.

* * *

 

"Mr. Th-Speaker-Mr. Speaker, I'm glad we can work across parties on this issue-" Miliband meets his eyes across the dispatch box. "And we will endeavour to continue to do so-"

David doesn't squirm, but he shifts a little, suddenly uncomfortable. It doesn't help that George, joyfully fulfilling his duty as support in PMQs, had decided to liven up Miliband's earlier questions by muttering into David's ear as he sat down, "Yes, you and Miliband certainly put on a lovely show of cross-party unity over there."

David had less joyfully fulfilled his own Prime Ministerial duty of handling his Chancellor by tactfully kicking him in the shin.

"Let me turn to an ith-issue on which there is less agreement-"

The tide of "Ahs" rises on both sides. David rolls his eyes, but feels his shoulders relax, something like relief settling into his stomach at the move back to familiar ground. It's not often Miliband brings up any mention of them being united in PMQs and today David had felt his heart quicken not entirely pleasantly, Craig's face suddenly very, very clear in his mind. He sits up a little straighter at the return to normality.

"In-in-in May 2010, th-speaking about the TV debates-"

The jeers rise even louder. Nick, to David's right, rolls his eyes, while George grins, nudging David in the ribs.

"A party leader-" Miliband is almost drowned out under the noise. "A party le-a part-a party l-a-"

David leans over to Nick, partly to distract himself from the sight of Miliband peering a little anxiously at Bercow. The sight stirs something in David's chest.

"If this is the most I have to worry about with not agreeing to the TV debates" he mutters. "I'm not too concerned so far."

Nick laughs, a little nervously, and then, just because he feels like it, David mutters "Nice letter, by the way."

"A party leader said-and I quote-"

Nick's laughter dies away and he leans back in his seat. His eyes dart to David's, and then away, as if he's about to say something, but David's already turning away, fixing his gaze on Miliband.

 _"It would have been feeble  to find some excuse to back out-"_ Miliband's glancing round, as though expecting someone to stand up and start chanting "The Red Flag" in tearful solidarity. _"So I thought we've got to stick at this, we've got to do it-"_

David has to stifle a snort as Miliband leans forward with that exaggerated look of confusion. It's endearing. Like a child playing dress-up.

David checks himself quickly. No. _Not_ endearing.

"Can he remind us who said that?"

David gets to his feet, already going over the line he rehearsed with George earlier.

"I am all for these debates taking place-" He weathers the predictable bellows and outstretched hands from the Labour frontbench. "But you cannot have-"

_"Order!"_

Even though David's been expecting it, he still momentarily wants to hit Bercow for nearly giving him a heart attack.

"The question has been asked-and the answer must be heard-" David grins, reflecting that it's enough of a rarity that Bercow's on his side. "The Prime Minister?"

He's speaking almost before he's stood up again. "I'm-I'm all for these debates, but you cannot have _two_ minor parties-" He glances across at Miliband briefly, then lets his gaze roam up to Caroline, sitting higher up on the benches, who's grinning and nodding. "Without the _third_ minor party. So I put the question to the Right Honourable Gentleman- _why is he so frightened of debating the Green Party?"_

 _Makes him look weak_ , Michael had said earlier, decisively. _Makes him look like he's using it as an excuse._ Michael's voice had been harsh, triumphant-Miliband's behaviour over the NHS clearly still rankled.

 _When we're using it too_ , David had thought before he could stop himself.

"Mr. Speake-Mr. Speaker-" Miliband's falling over his words now, the way he always does when he's getting excited. "I'll debate anyone the broadcasters invite-"

"Don't want them to invite the Greens though, do you?" George mutters.

"But the man who said-the man who said it would be feeble to back out of the debates was him." Miliband lifts his head. "Now we all understand-"

"Oh God, don't try and make a joke." David can't help it. It's probably a tragedy of modern politics that Miliband can often be funny when he's not trying to be. Unfortunately, often, he's trying to be.

"That as long ago as last Thursday-"

_As long ago as last Thursday, I thought I hated you._

"His abiding passion was to give the Green Party a platform-"

Miliband isn't even trying to counter it, Jesus-

"But it is frankly a pathetic excuse-"

David shakes his head, because even _Miliband_ has to see that this is just making his own case worse, dear _God-_

"I-i-i-it's not for him-it's not for him-it's not for him, it's not for me, it's not for _any party leader_ to decide who is in the debates-"

Oh, so this is the point. A very minor, weak point. But still, finally a point.

"It's up to the broadcasters, that's the country we live in-but is he really telling-is he really telling-"

"Go on, try it again" George mutter. David collapses in laughter, as does William on Nick's other side.

"Is he really telling the people of Britain that he's going to deny them the TV debates, if he doesn't get to choose who's in them?"

"Oh, so that's the tactic" George murmurs just to David, before raising his voice a little. "Miliband finally found his way to the argument."

David's already worked it out, and he reflects happily as he climbs to his feet that Miliband trying to make _him_ look like the childish one is rather undermined by Miliband scowling incredulously like a four-year-old.

"Well-" He deliberately calms his voice, spotting the way he can turn this around. "We had a set of European elections this year-UKIP and the Greens both beat the Liberal Democrats, I'm afraid to say-"

He turns to give Nick, who's already thrown his hands up with an indignant sound even as he laughs, a conciliatory grin. Mostly conciliatory.

"And you either have-um-" The cheers are carrying his words higher, even as Nick yells something through his laughter that sounds a little like "I'm not an excuse!" It had been a stroke of genius on Clare's part to think this one up.

"And it's very simple-you either have _both_ of them, or you have _none_ of them-"

 _To voters, it just looks fair_ , Daniel had pointed out with a grin. _Why should the Lib Dems have a voice if the Greens don't when they got more? We're making it less complicated-making it about fairness rather than political tactics._

"So I ask him again-" David can't stop himself grinning this time. _"Why's he so chicken when it comes to the Greens?"_

The cheers are louder now. David deliberately avoids Miliband's eye when he spots the smirk being stifled at the other man's mouth. He knows from bitter experience that if he locks eyes with Miliband when he's like this, it's all too likely they'll both dissolve into laughter, which won't help anyone's case.

"Mr. Speaker-there's only-there's only-there's only-there's only one person-" Miliband's fighting that smirk at his mouth, David can tell when he peers up through his eyelashes.

"There's only one person running scared of the debates, and that's _this Prime Minister-"_

Labour's cheers rise louder. Alexander nods like an idiot.

"And when he says-when he says-" Miliband's jabbing his body and his arms about with each word, like a demented fencer. "He doesn't want to take part 'cause of the Greens, nobody but nobody _believes_ him-" Miliband's hand is hitting the dispatch box, voice sliding into the complaining, indignant tone it always takes when he's trying to sound sarcastic. It used to grate.

"Not the people behind him, not the person next to him-"

Ah, that old chestnut.

"Not the country-" Miliband meets his eyes, that hand still bouncing up and down. "However he wants to dress it up, everyone knows he's running scared-"

"Everyone'll be looking at their watches" George chips in and William does, pointedly.

"These debates don't belong to me, they don't belong to him, they belong to the British people-" Miliband's clearly building up to the big climax. "What does he think gives him the right to _run away_ from these debates?"

Well. Anticlimax.

 _Sound reasonable,_ Lynton had told him, listening this morning. _You've got to sound reasonable._

"There-there-there are two-"

 _"He's_ doing the same thing" Nick says to William behind him, which bolsters David even more.

"There are _two_ credible sets of debates-you can either have a debate with _all_ the national parties here in this House, or you can have a debate-or _both_ -have a debate between the two people who become Prime Minister-"

He lets his voice rise. _"Those_ are the credible debates, so I ask him again-when he looks at the Green Party-" Another glance at Caroline, who's grinning harder than ever now, and then he leans over the dispatch box, eyeballing the top of Miliband's head, a teasing feeling creeping into his chest. _"Why's he so scared?"_

"It's comple-" Miliband's still resting his weight on the dispatch box when he begins, a sure sign he's rattled. "Mr. Speaker-I'll debate-I'll debate anyone the broadcasters invite to debate-"

Harman's nodding. David takes in her jacket and wonders if a leopard has been dyed pink, set free from London Zoo, and promptly died on her.

"I think-I think he doth protest too much-"

David bursts out laughing. Bloody hell.

Two thoughts strike him at once- _did he mean does and just lisp it?_

And then, a teasing little spark- _A bit like you did when we woke up together?_

David doesn't have time to dwell on it, before Miliband's finger's waving again.

"He's run out of excuses-he's running scared of these debates-" Miliband leans forward. "And in the words of his heroine, Lady Thatcher-"

Oh God, this is going to be hilarious.

Miliband leans closer. _"He's frit."_

The Tories dissolve into laughter. David can't blame them. It's all he can do to hold back his own as he stands up.

"Well, isn't it _interesting,_ Mr. Speaker-with ten of these sessions to go, he wants to _debate having a debate-"_

God, only ten.

_Remind them of the achievements._

"He can't talk about unemployment because it's going down-he can't talk about growth in the economy because it's going _up-"_

He glances at Miliband, who's just shaking his head a little. Maybe that sharpens the next line. "He can't talk about his energy price freeze, because it's turned him into a _total joke-"_

He looks away before he reaches that last word.

"I have to say to him, Mr. Speaker, the more time he and I-can spend-"

His heart picks up a little. Next to him, George stiffens.

_In a room together._

He purposefully doesn't look at Miliband.

"In a television studio-on television-" He fumbles over the words, makes them a little louder. "The happier I will be!"

He glances behind at the rest of the Tories. "But please, if he's got any more questions left, ask a serious one!"

He sinks down and when Bercow's voice rings out over the cheers- _"Roger Gate"-_ his shoulders sink at the fact Miliband doesn't have any more questions. Explaining again would have been repetitive, even for him.

He looks firmly down at his papers, his heart a little quicker than usual, waiting for the heat in his cheeks to cool, the heat that had oddly flared at hearing the words leave his own mouth- _the more time he and I can spend-_

He doesn't think about what else he might have said.

* * *

 

"Come on."

Miliband jumps a mile. David grins when the other man slaps a hand over his heart. "You could have-"

"Killed you, yes, I know-" David gives him a quick wink. "You've told me enough times.

Miliband rolls his eyes and mutters something about "Thought you'd get the message, then."

David smirks, which helps to ignore the slightly guarded tone George had employed when he'd said "Have fun" after learning who David was having lunch with.

"I thought maybe you wouldn't want to-" Miliband gives him an impatient look and glances at David's hand on his arm, almost tugging him along. "I can _walk_ , Cameron."

"Can you?"

Miliband pouts a little. The fact he probably doesn't realise he's doing it makes it ridiculously endearing.

David blinks. No. _Not_ endearing. That's too-

Sweet? Appealing?

God. No. Worse.

At this point, David realises he's been staring at Miliband's mouth for the last few seconds, which is only reinforced when he promptly walks into Sarah, and nearly gets a cloud of hair in the face.

"God, sorry, Sarah-" He rights her quickly while she says something along the lines of "You will be-" and then glances up at him rapidly, as if wondering if she's overstepped the mark. David hastens to smile, to reassure her.

It's only once they've made their way out of Portcullis House down the escalators, and are heading along the Colonnade, pulling their coats around themselves tightly, that David realises he forgot to ask Miliband his question. "How come?"

"How come what?"

"You thought I wouldn't want to eat with you?"

Miliband shrugs, eyes on his sandwich. "I suppose-Ithuinture-"

David bites his lip at the embarrassed mumble. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Miliband glowers at him. It would be a more threatening spectacle if he wasn't trying to sip from his tea at the same time. And if he wasn't Miliband.

"I thought-maybe you'd changed your mind. And-um. You know. Paris." Miliband says the last word as quickly as possible, and takes a gulp of tea, which, judging by the wince that immediately follows, was misjudged.

"Told you about that." David nudges him gently as they turn into New Palace Yard, towards the Members' Entrance. "And no. Why would I?"

_Because we're doing such an amazing job of acting like we didn't spend a night on a bed together._

David shoves the thought away. And the thought about the shower.

(He's having quite a lot of thoughts about the shower.)

(Especially _in_ the shower, where he's not always successful at ignoring them.)

Miliband shrugs, and then looks at him sharply. "You don't think people-"

"No" David says, before Miliband even reaches the end of his sentence, as they turn up the Members' Staircase. "I don't. Honestly, Miliband, don't worry-"

He tries to push away the slight gnaw of guilt in his chest as they head down the Members' Corridor, through the cloakroom-George and Craig knowing hardly counts as people _finding out_ , after all.

Plus, Miliband's face has relaxed a little, his forehead smoothing, though that worried crease between his eyes is still there. David watches it, while trying not to , as they hesitate in the Members' Lobby, where Miliband wrestles with his tea and a sandwich. David eventually takes pity on him and takes the tea while Miliband struggles with the latter.

"Where do you want to go, then?" he asks, with a grin. "We could go to one of the tea rooms or a dining room-"

Miliband stares at him, still ripping his sandwich open. David rolls his eyes, mindful of security as always tailing him, though respectfully at the other end of the lobby. "Oh come on, Miliband. It's not like I get to explore much."

 _"Explore-"_ Miliband splutters the word, though he's grinning reluctantly. "You're so-"

He just stares at David, then and something about the look is so _fond_ that-

"Come on" David says quickly, turning away before he can stare at Miliband for too long."Let's explore." It's always an intriguing experience wandering around the Commons, though, as William has pointed out in the past, a wrong turn means you're likely to net yourself at least three weeks of wandering around to appreciate it all.

He waits until they step out of the elevator to say "Weren't going for the imaginative approach at PMQs today, were you, Miliband?"

Miliband rolls his eyes. "Not going for the straight answer approach, were you, Prime Minith-ster- _where_ are you taking us?"

"Don't know. That's the point of exploring. And I _gave_ you a straight answer-"

He's cut off by Miliband snorting loudly.

"It's true" David says airily, as they set off through the corridors that he thinks are usually occupied by the Commons clerks. "You _don't_ want to debate the Greens. You _know_ you don't."

He gives Miliband a grin, even as Miliband takes a bite of his sandwich and they round a corner.

"I told you-" Miliband's shaking his head, with that mock pitying look which somehow simultaneously raises David's hackles and sends an odd liquid warmth through his chest. "I'll debate anyone asked-"

"What's the issue, then?"

Miliband stops dead, crossing his arms over his chest. It would look more impressive if he didn't have to stop to put his sandwich down carefully first. "The _issue_ is that you're trying to control the debates because you're _scared."_

The crossed arms and furious scowl don't help David to keep a straight face. Somehow, he manages it.

"It's not a fair debate" he says, meeting Miliband's gaze as he retrieves the sandwich. "You _know_ it's not a fair debate-"

"It's up to the broadcasters to decide-"

"And here I thought the Labour Party were all about standing up to injustice-"

"You're twisting the point, Cameron-"

David takes a step towards him. "Do you think" he says, looking Miliband straight in the eye, "that it's fair that the Green Party don't get a say and the Lib Dems do, when the Green Party got more votes?"

Miliband nibbles at his lip for a fraction of a second, but stares back defiantly. "That's not why you're doing this, and you know it."

David stares at him. "You _know_ it isn't fair" he says slowly. "You _know_ it isn't, but it benefits Labour more to keep things the way they are. _That's_ why you're backing it-"

Miliband blushes furiously. (He really is the world's worst liar.) "No, it's not!"

David stares at him harder. "That's _it_ , isn't it?" he says, not entirely certain how he feels about it, either. "It would work for Labour to see us battered by Farage. But you're scared you're going to get battered by Nick and the Greens. _That's_ why you're-it's got nothing to do with you thinking it's _fair-"_

"It's got nothing to do with _you_ thinking it's fair either" Miliband hisses back, stepping closer and almost dropping his sandwich. David catches it for him at the last minute.

Miliband doesn't look away. "It's got nothing to do with you wanting it to be _fair-you_ don't want to have UKIP battering you-"

They stand there, watching each other. David holds out Ed's sandwich, wordlessly.

Miliband glowers at him, then takes it slowly.

It's David who speaks first. "And I thought you were all about fairness."

Miliband glares. "And I thought _you_ were at least pretending that you had some moral integrity involved."

Something about that stabs at David's ribs, but he lets his mouth twitch. "And I thought _you_ thought I had some integrity."

The corner of Miliband's mouth quirks a little. His voice is almost a whisper. "I'd had an inordinate amount of wine, Cameron."

"So you didn't mean that?" David's own voice is low.

Miliband's eyes are dark and he seems to step closer, or maybe David does. "I didn't say that, Cameron."

David's suddenly breathing a little harder than usual. Miliband's staring at him. His chest is rising and falling a little.

David laughs, a little more strained than he'd like. "Inordinate amount of wine, Miliband?"

Miliband's brow creases, and then he rolls his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake-"

"We split _two bottles_ , Miliband-"

"For pity's-anyway, you're avoiding the question-"

"So are you." They're standing close, watching each other. "You didn't deny it, Miliband."

"Neither did you." Miliband's voice is a whisper. David stares, taking in the stripe of white in his hair, the smoothness of his skin. "Stalemate, Miliband."

Miliband opens his mouth and he just suddenly-

He just looks _lost._

His mouth opens and closes and then he says tentatively "Is that what all this is about? Politics, and-"

David swallows. "Well-" He feels oddly wrong-footed. "I-ah-it's about-well, I know you want to _win,_ Miliband." He feels rather an idiot even having to say that.

"And you want to win." It's not a question.

"Well. Yes-of course-"

"It's juth-st-" Miliband's forehead crumples in confusion. "It's-you want to _win,_ but you're doing all this to-"

David feels something stir uncomfortably, but all he says is "I thought you'd be talking about it being _making a change_ that matters, Miliband."

"It is." Miliband's voice is low. "That's why I'm going to win."

David laughs, but only for a second.

(He can't help it. Miliband just looks so serious.)

"Well, we have to, given how badly _your_ government-" Miliband starts, and before he can go on, David, with something like annoyance and mischief and that something else he can't put his finger on around Miliband, says "Ah, so you'd be prepared to go along with an arrangement you knew was unfair, if you thought it would help you win?"

Miliband blanches. "Stop trying to put words in my mouth, Cameron. I didn't say that."

David watches him. "You didn't deny it, either."

Miliband doesn't look away. "Would _you_ deny it?"

There's another silence that echoes even louder in the deserted corridor.

It's David who eventually breaks it. "Stalemate again." His own voice is low. "And I thought you were supposed to be eating that, Miliband."

Miliband's dark eyes hold his own for another moment.

"Fine" he breathes, and busies himself with biting into his sandwich, falling into step again, leaving David to watch him silently, wondering whether he respects Miliband more or less as a result of this information.

"The thing is-" Miliband says suddenly, as they head round another corner towards a flight of stairs. "You have to win to change things."

David nods. "Though no doubt ours' are all the sort of changes you loathe."

"Not all of them."

"Oh, I forgot you were leaping on our bandwagon when it comes to spending cuts-"

"But we'd make them in fairer places-"

"So if you need to win to make a difference-" David says loudly before Miliband can get distracted with one of his favourite subjects. "It doesn't matter how you win?"

He waits for Miliband to stalk away or glare but instead, Miliband just watches him, head on one side, still walking, and says "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

David just arches an eyebrow, and they keep walking.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" Miliband asks, after a few turns and another ride up in an elevator.

David nudges him with a grin. "Still exploring."

Miliband gives him a similar look to the one he produced when David mentioned the word _pipes._ "You're the _Prime Minister-"_

"So? Are the two mutually exclusive?"

Miliband rolls his eyes and mutters something about "just think you're touring your subjects."

"Is that you implying you think I have a divine right to be here?" David gives him a grin, unable to stop himself. "I'd welcome that, Miliband."

"Because then you wouldn't have to face a contest? Typical _Tory-"_

"Because _Gordon_ insisted on a leadership contest, didn't he?" David winks. "Or is the story still that he cancelled that election because he knew he'd win?"

The look Miliband gives him could have shrivelled Rasputin. (If it was levelled by anyone but Miliband, at least.) David grins. "Come on, Miliband. You must have known that made it too easy."

Miliband tries to look dignified, which is difficult, considering his cheeks are currently bulging with sandwich. He looks like an annoyed hamster.

David bursts out laughing, but something about the sight's like a warm ache in his chest. It's just-

_Milibandy._

A memory promptly crashes into David's brain, making him freeze halfway through his laughter.

That night. In Paris.

_Milibandy._

Oh God.

He hadn't remembered until now.

Something of his thoughts must show in his face, because Miliband's eyebrows knot worriedly. "What's wrong?" He swallows, but the words are still indistinct.

David considers explaining, but something about Miliband's dark eyes make him feel pleasantly off-balance.

"Nothing. Anyway-" he says quickly, before Miliband can be tiresome and insist on knowing, and then start blushing when David is inevitably forced to remind him of That Night (now eternally capitalized in David's mind.) "I want to see if I can find some bar Soames mentioned. He said he'd never come across it before and he hasn't been able to find it since." (When David had enthused about this, Nancy had sarcastically enquired if the bar was entitled the Room of Requirement and if Soames thought he was Dumbledore.)

"Probably wasn't the one George went to with Balls though-"

"He and Ed?" Miliband cocks his head to one side. David tries to ignore the pang that sends through him.

"Yep-" They're in a different corridor now, lined with books. "Didn't Balls tell you?"

Miliband makes a non-committal mumbling sound. Any other time, this would be gold, but that blush is rising up Miliband's cheeks. David drags his gaze away merely for his own clarity of thought and focuses his attention more fiercely on looking for the elusive bar.

They don't find it, or if they do, they don't recognize it. They do, however, find several more book-lined corridors, which Miliband casts longing glances down, while David tries desperately not to think of the look as endearing at all, a dumbwaiter which David has to admit is rather intriguing ("I could always try sitting in it, Miliband" "Mightn't it break?" David had very nearly slapped him whilst Miliband had made a sound far too much like a giggle for David's liking) and a rather nicely isolated sitting room with a balcony a little further along from some committee rooms, where David throws himself down in an armchair and grins at Ed. "It's like Miss. Havisham's in here."

Miliband blinks. David grins. "Surprised I've read Dickens, Miliband?" He doesn't add that he only read it in school.

"I didn't th-say that-"

"I don't say I'm not answering questions, but you somehow interpret _that_ as the truth."

Miliband, peering through the balcony window, casts him a look that can't decide if it's amused or annoyed so has settled for some strange mixture of the two. "Anyone knows you don't answer questions" he says scornfully, leaning against the window sill. "They only have to have ears."

David notices with some satisfaction that Miliband has demolished the sandwich and wonders when the last time was that happened. He reminds himself to check on Miliband's culinary habits more often in future.

"Even when you were Leader of the Opposition-" Miliband's saying now, wandering over to the bookcase. "You didn't-"

"You do know that the Leader of the Opposition is supposed to ask the questions, don't you, Miliband?" David can't help but grin. "Unless you thought Brown should have been asking me the questions back then. I think a lot of people quite agreed, honestly."

Miliband's scowl immediately appears again, brows knitting together. David's memory jolts, jerking him back to the other side of the House, Brown's fist almost pounding the dispatch box as David smirked, knowing he was winding that temper of his higher and higher, and his gaze flickering to a pair of dark eyes, narrowed and scowling, lips pouting a little, almost hidden at the end of the front bench.

"You used to give me that look at PMQs too" he muses, taking a last bite of his own sandwich.

"What look?"

 _"That_ look." David imitates it and watches as Miliband turns away quickly, mouth twitching treacherously. "Whenever I was questioning your glorious leader."

"He answered the questions-"

"Is that what he told you to say in his PMQs prep?" David watches with amusement as Miliband peers at the spines of various books, while still keeping that scowl in place. "Was that your job? To glare threateningly from the frontbench? Hardly conducive to-"

He stops for two reasons-firstly, because Miliband has just jumped backwards as the bookcase has swung round, revealing a hidden door-and second, because Miliband is blushing. Each is equally intriguing.

David decides to honour those old Enid Blytons Gwen used to read them, and which seem a little misogynistic now (an observation he's sure would make Eagle and Harman fall about laughing) and peer through the door. "Really is Hogwarts-what's in here?"

After a brief but thorough debate: "I found it, Cameron, I know you're not familiar with fairness, but-" "Fairness? You finished your lunch before me!" "What on earth does that have to do with it?" "You're currently better nourished!"-David, making sure to assume the air of a martyr, walks outside to try the next door and discovers that yes, they have merely found an alternate entrance to the next room.

The sight of Miliband gazing dreamily at the books, which line both sides of the door, reminds David of the second reason.

"So?" He turns to face Miliband, who's leaning against the door frame. "What was your role in PMQs prep? Taunting from a sedentary position?" He starts to laugh and then stops as Miliband's cheeks grow slowly, deeply crimson.

Miliband immediately seems to become fascinated with a shelf of books, but David's already grinning.

 _"Oh._ What was _your_ job, then? Catching mobile phones-"

"Hilarious-"

_"Saving the world-no, the banks-"_

"It's pathetic, how childish you-"

"Go on, Miliband." David grins, something jabbing pleasantly at the sight of Miliband's huffy little roll of the eyes. "What else could you have had to do, play me or something?"

Miliband's face, which had been crimson, turns cranberry. David stops dead.

The colour rises slowly and steadily in Miliband's cheeks until he's so flushed David's almost concerned.

"Wait-you-" He stares at Miliband, because the thought is so- _"Did_ you?"

Miliband's blush is answer enough.

David stares at him. _"No."_

Miliband folds his arms. "Gordon needed someone to practice against" he says, in what would be a huffy tone but is completely ruined by him blushing and glowering in the opposite direction. "And I was the one he asked."

David can't speak. He's laughing too hard. In fact, he's laughing so hard he has to brace himself against the wall.

Miliband's arms are folded and he's pouting. It's hilarious. David's still propping himself up when he manages "Is that the reason you were giving me that scowl, Miliband? Was I exceptionally hard to imitate-"

Miliband scowls even harder.

"So that's why you were studying me so assiduously-"

It might be his imagination, but he thinks he sees Miliband blush a little deeper.

He speaks a little too quickly. "You mustn't have been particularly similar, then. It certainly didn't help Brown's PMQs performance-"

They're heading back into the first room now. To David's surprise, he finds that Miliband looks a little offended.

"Gordon thought-" he says, with an injured sniff, which makes David struggle not to laugh again. "That I was temperamentally unsuited to being you."

David snorts. Only Miliband could take the words _temperamentally unsuited_ as a compliment.

"Not sure where Brown got that from" he tells Miliband cheerfully. "You can be a right brat in the Commons-"

They pull the door shut, and head back to the corridor. Miliband gives him an affronted look. "I am _not."_

David does laugh at this. "Miliband, you came out with the words _he's frit_ today. For someone who claims that he's terribly upset he can't raise the tone at Prime Minister's Questions-"

"Aren't you the man who said he wanted to put an end to Punch and Judy politics?"

David waits until they've reached the elevator before he grins at Miliband. "Fortunate that I have someone who's equally proficient at the art opposing me, then" he remarks.

There's a moment of silence before Miliband turns to look at him. "Was that a compliment, Cameron?"

David can't look at him. "Maybe." He keeps his eyes fixed on the lift doors.

"Or maybe you're just rather _whiny"_ he says, a little too quickly, and is too relieved when Miliband rolls his eyes.

"Gordon said I lacked your brutality" Miliband announces, in a tone that somehow manages to be aggrieved and triumphant simultaneously.

David laughs, because only _Miliband_ could take lacking brutality as a compliment, either-though he has to admit, it was probably meant as one.

"Well, you're not" he says, giving Miliband a longer look. "You're a lot of things, but I don't think many would describe you as _brutal,_ Miliband."

Miliband doesn't look back this time, but he smiles-that slightly goofy smile, teeth a little too big for his mouth. "Is _that_ a compliment?"

David suddenly finds his fingers fascinating. (He tries suddenly not to think about Miliband's fingers. They're far too long. And slender.)

"Might be" is all he says, as the lift doors open.

This time, Miliband doesn't mention not answering the question. And David doesn't mention that not being brutal is anything but a compliment when it comes to the dispatch box.

* * *

 

They've managed to end up a floor too high, and Ed's still berating himself for letting Cameron know about those old PMQs rehearsals.

He still remembers studying Cameron, watching him duck and dodge and parry, with his infuriatingly smooth voice and his clever little lines and those grins that made Ed's fingers curl over the papers in his hands and his teeth grind together so hard his jaw would ache afterwards.

"I'm going to Washington tomorrow." Cameron's voice is carefully offhand, as though it's only just occurred to him.

"Oh, yeah-I heard-"

"Only for two nights." Neither of them's mentioning the timing. _And two nights with the Leader of the Free World can't hurt when it comes to looking Prime Ministerial._

Ed scrabbles for something to say. "I'll-um-"

He tries to find words for the sudden strange emptiness he feels at not seeing Cameron until next week.

"I'll-ah-" He swallows. "Well. You know."

Cameron snorts. "I'll _you know_ you, too."

Ed gulps. Cameron's cheeks suddenly seem a little pinker than usual.

He can remember their legs pressed together, and his toes curl a little. His cheeks are suddenly unbearably hot.

He snatches another little glance at Cameron, who's humming to himself, eyes flickering to the portraits on the walls. Ed knows him well enough to know he's trying not to look self-conscious. (Should he know Cameron that well?)

Cameron clears his throat, which reminds Ed of the other night, that little laugh as they watched the film, and that scene-

_(Blushing like a bloody schoolgirl.)_

Watching Cameron now, he feels that same shiver. Cameron giving that little smile he sometimes gets when he finds something amusing and then he tugs his shirt a little straighter, with that pucker of his lips and-he looks-

That shiver goes down Ed's spine, the dialogue from the film stuck in his head. Cameron pats his shirt down, exposing the skin at his collar for the briefest second, and the words from the film and Cameron's skin collide in Ed's brain because Cameron-Cameron looks-

 _Sexy_ flashes into Ed's head, completely unbidden.

He nearly jumps. His fingers curl into his sleeves. He bites his lip because _do not think that word. Do not think that-_

"Anyway-" Cameron's saying, while Ed tries not to notice the way he pronounces things. "No doubt it was a relief for you."

It takes a moment too long to sort through the words. "What was?"

Cameron nudges him. The touch make something swoop in Ed's stomach. "Not being temperamentally similar to an evil Tory."

Ed looks up at him slowly. "I don't think you're evil" he says, and he comes to a stop, one hand clutching at Cameron's sleeve before he realises it. "I told you that-"

Cameron's grin doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Come on, Miliband. Half your party do-"

"No, they _don't."_ Ed doesn't realise how loud his voice is until Cameron's eyes widen. He glances around guiltily, but they're alone at the top of the Member's Staircase now.

"They _don't"_ he says, voice a little lower, tightening his grip. "You _know_ they don't. It's not as if _you_ struggle-"

He falters, then lets go and turns away abruptly, before any bitterness enters his voice.

 _Cameron_ hardly struggles with that sort of thing.

Cameron speaks very carefully. "Do you think my party dislikes you?"

There seems to be no right answer to this, so Ed takes a leaf out of Cameron's book and doesn't answer the question.

"They like you. Most of them."

At that, Ed makes a small, disbelieving noise.

"Oh, come on." Cameron's tone's a little more teasing now. "I thought you said you didn't hate us?"

"I _don't-"_ Ed sees the grin and glares.

"Michael's wife Sarah certainly likes you."

The teasing note makes Ed's cheeks feel warm. He eyes Cameron uncertainly.

"She described you as, ah-I believe _dashing_ was the term she used."

At _that_ , Ed makes an odd, spluttering sound. _"Dashing?"_

"Yes." Cameron sounds even more amused by the spluttering. "She was keen enough on it to tell the _Standard,_ so-"

Ed splutters again. When Cameron's grin deepens, he stares at the floor and mutters something.

"What was that?"

Ed takes a deep breath, tries to force out a laugh, seeing Marr holding up those stupid posters again.

"Chance would be a fine thing" he manages lamely, fixing his gaze on the bannisters, pretending to be fascinated by the stone.

"Oh, for goodness' sake." Cameron's voice is curled with amusement and something softer, too. "Come off it, you know you're gorgeous-"

Ed freezes. He tries to turn to Cameron, then nearly walks into the bannister.

Cameron's hand grabs his sleeve clumsily, but Ed's already righted himself. "Um-ah-um-I'm fine, thanks-" It comes out in jagged syllables, his mouth working silently around _What did you just say?_

Cameron's own mouth is opening and closing. "I-ah-" His cheeks are pinking. His blue eyes skitter back and forth, as if looking for an escape route.

Ed can't even enjoy the sight. He's too busy grappling with the-

The-

A rush had gone through him even as he recognized the word, even as the _What?!_ had gripped his brain and his stomach and his chest-

A rush that's tickling his blood, sending his heart pounding wildly, and-

He feels a strange, soaring sensation in his chest. He's almost light-headed. He hasn't got a clue what to say.

"I-ah-" Cameron manages a laugh. It's a little high-pitched. "I-um-sorry. Just-um-thinking aloud."

His cheeks flush scarlet. Ed opens his mouth. Absolutely nothing comes out.

_Do you think I'm-_

His fingers curl and uncurl.

"I mean-" Cameron's jaw is tense, his words quickening. "Not that I-not that I was thinking that you're-that-" He flushes even deeper. "But not that-I wasn't thinking-I mean-you look-you look fine. Miliband. More than fine-I mean-"

Cameron's utterly wrong-footed and falling over his words and blushing-Cameron's _blushing_ -and Ed can't even-

"No-no, I, um-I know-" he hears a voice say vaguely and realises it's his own. He has no idea what he's agreeing that he knows.

_Do you really think I'm-_

"Right." Cameron nods. "Right. Ah. Right. Yes. Good-"

"Yeah." Ed's voice sounds a little weak. He and Cameron are standing a little too close to each other. They should probably move back a little.

Cameron's eyes flicker to his and then down. Ed's gaze somehow ends up on Cameron's mouth. His lips look soft from here, pink and full and-

Ed's hands curl around his sleeves. He can feel the bannister pressing into his back suddenly lessening and realises he's leaning forward. Cameron's eyes find his, big and blue and almost nervous. They flutter a little and Ed hasn't stopped moving closer-

They hover nervously and then they both lean back almost exactly as the door clicks open. Ed swallows, remembering to breathe.

"Gladys-" Cameron's already smiling at the cleaner, who's wearing her usual contented smile and singing quietly to herself, as though there's nowhere in the world she'd rather be.

Ed is fond of Gladys-he still remembers the time she helpfully guided him back to the lift when he was late for a meeting at Norman Shaw South, still singing the whole time-but he's grateful that Cameron's the one speaking. Grateful, and that's all he can bear to think about.

_What-what just-?_

His hands open and close around the bannister reflexively, heart banging madly in his chest. _Gorgeous_ shines brightly, like a silver bell ringing over and over in his mind.

* * *

 

By the time Ed goes to bed, he's wound up.

He tosses and turns on the pillow. He pulls the duvet on and off. His mind has been replaying that little tableau all afternoon-the way Cameron's lips pursed, the dimple that dented his cheek, the way _gorgeous_ had just fitted perfectly in his mouth-

It's ridiculous, Ed has told himself firmly all afternoon. Absolutely ridiculous. It's annoying. Of course it is.

Annoying.

It's _Cameron._

 _Cameron_ with that annoying smile and that irritating smooth voice and the way his cheeks just pink a little and his smooth, dark hair and his eyes, blue and mischievous when he's being distractingly _amusing-_

Cameron being _annoying_ and _irritating_ and aggravatingly _confident_ and _infuriating_ and Ed can't stop _thinking_ about him.

It's left him snappy and out of sorts all afternoon, leading Spencer to ask far too cheerfully "Everything all right? Something on your mind?"

Ed had nearly jumped out of his skin. "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be all right? I'm absolutely fine. Nothing on my mind at all. Nothing" he'd almost barked out, his cheeks suddenly unbearably warm, his fingers tap-tap-tapping a pen against his desk over and over, while he replayed that moment of Cameron tugging his collar open a little over and over again.

Cameron's so _irritating,_ which is why Ed just can't stop _thinking_ about him.

_Oh, for goodness' sake. Come off it-_

That roll of the eyes, with his voice clipped and polished and-

Ed's fingers curl into the mattress.

Justine's turned away from him, asleep on her side, but after a bit, Ed goes to the spare room, anyway. He takes his book and tries to read, eyes staring at the pages too long, the sentences just refusing to fit in his head.

(He keeps hearing them in Cameron's voice and he shouldn't. He really shouldn't.)

He puts the book down and tries to sleep, tossing back and forth on the pillow, feeling pent up and taut and just so-

He's restless and every time he thinks about Cameron and that grin and his mouth and that _rush_ that had gone through Ed, like missing a step going downstairs when he'd stared at Cameron's mouth-

That word comes into his mind again and Ed feels his cheeks flush.

He's just got to-

Stop _thinking_ about him-

The duvet's tiresome and annoying. He kicks at it fiercely.

Just stop thinking about Cameron's voice and his eyes.

He's not going to see him until next week, and something about that's a little like relief and something about it makes Ed feel a sort of aching emptiness in his stomach. Like being hungry and not knowing when he can next eat.

Just don't think about that moment after he said the word _gorgeous_ , when that insane happiness had caught hold of Ed, and widened his mouth in a grin and soared insanely high in his chest, even as that _What?_ stuttered in his mind.

Don't think about how good he smells, like soap and something warm and sweet and-

(What's _happening_ to him?)

Ed almost punches the pillow.

He tries not to think about how taut and restless he feels, how his skin seems to prickle at every bit of contact it receives. How it's winter, but he feels a little too warm. As though some energy in his body just won't shut up, just needs to be let out, needs something, somehow, to-

Don't think about it.

Ed squeezes his eyes shut and lies still.

He doesn't know when or how he drifts into a fitful sleep, the lamp still on, but he does. He dozes fitfully, eyes opening for a few minutes and then falling closed again, that feeling of wanting lurking under his skin.

He's back there on the stairs, suddenly, and Cameron's looking at him and saying "You're gorgeous" and Ed's saying "No, I'm not" and Balls is sitting to his right, because somehow the House of Commons debating chamber is right there at the top of the Members' Staircase, and Balls is saying "Why don't you tell him he's right?" and Bercow's shouting "Order, order!" and Cameron's glasses have somehow appeared, where he's sitting on the front row with Osborne and Samantha and Bercow's telling Gove off-

 _Well, you are_ Cameron says, and they're alone again now, and Cameron's glasses are gone. They're at the top of the stairs and Cameron's leaning into him and somehow plays with that white streak in Ed's hair, which should be impossible.

Ed doesn't know if he says anything back and Cameron's suddenly saying in that tone he uses in PMQs "Well, you _are_ gorgeous-perhaps the Right Honourable Gentleman would like to pay attention to some proof-" and his thumb traces Ed's cheek, which tickles and-

Ed starts to say something, but-

He doesn't know when or how, but suddenly Cameron's mouth is against his.

That's all he feels, Cameron's mouth, warm and soft, and their mouths moving into each other, slowly.

Then-Cameron's kissing him, he thinks suddenly, in an oddly disembodied way. Cameron's kissing him, his hands holding Ed's face between them, and _oh._ _Okay._

Ed's kissing him back and all he's aware of is the warmth and softness of his mouth and his arms have ended up around Cameron's neck, and he can smell his soap and his shampoo, and they're just kissing, and Cameron murmurs something that Ed knows is sarcastic, but he can't be bothered saying anything back to-

And then his back's against a bannister or a wall, but his legs are around Cameron's waist, around his suit, and their hips are moving. They're still kissing, but their hips are grinding against each other, harder and harder. There's an ache growing in his body, bigger and bigger, his heartbeat pounding, all that tautness and wanting an ache that's getting better and better, his hips grinding into something softer now, and a little gasp comes out of Ed's mouth, and then another-

And the pillow's tight over his face, and he lifts his head with a gasp to find he's lying there and the lamp's still on, and his hips are pushing themselves into the mattress and something touches-

His hand's fumbling clumsily and Ed's slipping it under the waistband of his boxers even before his eyes open properly, and he just keeps moving his hips, the ache in his body huge and taut and trembling-

 _"Oh-"_ comes out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and then his hand wraps around and something swells suddenly, all the energy and restlessness that's been there swelling, and he's just thinking about Cameron and his face pressed into his neck and kissing his warm skin, tasting him, breathing him in, and this-this never happens-but that ache's stronger and bigger, and- _oh, oh-_

He pushes his mouth into the pillow, because he can't stop, his knuckles knotting into the pillow, he can't stop, he _needs-_

His hand moves once, twice, while his hips jerk and twitch as one jolt goes through him, then another.

And then his hand moves and his hips thrust and something snaps and a high-pitched sound comes from his throat, and it's there, swelling and rushing up all at once-

And then it's happening, long, aching shudders going through him that are so _good,_ his teeth grinding together at the sweetness of it, long groans dragging themselves out of his throat into the pillow, his whole body thrusting up and down, as pleasure judders through him, the release sweet and aching, until with one last glorious little shudder, he slumps down into the mattress and just _gasps_ into the pillow.

He lies there, sodden and limp, his entire body feeling blissful.

 _What was that?_ whispers something in his head weakly, because that hasn't happened in-in-

Since before he was married. Since before they moved here. Since before _Justine-_

But even before, it was never like-

His mind lets go of it, and he slumps again, enjoys the afterglow seeping through him, the fact that that restlessness has finally calmed. He sighs, a small, contented sound creeping out of his throat.

He manages to push himself up a few moments later, make his way on unsteady legs to the bathroom, pull off his boxers and wince at the stickiness he feels, the first feeling of apprehension creeping in. He does what he can to clean them before he drops them, rinsed through, in the laundry basket and staggers back to the spare room, his mind thick with afterglow-exhaustion.

He collapses back into bed, relishing the warm sleepiness that's settling into his body, the relief leaving him utterly exhausted. His eyes flicker closed, and he can feel himself smiling.

His mind drifts, back to the warmth and the smell of Cameron's shampoo in his dream.

He was thinking about-

He was dreaming about-

His eyes fly open.

What.

His head's still aching with tiredness, but-

_What?_

He was dreaming about-

_What?!_

It's almost a shriek in his head.

_Cameron-!_

He nearly sits bolt upright, but he's too tired and his brain's still muzzy, and his eyes are heavy, so he just lies there, with those words shrieking over and over again.

_What?!_

_Cameron-!_

No. _No._

No, it can't be. He just-dreamt about-

Cameron kissing him.

Cameron-

Ed's eyes open again and even through his sleepiness, horror grips his stomach.

Oh God.

No.

_No._

No, it was a _dream._

But he-

No, it was a _dream._ Just a _dream._

He's tired enough to keep telling himself that. He doesn't need to get up, because it was a dream. Just a dream.

He was _stressed-_

A squeak escapes Ed's throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly.

(That was better than anything he's had before)

(How can it be-)

He was _stressed-_

His eyes are heavy so he lies still. He lies still and-

He was not thinking about Cameron.

It was just a dream.

He's tired enough to hold onto those two thoughts over and over, until he falls asleep.

Not Cameron.

Just a dream.

When he falls asleep, he's thinking those words over and over again, and, though he'd stop if he wasn't too tired, though it only creeps in under the words, he's thinking of how strong Cameron's hands would feel against his cheeks and how his legs would feel, wrapped around his back.

* * *

 

_ Playlist _

_Dashboard-Modest Mouse -"Well, it could've been/Should've been worse than you would ever know..Well, we could've been/Should've been worse than you would ever know..Well, we scheme and we scheme but we always blow it/We've yet to crash, but we still might as well enjoy it"-this whole song sounds bouncy enough for the first scene, but the lyrics are pretty suitable not just for Dave and Ed's little sleepover, but also for the impending election and the tactics everyone's prepared to employ._

_Miracle-Paramore -"I've gone for too long living like I'm not alive/So I'm going to start over tonight/Beginning with you and I/When this memory fades/I'm gonna make sure it's replaced/With chances taken/Hope embraced...We've learned to run from/Anything uncomfortable/We've tied our pain below and no one ever has to know/That inside we're broken/I try to patch things up again/To kill my tears and kill these fears...And I'm not leaving/I won't let you/Let you give up on a miracle/When it might save you...We'll get it right this time/It's not faith if you're using your eyes"-so this song can sum up a load in this chapter. It can sum up Nick trying to make a stand for his party, the way Justine and Ed encourage their kids to repress their feelings, the way they repress their own feelings, Dave encouraging Ed to explore, both of them repressing what they feel, and George refusing to try to come between them._

_Sippy Cup-Melanie Martinez -"Blood still stains when the sheets are washed/Sex don't sleep when the lights are off/Kids are still depressed when you dress them up/And syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup/He's still dead when you're done with the bottle/Of course it's a corpse that you keep in the cradle/Kids are still depressed when you dress them up/Syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup"-this song is completely brilliantly weird, but I think sums up Ed and Justine's parenting pretty wonderfully, the entire glossing over of issues and painting a perfect picture. (Seriously, those videos of their kids and calling them their secret weapons? *grinds teeth*)_

_ I've Got This Friend-The Civil Wars _ _-"I've got this friend/I don't think you know him/He's not much for words/He's hidden his heart away...It'd be such a shame/(If they never meet)..Ohh, I've got this friend (if the right one came)/If the right one came along"-so this actually reminds me of George and Ed's conversation in the bar, and just them generally skating around the issue of exactly what David and Ed's relationship with each other is._

_Warm In The Winter-Glass Candy -"We're warm in the winter/Sunny on the inside/Love is in the air/We're warm in the winter/Sunny on the inside"-so this is just sort of fluffy lyrics to an awesome tune that reminds me of how Dave and Ed feel in both the physical winter and the metaphorical winter when it would be far easier for relations to cool off between them, but instead they're just getting closer and it makes them happier than it should. They're warm when they should be cold, happy at being close when they should be distant._

_Take It With You-The Ettes -"You think that you know what you know now/You say that you know what you got now/You know what you want but it's gone now/I know, I can see in your eyes now/You know and you know and you know and you know/I can tell you're having fun/And pretending that you're still young...I see all the future outside now/Everything is turning around now/You know that you can't take it home now/You know that it's gotta go on now/You know and you know and you know and you know"-I actually first heard this song at a love declaration moment in Skins, and I pictured it playing the moment Ed hears David tell him he's gorgeous, but also the lyrics really suit what everyone else is telling them in this chapter. "You know that you can't take it home now/You know that it's gotta go on now" also sums up the conflict between what they know is logical and what they want perfectly._

_Fever-A Fine Frenzy -"When you put your arms around me/I get a fever that's so hard to bear/You give me fever when you kiss me/Fever when you hold me tight/Fever, in the morning/Fever, all through the night/Sun lights up the daytime/Moon lights up through the night/I light up when you call my name...Fever till you sizzle/What a lovely way to burn/What a lovely way to burn"-so, this (along with the Ettes' song) both go with Ed's little dream in the last scene. It's pretty self-explanatory._

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some info comes from the documentary series Inside The Commons, here:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bnq2cY299xs The other episodes are linked there. A film was made about the Granita Deal "The Deal"-here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0q01KjL7Avo  
> David dislikes Spongebob Squarepants: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/david-cameron-keen-to-shed-the-pounds-7308461.htmlHe & Ed Llewellyn were at Eton & Oxford at a similar time before working at CCHQ -Llewellyn was in Boris's school year: https://www.conservativehome.com/highlights/2015/12/profile-ed-llewellyn-the-pocket-talleyrand-of-downing-street.html.  
> Nick Clegg's children did ask why everyone hated him, after riots over his tuition fees promise:https://www.newstatesman.com/uk-politics/2011/04/clegg-interview-coalition-life  
> You can see the debate between George & Ed B here: http://www.parliamentlive.tv/Event/Index/c6679247-b9bb-4908-9ce4-dbad69a03a7c?in=13%3A19%3A25  
> The "tax avoidance" refers to Miliband infamously avoiding paying inheritance tax on his father's will through a legal loophole: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11410824/Ed-Miliband-intended-to-reduce-tax-admits-Keir-Starmer.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2951553/Red-Ed-tax-avoider-Property-merry-rounds-Milibands-changed-cutting-inheritance-tax-liability.html  
> Ed did buy Justine a coffee machine for her birthday: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2246421/No-Strictly-Come-Dancing-wine-4pm-Christmas-Milibands-sounds-like-fun.html  
> https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2012/dec/12/ed-miliband-nerd-normal  
> All the dialogue/incidents in Ed & Justine's flashbacks to the playground & beach are genuine, in these videos , where you can also see Sam being pushed. This video shows them swinging Daniel, the playground scene, & the start of the beach scene: https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/labour-party-conference-ed-miliband-arrives-with-family-news-footage/696579430  
> The end of the beach scene is here: http://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/181808247  
> Daniel & Sam were referred to as the conference's secret weapon: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2431155/Labour-Party-Conference-2013-Ed-Miliband-Justine-Thorntons-cheesy-photo-stunts.html The dialogue in Justine's conference speech is genuine, here: https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/647978532  
> Ed did ask Ed Balls not to sit next to him at PMQs, sometimes. Ed Balls does have a stutter &plays piano: http://www.radiotimes.com/news/2016-09-23/from-one-dancing-dad-to-another-jeremy-vine-interviews-ed-balls/  
> Gordon Brown had an infamous temper as PM: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2010/feb/21/gordon-brown-abusive-treatment-staff  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2010/feb/21/gordon-brown-rage-despair  
> He had a habit of throwing objects at aides, inc. his phone: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-559576/MP-claims-raging-Gordon-breaks-phones-week-hurling-wall.htmlhttps://www.theguardian.com/politics/blog/2009/apr/24/gordon-brown-angry  
> br />  
> Justine organized everything about her & Ed moving/starting a family-some believe Ed wasn't ready for the commitment:https://www.standard.co.uk/news/anguish-of-the-miliband-women-6518492.html A lot of people suspected them of getting married for political purposes:https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/a-good-reason-for-a-party-7l5gn2px9d2 Justine claims the boys like leafleting, despite Daniel objecting, both seen here at 02:20: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDIERzB467o Justine was a child actress:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/8038949/Justine-Thornton-Mrs-Milibands-secret-history.html Justine went to private school after first attending a comprehensive.  
> The PMQs can be seen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9KkZei1d9s  
> br />  
> Ed was on the frontbench when Brown was PM:http://www.spectator.co.uk/2008/11/why-my-sofa-is-the-best-seat-in-the-house/ Ed played David in Brown's PMQs rehearsals but was described as "temperamentally unsuited" & lacking brutality. "Saving the world" is an infamous slip-up Brown made in one PMQs: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/3701712/Gordon-Brown-mocked-over-save-the-world-slip-up-in-Commons.html br />  
> Sarah Vine did refer to Ed as "dashing": https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/10725910/Miliband-is-charming-and-dashing-says-Tory-Cabinet-ministers-wife.html  
> Marr showed Ed cartoons of himself as Wallace in a TV interview:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2707246/There-s-one-fire-Akward-moment-BBC-s-Marr-hands-Ed-Miliband-cartoons-Wallace-tells-image-DOES-matter.html  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-28509135/miliband-on-bacon-sandwich-and-wallace-and-gromit-image  
> Gladys is the much-loved cleaner in the House of Commons.


	20. Transatlantic Transactions, A Harem Of Hues And Financial Flirtations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which chips are not supposed to be green, one shouldn't interrupt when Samantha's listening to Robert Smith, and economic terms are an unusual method of flirting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaah. So sorry for the delay on this, guys, and for the length of this chapter (I am such a failure, dear God.) We've been house-moving, which is always stressful, and dealing with family stuff, and basically life got out of control. BUT. HERE IT IS.  
> BEFORE YOU READ: First, if you want to ask me anything about this fic, tell me fave characters, whatever, you can [send me an ask](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr!  
> ALSO, due to the long notes at the end of this one, and since there's again some video references, I've decided to put the videos and some other references up here in these notes. :)  
> The memory Sam mentions of being pushed down the slide by Justine was detailed last chapter but can be seen in this video:https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/labour-party-conference-ed-miliband-arrives-with-family-news-footage/696579430  
> Nancy's story about the chip is, wonderfully, true, as are her and Elwen's opinions on school food. You can see that & more conversation between the Cameron children (& the Downing Street flat) here:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pyECCsEQcMY  
> Obama and Cameron's press conference can be seen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3rn7aN2sF1o  
> The "knifing a foreign secretary" exchange can be seen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMdsOqGASRE  
> :  
> The Camerons did use the back entrance of Downing Street for privacy, as they can be seen doing here, after David's last PMQs:https://www.gettyimages.ca/license/566882590  
> Obama vehemently disliked Ed Miliband, partly from Miliband changing his mind at the last minute on whether to support Cameron on military action in Syria in August 2013, meaning Cameron lost the vote. Obama sent his pollster Jim Messina to help Cameron win, with the instruction "Go over to Britain and make sure that socialist Ed Miliband doesn't get into Number 10": http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3367364/Conservative-Chairman-Lord-Feldman-said-Tory-victory-big-f-Ashcroft.html David Axelrod was Obama's campaign chief, who Labour hired:https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/11991860/How-Labour-MPs-suspected-hiring-David-Axelrod-was-a-mistake-from-day-one.html  
> Barack calls David "bro": https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11323967/David-Cameron-President-Obama-calls-me-Bro.html  
> The books referred to are the Delirium series by Lauren Oliver, which Obama bought for his daughters.  
> Cameron, Obama & Helle Thorning-Schmidt took a selfie together at Nelson Mandela's funeral: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/dec/10/nelson-mandela-world-leaders-selfie Obama gave Miliband a meeting of only 40 minutes in 2011 & then only 25 in 2014: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/miliband-to-boost-his-image-as-obama-grants-him-a-brush-by-5sbmhpwjd5d  
> https://blogs.spectator.co.uk/2014/07/ed-miliband-comes-to-washington-and-nobody-here-notices/  
> The terms in the "economic discussion" Dave & Ed have are all economic terms (both studied PPE at Oxford-Dave was actually there at the same time as Ed's brother David and Ed Balls. Ed M was a year ahead of George.)The wall of pictures is the famous set of portraits of ex-Prime Ministers that line the Downing Street staircase. Malik is Obama's disliked brother, who voted for Trump. Blair House is the official White House guest residence. br />  
> The film the kids watch is Coraline & the book they read from is Millions by Frank Cottrell Boyce.  
> Here's the photo of David Ed ends up staring at in his bedroom (you can tell which one but here's the mini-set):  
> https://goo.gl/images/zUEYyc  
> https://goo.gl/images/M1xLdd  
> https://goo.gl/images/BTCiJn  
> https://goo.gl/images/TmgTYS  
> If you can't access/read any of the articles and want to, send me an ask on Tumblr!
> 
> (Also, in answer to including something about Theresa and Philip: I will in the next few chapters. :))
> 
> Hope you enjoy and THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR COMMENTS, PLEASE KEEP LEAVING THEM. :)

_"I might appear confident and chatty, but I spend most of my time laughing at jokes I don't find funny, saying things I don't really mean-because at the end of the day, that's what we're all trying to do; fit in, one way or another, desperately trying to pretend we're all the same."- Forbidden, Tabitha Suzuma _

_""You're not going to....You won't try to keep me away from Dex, now that you know I'm totally fucked-up?"_

_""I think maybe it's good for Dex to be around some fucked-up people" he said._

_No-one had ever said I'd be good for someone. "You really think that?"_

_He sucked down the last drops of whiskey. "I have to, don't I?""- Girls On Fire, Robin Wasserman_

__

_I swear,_

_I most solemnly swear on all the bric-a-brac_

_of summer loves, I know_

_you not._

_-The Exorcists , Anne Sexton_

* * *

 

 

 

"Descending" Craig says with a dig in David's ribs.

David thinks that he says something, but a moment later, Craig taps him again. "David?"

David feels himself jump. "Oh. Sorry." He tries for a laugh. "Yeah. Sorry."

Craig gives him a long look, brow creasing. "You-ah-you all right, Prime Minister?"

David gives him the smile, the one he's been managing all day. "Yes, of course. Absolutely fine."

Craig gives him another look, but David turns and stares out of the window, feigning interest in the clouds.

It's the same smile he's been giving all day. All night, to himself in the mirror, every time he's woken up.

Sam hadn't been fooled by it, but then Sam's never fooled by it. She'd turned over, propping herself up in bed on one elbow to look at him.

"What is it?" she'd said simply, watching him.

David had managed a smile, unsure quite how it crawled to his mouth. "What's what?"

Sam had just watched him. It would have been easier if she'd said something-but then, that's why he always ends up telling her. Because she knows how _not_ to say anything.

Just how to look. It's one of the reasons David sometimes thinks she'd make a great politician, herself.

"Is it Ed Miliband?"

Another reason is that she's too good at asking the question no one wants to answer.

David had taken a long breath, suddenly too aware of the duvet over his chest, of his heart pounding. "Why would it be him?" he'd said, and only a second later had he realised that that might be a question he didn't want the answer to.

Sam's eyes had met his, then-gaze sharp, dark blue, and her hand had touched his, very gently. "Because you're closer to him, Dave. And today, you had to-"

David had only frozen for a second. He knew Sam would notice-Sam always notices.

"It was just PMQs" is all he'd managed, and it was then that Sam had said "There's nothing _just_ about PMQs though, Dave.""

David had frowned. It sometimes doesn't hit him-whatever he's said in PMQs, whatever Miliband's said to him-until afterwards. And sometimes not even then.

Sometimes, he feels himself pushing it down, telling himself he'll think about it later. That he'll wonder if it was harsh or too harsh, then.

He never does end up thinking about it. And it's only sometimes when he turns to Sam afterwards that he remembers that other people probably wouldn't be _able_ to not think about it.

"It's not Miliband" is all he'd managed, and he'd known Sam didn't believe him. He'd known that when Sam's hand had circled his back gently, one hand stroking his hair.

David had managed to drift off like that, with something tight and gnawing in his chest. Something like guilt.

He'd made sure to hug all the kids tight before he left that morning-especially Nancy.

"I'll be back on Saturday" he'd promised, holding her tight, tugging at her ponytail, reassuring himself of the sweet solid warmth of his daughter. "And then it's your party on Sunday." He'd looked at her carefully, taking in the big blue eyes, so like Sam's. "Are you sure it's all right that Mr. Key's going to be there? I could always go back to Downing Street and meet him in the morning and then come back-"

"No, it's fine-" Nancy was nodding, her ponytail bouncing. "Honest, Dad-"

David had examined her face carefully, and then pressed a quick, fierce kiss to the tip of her nose.

It's a lot easier to think about that than the fact that he hadn't answered Sam's question.

Or the one thing he's been trying not to think about.

_You must know you're gorgeous._

David's stomach contracts and swoops, as though the plane's just lurched out of the sky.

What the-what was he-

He can never finish the sentence in his head, which might be the very worst part.

Because he doesn't even know what he's asking himself.

Why did he say it?

Why did he _think_ it?

Does he think-

For God's sake.

For God's-

He'd just blurted it out. That's the worst bloody thing about it.

Miliband had said "Chance would be a fine thing" in that little voice, and David had glanced at him, feeling irritated, because typical bloody _Miliband,_ with the martyr act, and he'd just looked-

Huffy and geeky and-

God, he'd just looked-

And David had blurted it out.

He hadn't even known he meant _gorgeous_ until he said it.

And God, what does _that_ mean?

Nothing, he's tried to tell himself over and over. Nothing.

It's just-crossed wires.

A mix-up.

His thoughts misunderstanding.

That's all it _can_ be.

They hadn't said anything more about it-but other people had been coming up by then, and-but it's not as though they _needed_ to.

He's not going to see Miliband until next week, after all.

And something about that aches in David's chest.

He's caught himself reaching for his phone four times already, just to-

Talk to him?

Know he's there?

It's _Miliband_ , for God's sake.

And then he'll end up thinking of that odd moment, standing at the top of the stairs, when Miliband had said _Yeah_ , a little faintly, and just stared, and something had swooped in David's chest and then he hadn't been able to not stare back and-

Well.

He's not sure.

David hates not being sure.

He stares at the window and groans silently. It's then that he looks down and realises that somehow his damn phone has ended up in his hand again, and he's staring at it with no idea if he wants to talk to Miliband or not.

The one upside, he reflects somewhat grimly, is that at least today he's seeing Barack.

 

* * *

 

 

"Look-" Barack spreads his hands, once the cameras have been cleared out. "You cannot say we're not laying on the full treatment here."

David lets himself grin a little, grateful for the ease of the conversation. It keeps his mind safely away from Miliband. And the House of Commons, altogether.

Which is ironic, since remaining in his current position in the House of Commons is part of the reason he's here.

"Must be easy when you've got 70% plus approval ratings" he says, leaning back to gaze out over the White House lawn, while Barack laughs next to him. "And when you're able to stand your Speaker-"

"See, approval ratings are the easy part of having two dominant parties-"

"I appreciate the boasting-" David finds himself suddenly relieved when Barack laughs.

He's not exactly awkward, but then Barack's not like most of the leaders he has to deal with.

"Anyway, bro-" David used to wonder if Barack was sending him-or all of them-up a little by calling him that. These days, he's a little more self-assured.

It reminds him of Miliband, for some reason.

But Barack's saying, "How's the family doing? Sam and the kids-"

David wrenches his mind back to the conversation. "They're good. It's Nancy's birthday on Monday, so we're having a get-together at Chequers over the weekend."

"Should have timed my trips better." Barack clicks his fingers. "Might have got myself an invitation, like Key."

"Well, you'd have been top of the list-"

Barack laughs, but this reminds David uncomfortably of the fact that he hasn't invited Miliband to Nancy's party yet.

"Well, we got her a few books-ones Malia and Sasha loved. She's a bookworm, isn't she?"

David laughs. "She made me read all the Harry Potters to her. Now, she's reading them to Flo-"

"These are pretty-not _similar-"_ Barack shakes his head. "Malia calls them dystopian or something. Like the Hunger Games. You can ask her later."

"Well, hopefully, it'll help out. I mean, Nancy's been struggling a bit lately-"

Barack's forehead creases. David sighs and relates a very condensed version of what Nancy had told him last week. Barack's one of the people who can understand what it's like to have a preteen daughter.

Barack winces when David's finished. "Poor kid. How did Sam take it?"

"Well, she wanted to bury someone-"

Barack snorts. "So would Michelle. In fact, I don't think whoever the guy was would still be breathing-"

"Well, Miliband nearly wasn't-"

"Miliband?" Barack's brow furrows. "That socialist guy who wants to be Prime Minister?"

David laughs a little too loudly. The fact that Barack hasn't forgotten his dislike of Miliband is somehow both more and less of a relief than it should be.

_I'm sorry. Honestly. I think I've really got us-_

_Bro, it's OK__

_I think I've got us in a pickle this time. All of us-I thought-Nick and I thought he'd listen-_

_David, I'm not angry. I know you did your best. It's that little backstabbing socialist rat I'm mad about._

Now, Barack's tilted his head. "How's Jim working out for you, by the way?"

"Godsend." David takes a gulp of his own wine. "Helping to push Miliband further away from Downing Street every bloody day."

"Well, that's what I told him. _Go over to Britain and make sure that socialist Ed Miliband doesn't get into Number 10._ Don't even _talk_ to me about Axelrod." Barack shakes his head, his jaw tensing a little. "But Jim's the better. You got the better end of the deal on this, trust me."

"I believe you." David shakes his head. "But he knew."

"Knew what?"

"About Nancy. She'd told him, and-" David shakes his head. "I mean, he didn't mean to keep it quiet. We sorted things out-not until I'd had to scream at him, though.

Barack grimaces. "100%. If it had been Malia or Sasha-"

"I know." David decides not to mention Miliband's remarks about the NHS. Barack dislikes him enough as it is.

(David still remembers one of the first times they met after he became Prime Minister, exchanging stories about moving into residences, and then Barack's remark- _Must be hard with four kids, though._

Barack's eyes had widened only a second later, his face crumpling. _Oh God-sorry, bro, I didn't mean-_

David had already been shaking his head, hand on Barack's arm- _It's fine. We do have four-_ something like relief settling into his stomach, chest, the question marks that always seem to hover around Ivan's name for so many people shattering.)

Now, he's glad of the decision not to mention Miliband's latest opinions, as Barack turns to squint at him. "Didn't I hear you two have got a bit friendlier?"

David freezes, but only for a second. "Who told you?" he says lightly. "Helle?"

Barack snorts. "No-one regrets any image taken more than Helle and that selfie." He winks. "Except for Miliband and that bacon sandwich."

David laughs, and tries not to feel cruel.

"Well" he says, keeping his eyes on the lawn and praying he won't blush.

Praying he won't-

Fantastic.

This is what Ed bloody Miliband has turned him into.

Someone who can't stop blushing at his name.

"It's always good to keep the lines of communication open" he remarks, hoping he sounds casual, off-hand. "Of course, this would be a problem you don't have to deal with" he points out, turning to flash Barack a wink.

Barack grins back. "Hey. You deal with it better than I could. If I'd had to be best friends with _Romney-"_ He's shaking his head, already laughing at the thought.

"Well-" David's about to say _We're not friends,_ but thinks better of it.

"But Miliband-" Barack grimaces. "It was bad enough spending 40 _minutes_ with him-"

David thinks of Ed's unabashed love for all things American and Obama and guilt twists viciously in his chest.

"Actually" he says, before he can stop himself. "He's not so bad to spend time with on occasion."

He takes another gulp of wine and tries not to imagine the expression on Craig's face if he'd heard that.

"Hey-" Barack's mouth twitches. "Remember whose bed you slept in."

David almost chokes.

Barack actually leans forward before David manages to regain his breath and thoughts all at once. "Ah-how is the plane?"

Barack winks. "Bed still broken."

"Hilarious-"

_Please don't mention broken beds._

_Not while I'm still thinking Miliband's name_.

"I mean, Michelle might have got suspicious-"

"I needed a _nap-"_

"Well, hey. Don't go thinking about offering _Miliband_ a bed anytime soon-"

David manages not to freeze this time.

He's fairly sure he does blush, though, and curses himself.

Oh God, is this what it's like to be Miliband _all the time-_

But right now, he can't think about it, so he meets Barack's eyes with a grin. "Oh, don't worry" he says, trying not to picture Miliband's long lashes brushing his cheeks. "There's nothing happening on that score."

Not again, anyway.

* * *

 

 The only thing worse than Alastair shouting is Alastair not shouting.

Ed had waited, on edge, as Alastair walked in, for the explosion.

The screaming.

Possibly a head slammed into the vending machine, as Balls swears to this day, with wide eyes and a pen shaken for emphasis, that he once witnessed.

But Alastair just greeted him politely with a smile. And they'd launched into debate prep.

And now, Ayesha's standing across from him, not quite donning a Scottish accent, but certainly matching Nicola Sturgeon for volume.

"If we offered you a coalition, how would you look the country in the eye if you turned it down, and allowed the Tories to walk back into power-"

"That is not what I'd be doing-"

"If you rejected a coalition with the SNP, you are taking David Cameron's hand and leading him back to the door of Downing Street-"

_Oh God, don't say anything about holding hands with David Cameron._

All he can think about now, right now, is Wednesday night.

His face buried in that pillow, ripples of pleasure aching sweetly through his body, thinking of Cameron's aftershave and soap. That brief sensation of his mouth, pressing itself into Cameron's warm, soft skin-

Ed shakes his head furiously, his fingers digging into the back of the chair.

Oh, God. Don't think about that.

He quickly glances back at Ayesha, but catching Alastair's face out of the corner of his eye, Ed knows he's noticed.

His stomach twists a little, but he fixes his eyes on Ayesha, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

It's later, as Ayesha pats his arm-"I mean, it's probably not going to be a huge element to the voters, but it's best to be on the safe side"-that Alastair says, with a small smile which is more terrifying than any other expression he wears, "Ed, can we have a quick word outside?"

Ed wonders if they've ever been the last words someone heard.

Alastair's still smiling as he leads Ed into the next, smaller office, which doesn't make Ed feel any more secure.

"Take a look at that" is all Alastair says with a grin, and gestures to a desk.

Ed looks, and gulps hard. On the desk lies six snapped pencils, and seven crumpled Coke cans.

Alastair leans in and his voice, almost a whisper, grazes Ed's neck. "That's what I did when I heard Cameron quoting you saying you wanted to weaponize the fucking NHS."

Ed gulps. Alastair's wearing a grim smile. Ed doesn't dare to ask if he's joking or not.

"Um-"

Alastair slaps him on the back, a little too hard. "Do not fuck up. Like that. Again."

He's smiling. This time, Ed knows he isn't joking.

Alastair claps his arm. "And just so you know, this has taken a fucking _monumental_ amount of self-control. And I'm in possession of a fucking limited quantity of that. So don't make me chuck away any more of it. Get it?"

Ed manages a smile as Alastair claps his shoulder again. And thanks a God he doesn't believe in that Alastair isn't a mind-reader.

* * *

 

Sam doesn't want to kiss Mummy goodbye-Daniel doesn't, he just walks off into the corner of the room and the nursery lady's face gets all frowny.

But Mummy tries to cuddle him, but her arms feel all wrong, the way they always do.

"See you later, chaps-"

Sam runs when Mummy lets go of him, runs over to where Daniel's sitting, cross-legged, pulling at a toy Hoover in the corner. Sam taps his arm, tries to get his hands on the tube. Sam likes hoovering. Sometimes, when Mummy and Daddy are out, and he and Daniel are down in the basement, Zia lets them hoover with her. Sam likes it when she puts her hands on his back gently, and helps him move it back and forth. He likes watching all the dirt and dust and bad things disappear.

"Daddy will pick you up later, chaps" Mummy's saying from across the room. Daniel just puffs out his cheeks and heads over to the slide in the corner.

Mummy gives them a wave from the doorway. "Bye, gents." Sam doesn't know what a gent is.

And then Mummy's gone.

Sam looks at Daniel. There aren't any other children here. It's like at nursery when everyone else goes home for lunch, and it's just Sam and maybe one or two other ones-sometimes just Sam. He always has to stay until the end of the day when Daniel comes out, so Zia can get them together, even when it makes him tired.

Daniel slides all the way down so that his feet hit the bottom of the slide. Sam watches him get up. "When Daddy coming?"

Daniel bounces over to him and touches his shoulder. "It's OK, Sam" he says, and pulls Sam over to the hoover. "Look, we can hoover-"

He pushes the hoover back and forth and puts Sam's hands on it, like Zia does. "Here. This'll be our house." He pats the floor and then picks up one of the baby dolls from a cot and hands it to Sam. It fits nicely in Sam's hands.

He pats the baby's head, and kisses it. "No basement" he says to the baby, so it doesn't look sad, and then he looks up at Daniel. "No basement."

Daniel shakes his head and then squeezes Sam's shoulder. "No. No basement. You can be the daddy-"

"You be the mummy-"

"Yeah-yeah, I'll be the mum, and you be the dad-"

Sam pats the doll's head. The baby doll is safe here, away from basements. Now, the baby looks like it's smiling again.

* * *

 

Sam sighs and kneels down to look into Flo's big blue eyes. Her four-year-old daughter stares back at her innocently.

"Are you _sure_ you don't feel a bit better?"

Flo beams back at her brightly. "No."

Sam bites back a grin. "Are you sure?"

Flo beams. "Yes." She then promptly turns back to the TV screen and, without a beat, launches into a dance routine, punching her tiny fists in the air.

Sam can't bring herself to tell her off. Flo had had a slight temperature that morning, and she was erring on the side of caution by keeping her at home. Of course, halfway through the morning, Flo had brightened, though every so often, her conversation had been punctuated with "I miss Daddy."

So instead, she sighs, bends down, and gives Flo a kiss. "If you haven't been to school, we could go somewhere else."

Ten minutes later, Flo's squirming about, already wanting to run, as Sam carries her towards the nursery. Flo's at the age where she needs some interaction and Sam knows all too well that if her energy isn't worn off, she'll tear around the flat for hours.

"Here-" She smiles at the nursery attendant, lets Flo burrow her face in a little. Michael's doing the school run today, so Nancy and Elwen will be home a little later, especially if they have to pick up Luke and Libbie first.

"Hey." She gently lifts Flo's chin up, so Flo can look at her, the way she had on Flo's first day of school back in September, when Flo had burrowed into her legs suddenly, and Sam had bent down to pick her up and cuddled her, singing some First Aid Kit song into her ear, rocking her slowly. "We don't have to go in if you don't want to, little one."

Flo puffs out her cheeks and curls her fingers into her mum's jacket, clenching and unclenching them for a few moments, before she sets her jaw. "Want to go in" she announces, but she holds on to Sam's coat still.

Sam cuddles her gently. "Want me to come in with you?"

Flo nods, and Sam carries her in with a kiss on the head.

Once inside, Flo wriggles a little, her eyes darting around the room, lighting on the plastic slide. She points. "Mummy?"

"Yes?"

"Slide."

"Oh, you want to go on the slide?" Sam's carrying her across the room, Flo's ponytail brushing her cheeks as her daughter chatters. "Yes, slide-slide all the way _down-"_

There's a creaking, a little rustle of movement, and then two little boys' heads pop out, one on either side.

Flo is pressed up against Sam's ear when she decides to scream _"Sam!"_ at the top of her lungs, which leads Sam to very nearly prove all those headlines about working women multi-tasking correct by dropping her daughter and having a heart attack simultaneously.

The little boy with dark curls smiles, and Sam is struck by the difference it makes. A moment earlier, his face had been pale, drawn, dark eyes tense, watchful. Now, his cheeks crease in a grin, colour appearing. Even his eyes look brighter.

"Sam and Daniel-" Flo's wriggling, and Sam lowers her carefully, letting her run to the other Sam and his brother, who still watches warily.

The other Sam doesn't speak, but just touches Flo's hand. Sam herself crouches own, to look at Daniel. Up close, she can see that his eyes, unlike his brother's, are a striking grey-blue, and his hair an unusual soft brown, almost auburn. "Hi, Daniel."

Daniel stares up at her with his big eyes, but when she puts a hand on his shoulder, he reaches up and touches it. She's about to pull away, but when she goes to, Daniel's fingers curl around hers' and cling on. He stares up at her, eyes widening a little. Something aches in Sam's chest at the look.

She cradles Daniel's cheek and he just holds onto her hand tightly. The other Sam is holding Flo's hand, while Flo chatters far too brightly for someone who's supposed to be sick. "This is my mummy" she announces, dragging Sam's hand towards them. "And this is Sam and Daniel. Mr. Ed Miliband is their daddy."

Sam stills. Of course Mr. Ed Miliband is their daddy.

Dave had told her he'd talked things over with Ed Miliband, when he came back on Tuesday. "He didn't mean to. I mean, what he did was wrong-"

"Too bloody right it was wrong-"

"I just think-" Dave had stared straight ahead, for a few moments. "Some of the things he said-"

Sam had frowned, torn between holding the grudge and her curiosity being piqued. "What?"

Dave's shoulders had risen and fallen. "Just-some things about his kids. About his mum and-I don't know."

Dave's brow had creased, and then, voice lower and more deliberate than usual, "Sometimes, I think he's not quite....sure. About people."

Sam had frowned. Dave had gestured with his hands. "Almost as though-he doesn't know that's-how most people _are-"_ He'd shaken his head. "Forget it. I'm rambling, but he _is_ sorry-"

If Sam had been in the mood she was in on Thursday night, she might not have cared. But something about the look in Dave's eyes-distant, as though straining to remember something or catch something, some feeling he wasn't quite sure of-had jolted something in Sam's memory, and she'd found herself remembering standing in the Milibands' dining room, listening to Justine say _There's been a lot on at work-we weren't really sure who to invite-_

There'd been no photographs of their kids, Sam had noticed.

Now, she's cooled down a little. Dave wouldn't have forgiven Miliband if he wasn't sure he'd meant it, but something-

Something about Dave's words, and Justine's look at that party-

And now, the way Daniel's holding onto her hand.

"My daddy's not here" Flo's saying now, pulling herself happily onto the top of the slide. "My daddy's in America. Where's your daddy?"

"Not here" is all Sam says, stepping up to the slide, grabbing Flo's hand as she slides down so that he's almost pulled with her.

"Never know when Daddy's coming." Daniel says the words quietly. But his hand tightens around Sam's, presses it closer to his cheek.

Sam's heart aches, and this time, she puts an arm round Daniel's shoulders and cuddles him into her. She does it automatically, just _wanting_ to cuddle him, cuddle the sad look in his eyes.

But Daniel huddles into her tight, trying to hold on, and Sam lets him. On impulse, she presses a kiss into his soft hair, and he cuddles into her, leaning his head on her shoulder. Sam watches Flo tug the other Sam back to the slide by the hand, Daniel's head on her shoulder, while she cuddles him tight.

* * *

 

Sam sits at the top of the slide. His hands curl and uncurl. He can feel Daniel and Flo standing behind him.

Flo's mummy is at the bottom of the slide. Sam's tummy feels tight and sad. He holds onto the slide at the top.

"Go on, Sam" Flo's saying, and her hand hits his shoulder too hard. It hurts, and Sam feels himself jump.

"Flo-" Flo's mummy's stepping up to the slide and Sam ducks his head down.

Last time he couldn't go down a slide, there were cameras and clicking sounds and Daddy's tissue had been rough and hurt his nose. Mummy's smile had been weird and too bright and she'd been saying _OK, Mr. Sam?_ and Sam hadn't been OK, but Mummy had kept saying _Sweetie, come on._

Now Flo's mummy is standing next to him and her hand moves to his shoulder.

Sam jumps away and curls up. He doesn't want her hand to come out and push him.

His cheeks are wet and he's crying. He curls up tight.

"All right, Sam-" Daniel's hand's on his shoulder. "All right, Sam-"

Flo's watching him. "Mummy-"

"All right-" Flo's mummy's moving closer. Sam crouches away against the plastic in case she pushes him like Mummy did.

"All right-Flo, you and Daniel just go back down the steps and give Sam a minute-" Flo's mummy isn't touching him but she's near him. Sam tries to look at her in case she pushes him before he can stop her.

"Hey." Flo's mummy's voice is nice and soft. She doesn't touch him. "Do you not want to go down the slide?"

Sam starts to shake his head, then shrugs. He doesn't know.

"I don't kno-don't know-" He stares up at Flo's mummy and wants her to know for him.

"All right-" Flo's mummy is crouched down and dabs his eyes-gently and nicely. It's soft, not like when Daddy does it. "It's all right, Sam-"

Sam sniffs when Flo's mummy wipes his nose with a tissue. She's touching him, but it doesn't feel bad or like a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces don't quite go right. It feels nice.

"Do you want me to lift you down?"

Sam shakes his head, staring down the slide.

"Do you want me to help you slide?"

Sam wriggles away. "No push-"

"It's all right." Flo's mummy's touching his shoulder, but it's not bad. "It's all right, Sam. No pushing."

Sam swallows hard.

"I meant I could slide you down."

"Nice when Mummy slides me down-" Flo's saying, but then Daniel says "She won't push."

Sam looks for Daniel because Daniel will know. Daniel's standing next to the slide, looking up. "She won't push, Sam-"

Sam's fingers curl a little. He looks back at Flo's mummy and nods.

Flo's mummy touches him then, one hand on his back and one on his tummy. "I won't let go, OK?"

Sam takes a deep breath and nods.

"OK, on three- _one-two-three-"_ Flo's mummy moves and then she's moving him down the slide gently. Sam puts his hand up and holds onto her sleeve tight, so that even if she does let go to be sneaky, he won't fall.

She doesn't, and then Sam's at the bottom. He blinks, looking around.

 _"Yayyyy-"_ Flo's mummy claps him, and then Flo says, her voice high and loud, "Sam came down the _slide-"_

"Well done, Sam-" Daniel's head butts his shoulder gently. "Well done, well done, Sam-"

Flo's mummy's arms are still there. She bends down and cuddles him. "All right? You did that, brave boy-"

Sam can feel a big, big smile on his face. His heart is drum-drum-drumming. He puts his arms up, wanting to wriggle closer, and Flo's mummy picks him up, right up, and cuddles him.

It's a proper cuddle and Sam holds on tight for a bit, until Flo's mummy doesn't put him down. Sam loosens his fingers a bit then, and burrows his face into her shoulder, and she holds him nicely and doesn't let go.

* * *

 

 This time last Thursday, if Sam had been trying to estimate when and how she'd next talk to Ed Miliband, she wouldn't have put any big money on it being now.

But a call to Bells and Jeremy later, here she is, waiting for him to pick up his mobile.

And then there's his voice, familiar, nasal and confused. "Hello?"

His voice.

Sam takes a deep breath, reminding herself to keep her own calm. "Hi, Ed. How are you?"

That wasn't too bad, she thinks. There wasn't a hint of the fact that she lay awake most of last Thursday night wanting to rip out his entrails. That has to count for something.

There's a pause. Sam bites her lip as she imagines him struggling to sound polite, while wondering who on earth she is and how she's got his number.

OK, maybe only a part of her has forgiven him.

"Um-I'm-I'm well. How-how are you?"

Sam gives him another moment of torture and then decides to put him out of his misery. "It's Sam. Samantha Cameron."

There's a small intake of breath. "Oh-oh, yes-I-I knew-" says Ed, who very obviously didn't know.

Sam doesn't have any time to dwell on that, however, because it's then that Ed blurts out "Is David OK?"

Sam blinks. "What?"

"D-David. D-D-Cameron. Is he-you know. Nothing's gone-"

Sam frowns. "As far as I know, Dave's fine. Unless the White House ran out of oatcakes or something. But no, no. He's fine. Why, have you heard-"

There's a sigh on the other end. Sam pictures his shoulders slumping in relief. "Oh. Good. No. No-I just-when you phoned, I-" Miliband's stumbling over his words. Sam feels a grin twitch at her mouth. "And I meant C-Cameron. Not David. Though obviously David. Obviously David-I-I mean-I mean that's his n-name-"

Ed's stuttering trails itself off into embarrassed silence but Sam goes still, suddenly _aware_ , the way she sometimes is, of something else there. Something other than embarrassment under the words. Something like fear.

Something a little _eager._

Sam shakes her head. "Anyway, I just wanted to ask you something." She turns to check the children, unable to simply leave it to the nursery staff.

"Oh-um-yeah, sure-"

"No, the thing is, I'm in the nursery at the moment, with Flo and your boys, and I was wondering-"

She doesn't get any further before she hears, a little louder now, "My-Daniel and Sam?"

"Yeah-" Sam turns to check them again. Daniel is holding the baby doll, rocking it gently. "Quiet down for Mummy-" he's telling it in a singsong voice.

"They're here" she says, turning back. "Daniel says Justine told him you were picking them up?"

"She didn't tell me." Ed's voice rises into a sharp point. "I mean-I didn't know beforehand, unless she's messaged me-"

Sam frowns, confusion wriggling into a question. How could Ed not know-

"God, I'm not going to be able to-" Ed's voice is smaller, taut. "How long does that nursery stay open-I-"

"Well, that's what I was going to-" Sam hurries into it, before Ed can babble his way into something else. "You see, it's just the boys and Flo here, and I was going to say, I could always take them back for a while. To ours'."

(It's easier to say _ours'_ than the name of the street still, to Sam, at least.)

"What?" Ed's tone is slightly startled. "To Downing-"

"Yeah-" Sam cuts him off before he can say the word. "I mean, it's not going to be any trouble. Michael's bringing Nancy and Elwen home, so his kids will probably be here for a bit, too-" Sam checks her watch, but it's only four-they won't be back until around quarter to five, as is common when pick-up has to be done from three different schools, one of which still doesn't finish for fifteen minutes.

It had been as the kids were climbing about, handing dolls to each other, Flo scrambling halfway up the slide and sliding down again, that she'd said to the boys "When did Mummy drop you off, by the way?"

Daniel, who had been beaming as he cradled the baby doll, immediately stopped. The smile disappeared and he cradled the doll more tightly to his chest-almost protectively, as though it might be snatched away at any moment.

"Don't know" he'd said, hugging the doll tighter still now. "She went. She won't come back. Not for _ages."_

Sam had glanced at the other Sam, but he was babbling away to a doll, which both he and Flo seemed to be trying to push into Daniel's lap.

"Here-other bab-eeee-" Sam's dark curls had rubbed against his brother's arm.

"Daniel's Mummy" Flo had announced-Daniel had taken the other doll, turning it carefully into the crook of his arm. "And Sam's Daddy. I'm the nanny and these are our babies-"

"Why won't Mummy be back for ages?" Sam had asked them then, something in the crease of Daniel's brow itching uncomfortably in her chest.

At first, she'd thought neither of the boys were going to answer, but then, stroking the baby doll's head carefully, Daniel had said "Mummy's never back for ages."

Something about the look in his eyes-sad or distant, but fixed on the baby doll as he stroked under its' chin carefully-made something squeeze in Sam's chest. And she'd thought suddenly of that moment with Sam on the slide, when she'd leaned in to put her arm around him and Sam had flinched, curling up as far away as he could get.

Flo had interrupted her thoughts, patting the doll's head and declaring "But I don't have to sleep in the basement. Not like _your_ nanny-"

Sam had watched them playing for a few moments and then broached the question slowly. "How would you feel about coming back with Flo?"

The bright look on Sam's face had been worth it.

Now, Ed stutters a little. "Well-that-but surely-wouldn't that be too much trouble-"

"Oh no-" Sam's grown up with a father and a stepfather, a stepmother and stepfather who are best friends, and so many siblings that on one memorable occasion one managed to slip off at a picnic and bring another child back, who was consequently lifted into the car with the rest of them, the error not being realised until they were ten minutes from home and the police had been summoned. "It'll be fine. Michael's kids will probably be there, maybe George's too-you can pick them up whenever you want. We'll let you in round the back way, like Bonfire Night-"

"Well-um-" She can hear Ed stuttering and knows suddenly that he's more nervous of talking to her than she is of speaking with him.

"Thank you." For some reason, Ed's voice seems almost to crack, which makes Sam frown. "Um-that'th-s very kind of you. Thank you-"

Sam frowns more.

"I'll th-see you later, then?"

"Any time-" A warm little body leans into her side suddenly and Sam glances down to see Daniel staring up at her. Sliding down to put an arm around his shoulders, she has to jostle the phone into position between her ear and shoulder.

"Bye" Ed had said quietly and Sam, feeling a stab of something like pity at the tone, says more gently than before "See you later, Ed."

He hangs up. Daniel almost immediately cuddles into Sam's side, burying his face in. Sam smoothes his hair, soothing him gently without knowing quite what he needs to be soothed from.

But she feels that same sharp, sad tug as she looks at his little face again, and realises suddenly that Ed never once asked to speak to either of his children.

She feels the tug again a few minutes later, when she's gathering them up to leave, and Daniel stands and carefully places the baby doll back in its' cot, tucking the blanket over it, before pressing a gentle kiss to its' head and then leaning his face against the doll's for a moment, stroking its' cheek with something sad and longing and lonely in his little face, as though hoping one of the baby dolls might hug him back.

* * *

 

Daniel's been to Flo's house before. Flo says it's the pretend house and that that's what her sister Nancy says, but it's hard to see because it's dark. Flo's mummy makes them all hold hands to walk inside so nobody falls in the dark though there's lots of big guards with black clothes on, and some who walk on either side of them.

When they're inside, Flo grabs Daniel's hand in hers'. "Look." She grabs Sam's hand in her other one and she's pulling them both down the same big yellow hall they went down last time. "Look, there's sweets in here-"

Daniel only gets a quick glimpse of a big room with a long table before Flo's mummy takes their hands and pulls them back out. "No-"

"But Mummy, that's where they have the _sweets-"_

"The sweets are there on Monday nights, Flo, and they're not _your_ sweets-"

"But they're for Daddy's friends and they _let_ me-"

"No, Flo, there aren't any, and they're for Daddy and the Blue Team."

Flo's wriggling and then she points. She's got hold of Daniel's hand so it lifts up and points, too. "Can we-can we go in the camera room-"

"No, no-not at the moment, Florence, darling-how about-how about you wait for Nancy and Elwen to come home and then they can take you down to the camera room?"

"OK-" Flo's saying but Daniel says "What's the-what's the camera room?"

"The camera room-" Flo's mummy bends down and lifts Sam up, then. Daniel tries to see past her, in case there's a camera and she's going to make them have their picture taken without them knowing, but there aren't any cameras there, and they're just going up some stairs.

"It's a room where-" Daniel reaches up to take Flo's mummy's hand again, and Flo runs behind him so she can hold the bannister. "There's lots of cameras and security so that they can keep an eye on all the building." Flo's mummy smiles down at him and squeezes his hand. "Oh, watch yourself on the steps, sweetheart-because it's quite a big building, and they need to keep an eye on everything."

Daniel nods, now that he knows they're not the bad kind of cameras, but Sam's saying something, his hands clutching onto Flo's mummy's shoulders. "No camera take picture-"

"What's that, darling?" Flo's mummy is looking at Sam now, stroking his hair nice and tidy. "You don't want to see the cameras?"

"No-no-don't want-bad cameras-don't want to take pictures of me-"

"You don't want pictures taken of you?" Flo's mummy is pressing numbers into a keypad outside a door. "It's all right-no, no, no-one's going to take pictures of you, darling-"

Daniel tugs at her sleeve. "Mummy lets cameras take pictures of us" he explains, as she pushes open the door and Flo runs in ahead of them.

Flo's mummy frowns, but then Flo runs back, grabs Daniel's hand and tugs him in.

The flat's big inside-really big. The living room isn't one small room like at their house-it's big and there isn't just a TV and a couch, and bookshelves-there's a kitchen table and it goes straight into the kitchen, with no hallway or anything, everywhere stretched out and white. There aren't walls in between everything, the way there are at home.

Flo's mummy is putting Sam down now gently and Flo tugs Daniel's hand. "This is our bit, where we live, and we can go anywhere else, except when Daddy has meetings-"

"Right-" Flo's mummy is unzipping Sam's coat for him. "Here-arm out, good boy-does anyone want hot chocolate?"

Flo jumps up and down, and Sam's head spins round to look at Daniel. Mummy never makes hot chocolate, but then Mummy's never there to make things and she doesn't like sweet things.

"Yes" Daniel says quickly, before Flo's mummy can change her mind. "Yes, please."

Flo's mummy chucks him under the chin. Daniel wants to keep holding Flo's hand, but he likes Flo's mummy cuddling him, so he puts his arms up, pulling Flo's hand up too.

Flo's mummy just lifts him up and cuddles him in so that his head's burrowed into her shoulder. She feels nice and warm and Daniel wraps his legs and arms around. When Mummy lifts him up, it always feels like he has to hold himself up too, but Flo's mummy holds him properly.

She cuddles him for a few moments. Daniel closes his eyes and pretends this is his mummy for a moment, his arms winding tight around her neck.

After a moment, Flo's mummy puts him down and unzips his jacket for him. But she looks at him, just for a second, and she looks sad, as she slides his jacket off and then puts her hand against his cheek quickly, like a kiss.

She puts Daniel down, then rubs his cheek again. Flo grabs Sam's hand and tugs him over to the window. "Our climbing frame's outside, but we can't go on it now 'cos it's dark and cold-"

The door opens then, and Daniel turns round as voices suddenly fill the room. Sam steps back against the window. Daniel sees Flo squeeze his hand.

 _"Mum."_ A girl with a brown ponytail storms in ahead of the others. Daniel stares at her for a moment, and then remembers that's Nancy, Flo's big sister. The boy behind her looks like Mr. Cameron. Elwen. Flo's big brother.

 _"Mum-"_ Nancy storms towards her mother, holding out something small in her hand. _"Look."_

"Nancy, calm down-" Flo's mummy holds up her hand and then smiles over Nancy's shoulder at two other girls behind her. "Hi, girls-"

"Hey, Auntie Sam-"

Daniel peers at them from behind Flo's mummy and she touches his shoulder. "Kids-" Flo's mummy raises her voice a little.

"Mum, _look-"_

Elwen's talking to another boy. They've got the same uniform on. Daniel squints at it.

"Kids." Flo's mummy claps her hands together. "Could you all be quiet for a minute-"

Nancy swells angrily. Elwen falls silent and nudges the other boy. The other two girls are grinning at each other and one of them leans forward to whisper in Nancy's ear.

"Right." Flo's mummy claps her hands. "Daniel and Sam are-"

A man falls into the room-a man wearing glasses, tie dangling loose, gasping for breath. _"Never-ever again-"_

The boys burst out laughing. Nancy and one of the girls-the one with darker hair, almost the same colour as Sam's-do the same, while the other girl, who's in a dark red school jumper, rolls her eyes and pushes her face into her hands. _"Jesus_ , Dad-"

"Hey." Flo's mummy looks at her and then says "Michael, are you actually breathing?"

The man struggles upright and nods. "Sorry. Go on, Sam. I'm fine. No trouble."

He then launches into a coughing fit. Flo's mummy looks like she might roll her eyes.

"OK-" She says it once and then says it again when the man stops coughing. Flo skitters across the room and throws her arms around the man's waist.

"Daniel and Sam are here" Flo's mummy says, and she puts a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "And this is Libbie, boys-" She points at the dark-haired girl, who Daniel remembers was at the Bonfire Night. "Who you've met before-and this is Beatrice and William-" She points to the girl in the red jumper and the other boy. "And their dad, Michael."

The man with the glasses, now hanging askew, is crouched down, one arm around Flo, as he waves at them. "Hello-"

"And you know Nancy and Elwen-"

Elwen grins at them. Nancy nods but shakes her hand, her eyes widening.

Flo's mummy sighs. "Nancy, what is it?"

Nancy draws in a breath. Elwen nudges her arm. "Show her."

 _"Look"_ Nancy says, with a voice like thunder, and holds out her hand. Daniel, like everyone else in the room, leans forward to look.

In the middle of Nancy's hand, there lies a tiny chip.

 _"Look!"_ Nancy almost screams.

Nancy's mummy peers very, very closely at it.

"Nancy-" She looks at Nancy. "This is a chip."

Daniel thinks this is very obvious.

 _"Yes-"_ Nancy half-shrieks the word. "It is a _chip._ And it is _green."_

"Is it?" Nancy's mum peers at it a little closer and Beatrice says "It is _kind of_ green-"

"It is" Elwen says. "She came and showed me at lunch-the food at school is absolutely _disgusting-"_

"I don't like the food in our school" Daniel says, wanting Elwen to look at him.

Elwen does. "No, school food's _horrible._ We had beans that were black once-"

"I'm sure they weren't _black-"_ their mummy's saying.

"They were, and this is _green."_ Nancy's holding the chip out furiously. Daniel peers at it, feeling his head wrinkle. It does look green.

"Green" he says very carefully, and Nancy turns to her mother. _"See?"_

"It is green" William says, who's grabbed a piece of Lego that's lying scattered across the carpet. "Because I saw it at lunchtime-"

 _"I_ didn't" says Florence, who's run back over to Sam and grabbed his hand, tugging him away from the window.

"Yeah, but that's because you were in the Infants'-"

"Infants lunchtime-" the boys are saying, and Flo scowls, tucking Sam's hand under her arm.

"This could have _poisoned_ me" Nancy declares, throwing the chip down on the table. "We should sue the school dinner ladies."

"No, Nancy, darling, we're not going to sue the dinner ladies-"

Nancy snatches the chip away as her mummy reaches for it. "No, I'm keeping it, I'm showing Dad-I _tried_ showing Uncle Michael-"

The man called Michael lifts his head suddenly. "Yes, while I was _driving-"_

Daniel reaches out for the chip as Beatrice trots up to look over Nancy's shoulder. Nancy lets him hold it, and Daniel turns it over and over in his hand.

"Don't damage it" Nancy warns him. "I want to photograph it for Watchdog."

* * *

 

"Where's your uniforms?" Florence asks Daniel, as they're going down the stairs. Daniel's staring up at the pictures on the wall. There are lots of different men and a lady. Some of them feel like Daniel knows them, like maybe he's seen them on TV.

Sam's holding Florence's hand. "Nursery-" he says quietly. Nancy steps in between Florence and Daniel and takes her sister's hand in one of hers'.

Her other hand comes up and takes Daniel's as they come round the corner of the stairs. Her hand is warm and tucks his in tightly. Daniel likes it and squeezes back tightly.

"We don't have uniforms" Daniel leans round Nancy to tell Florence. He stares at Nancy's school jumper, and then turns to look at Elwen and William, who've both just jumped hand in hand from the third step to the bottom. They're all wearing school jumpers that look black, or maybe dark blue, though Libbie's in more normal clothes and Beatrice has a dark red jumper.

"Lucky" William says, without looking round, and then Florence says "My uniform's upstairs." She tries to swing Sam's hand round and point back upstairs, and Libbie takes Sam's other hand, so that he looks round startled, with big, dark eyes.

"Upstairs-" Florence's voice rises louder and louder. "Mine, mine, _mine-"_

"Flo-"

"Flo, don't be noisy" Beatrice says, getting to the bottom first and then turning to hold out her arms, nearly bumping into a man in a suit who ruffles her hair as he dodges between Elwen and William. "Hey, kids-"

"Hi, Chris-"

Chris chucks Florence under the chin. Nancy spins round. "Chris, have you seen this chip-"

"Can't stop now, Nance, but I'd love to look at it later-" Chris ruffles his hair and gives Daniel a smile, as he and Sam watch him disappear further up the stairs. "Careful if you're going into the camera room by the way, you know what happened the first time.

"That's one of Dad's friends" Elwen explains from the bottom of the stairs. "He never stops going on about the first time when we went in and the alarm went off."

"Yes, and that was _your fault-"_ Beatrice holds out her arms again, as Elwen and William turn towards the room with the cameras-their mummy had told them "Why don't you take the little ones down and have a look while I get the hot chocolate ready?"

Florence lets go of Nancy and Sam's hands and launches herself happily into Beatrice's arms. Nancy steps down and holds out her arms. Daniel waits, biting his lip, while Libbie does the same, turning to Sam.

Daniel chews his lip. Nancy steps right up close, with her arms out. Daniel's still making up his mind when Sam jumps off the step, almost catapulting into Libbie's chest. Libbie hugs him tight for a moment.

It's when he sees that that Daniel takes a deep breath and turns to Nancy, who's patting her skirt pocket, where she's tucked the green chip.

"It's OK" is what she says quietly.

Daniel takes a deep breath and jumps.

Nancy catches him, her hands squeezing tight under his arms. She's warm and her ponytail brushes his cheek as she stumbles under his weight. She laughs and hugs Daniel tight against her, and he holds on, even when she lets him slide down, gripping his hand into hers' as tightly as he can.

In the camera room, Elwen puts his hands together. "Here, stand on my hands-"

"Yeah, I'll-" William grabs Sam under the arms and lifts him up to look at the cameras. Libbie's scrambling up onto one of the chairs, and Nancy helps Sam put one foot on Elwen's palm so he can look up. Florence is climbing all over Beatrice, who's trying to hold her and peer at the screens.

Now that Elwen's saying something about cameras, Daniel looks at Sam, whose forehead is going all creased. "Cameras-"

"Yeah" Libbie's saying, running her hands through his hair. "Yeah, cameras."

Sam's biting his lip, so Daniel holds onto the table as Nancy lifts him onto a chair to say "Not _bad_ cameras, Sam-"

Sam looks forward to look just at him.

"They can't steal pictures" Daniel explains. "Pictures of us-"

William's pulling himself up on a chair, but the girls have gone quiet apart from Florence who's trying to stand on a chair. Nancy grabs her and sits her down again.

"No bad cam-ra-" Sam says and Daniel shakes his head so that Sam knows it's all right.

Sam nods quietly to himself and leans forward to peer at one of the screens. Daniel squints up and sees lots of empty rooms.

"They film other places in the building" Nancy says quietly, her hair brushing his cheek. "They don't film us."

Daniel feels his shoulders go looser. That feels safer, better. He reaches for a button, only for Elwen to grab his hand. "We can't push buttons-"

"Not since when all the alarms went off" Libbie says, holding Sam's hand carefully and Nancy takes Florence's hand quickly.

Daniel isn't going to touch any of the buttons. Instead, he just peers up at the cameras, the cameras which are not-bad cameras. The cameras that can let him watch everyone else, and not let anyone watch him at all.

* * *

 

Ed's feeling cranky and tired and when Justine calls to tell him things have overrun and she's staying overnight in a hotel, it doesn't even occur to him to be annoyed about it.

He doesn't want to have to talk about things or explain to her and after watching Cameron's press conference with Obama-

Even now in the back of the car, Ed feels himself blush.

Because that press conference would have been bad enough, but then he hadn't been able to stop thinking about that-

Ed squirms and tugs at his collar nervously.

Because that dream-

Meant nothing, Ed reminds himself fiercely. It was just-

_Just-_

It can't matter. It really-

All it was was a _dream._

Cameron was only in it because-

_Because-_

Well, because Ed had been _talking_ to him.

That's _all._

It's just a _coincidence-_

Ed had been too busy trying to remind himself of that to focus as much as he could on the press conference, no matter how hard he tries to keep his eyes on the screen.

 _Let me hand over to my good friend David Cameron_ , Obama had been saying and Bob had groaned. "Christ, he's practically hugging him."

That hadn't made it any easier to forget about that dream.

Though something had prickled sadly in Ed's chest then, as the thought had crept in that Obama wasn't likely to call _him_ a good friend.

(He still remembers sitting across from him at that table last summer, hoping to meet his eyes without flinching.)

"Don't worry about it" Stewart had muttered. "We knew Obama would support him."

 _With the old Tories, he wouldn't have_ , he'd known they were all thinking.

And now, Ed's being driven once again towards Downing Street and he's about to have to look at Samantha, knowing that he-

That he-

And that should be fine. That should be fine, because it doesn't matter, because it doesn't mean _anything._

At all.

Ed only keeps repeating it to remind himself and tries not to think about how Cameron's hair looked darker than usual and how he shouldn't be noticing that, even as his cheeks burn in the winter air.

It's when the guards have let him through and he reaches the back door of the building, that he's greeted by a young woman with a ponytail, glasses and a firm set of folded arms.

"Um-" Ed stops awkwardly, unsure if he's her expected visitor.

The woman resolves his confusion, by saying without much of a question in her voice, "You're Ed Miliband."

Ed swallows. "Um-yeah. My kids are-"

"Yeah, they're upstairs. With the others." The woman holds the door open for him, gesturing Ed inside.

"Um-thanks."

It's inside that the woman says "I'm Gita. Gita Lama. The children's nanny."

"Oh. Um-" Ed tries to extend his hand, only to remember that he's still walking when he nearly walks into the bannisters. From the curl of Gita's lip, it hasn't gone unnoticed.

Ed feels himself blush. "I-um-usually our nanny would pick them up" he finds himself chattering nervously. "But-ah-my wife called me-she's away tonight-but usually their nanny-"

He trails off as Gita's face darkens. Ed swallows, frantically running over his words to see what he's said wrong, but all Gita says is "We know. They said."

Something about the tone makes Ed frown, but he says nothing more until they reach the door to the flat where Gita keys in a code. The door opens and Ed walks into an unexpected, friendly kind of chaos.

Music's playing-something loud and vaguely gothic-and Michael Gove is sitting at the table. Ed blinks. Then, Florence runs past, accompanied by a pretty, dark-haired little girl who Ed doesn't know, but who's holding Florence's hand.

"Hi, Mr. Ed Miliband. Bye, Mr. Ed Miliband-" Florence tosses this over her shoulder as she scampers after the older girl out of the room. Ed blinks and has barely managed to open his mouth to reply when Gita yells "Sam-" and Michael grins up from the table. "Oh, hello, Ed-"

It's then that he spots Samantha, turning from the oven with a grin, hips swaying slightly to the music, and says "Oh, hi, Ed-"

It's the first time Ed's seen her since that argument with David. He feels something swell in his throat, colour rushing to his cheeks.

Samantha smiles at him and right then is when it occurs to Ed that of course, it's also the first time he'll have seen-

"Mr. Ed Miliband." He hears the words just as the door crashes open and a familiar, bright, determined-and currently scowling-little face appears, dark ponytail bouncing behind her.

Nancy storms across the kitchen towards him, all four feet-something of her, school jumper pulled straight, jaw set, one hand outstretched accusingly. _"Look_ at this."

Ed, once again, blinks. Gita heads calmly to the kitchen to check the food with Samantha. Ed peers warily at Nancy's outstretched hand. Lying on her palm is something that looks remarkably like a chip.

"Ah-" he manages faintly.

"Green" comes another, familiar voice, and this time, it's his son who comes running out of the door, arms outstretched.

Ed beams, ready to drop down, when Daniel barely glances at him and throws his arms around Nancy's waist instead. Nancy's arm squeezes his shoulders, and he cuddles into her. Ed drops his arms quickly back to his sides, disappointment stabbing sharply in his chest.

 _"Yes"_ Nancy says, one hand in Daniel's hair. "It's _green."_ She holds it out sternly, glaring at the offending food item as though it's bitten her.

She certainly doesn't look as though she's in a state of high dudgeon over him neglecting to tell her father about their conversation on Bonfire Night.

Ed feels his shoulders sink a little. Maybe it's that, and maybe it's the fact Daniel is still burrowing into Nancy's school jumper rather than look at him, but Ed's voice feels oddly wobbly.

 _"See?"_ Nancy says, turning to aim a glare at her mother, who merely rolls her eyes and turns back to the oven.

"I did say it was green" Gita remarks, also from the oven.

"So did I" says Michael, taking a sip from his mug. "Unfortunately, I did nearly suffer an ocular impairment in the process."

Nancy rolls her own eyes, managing an expression that looks astonishingly like her father's. Something fond squeezes pleasantly in Ed's chest at the sight.

"I didn't take your _eye_ out, Uncle Michael-I didn't know your glasses were fragile-"

"Should have gone to SpecSavers" chorus two girls' voices from the hallway, before dissolving into an outburst of giggling.

Michael glares at the table. "It's all very well, but none of you are the ones paying for a new lens-"

"Well, you wouldn't look at my chip" Nancy declares, clearly returning to a well-worn theme. "And it was a health emergency. Even Mr. Ed Miliband said it was green-"

"I said it _looked_ green" Ed points out hastily, wondering quite how he's got himself into this situation.

"It _is_ green" bellows the pretty little girl, poking her head round the door. "Nance, Libbie says can we borrow your mum's lipstick-"

"Mum-" Nancy's turning back to the kitchen. "Can we use your lipstick?"

"One of the cheap ones. What for?"

Nancy's head whips round again, ponytail almost slapping herself in the face. "She says one of the cheap ones and what for?"

"We're colouring in Flo-"

Ed blinks. Nancy turns back. "We're just colouring in Flo?"

"Again?" Samantha seems to be occupied with a pan of what looks like pasta. "Flo was coloured in last week, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, but that was just her nails." Nancy takes Daniel's hand, tucking the chip safely back into her pocket. "Come on Daniel, lets' finish yours'-"

Ed looks down. Three of Daniel's nails look suspiciously sparkly.

Daniel beams up at Nancy, who tucks his hand into the crook of her arm. "Come on. Let's finish Sam's, too-"

Ed looks up to find Samantha standing, regarding him somewhat sympathetically from beside the oven. "Ed? Would you like a cup of tea?"

All Ed can do is nod numbly, slowly take a seat next to Michael, and wonder quite how he's ended up here.

* * *

 

Ed glances at Samantha, as he sips his tea, then away awkwardly.

He clears his throat, wondering if he should say something about Nancy, about being sorry. He wishes Cameron was here to break the ice.

(Why's _Cameron_ always so good at breaking the ice?)

Instead, he says again "Thank you. For picking up the boys, I mean."

Samantha shrugs, fluffing up her dark hair with both hands. "It was no problem. They were on their own in there, poor little mites."

Something about the words makes Ed wince. "I-"

He gulps, takes a sip of tea. "I-um-"

Samantha doesn't rush him into saying anything. When Michael opens his mouth, there's a thudding sound under the table and Michael winces a little.

"Would you like to stay for dinner, Ed?"

Ed jumps. "What?"

Samantha's mouth twitches at the same moment that behind them, in the kitchen, Gita appears to drop a plate very loudly.

"I mean-" Ed tries to remember his manners, even as Michael smirks at the table and earns himself another thud for his troubles. "That's-um-that's very kind, but-I-you know-we shouldn't intrude-"

"Oh, you won't be." Samantha dismisses this with a quick jerk of the head. "Michael's going to stay-Sarah's got to work late, but she sends her love-and George will probably pop in, too-"

Ed swallows. "Well-um-"

The truth is, he likes the sound of it. The thought of going home, just him and the boys, with nothing but whatever's left over for them, to a cold, empty house-

Here is warm. And light. And he can hear children laughing.

Ed suddenly wonders when the last time was he heard the boys laugh.

Something about that thought catches in his throat. Suddenly, he finds it too hard to meet anyone's eyes.

He swallows, trying to get past the lump that's suddenly swelling in his throat. He stares down at the table, tries to draw in a breath. "I-"

A hand covers his own, warm and soft and strong-Samantha's hand.

Ed stares down at it, dumbfounded. Samantha's hand squeezes a little and it sends a comforting jolt through Ed. It feels almost motherly.

The kitchen when he was younger was colder than this. Sometimes, his mother would hold his hand, but more often, it was a nanny, someone whose name he sometimes wouldn't even get to learn.

Samantha's comforting squeeze of the hand makes something prickle at Ed's eyes. He feels a surge of something, something safe and guilty and longing, all tugging at his ribs at once.

He can feel Michael's eyes on him too, and he squeezes his own shut and tries to smile.

He tries.

He has no idea why a simple dinner invitation should make him feel like this.

But he manages to get out a "Yes. Thank-thank you-" and Samantha's hand doesn't let go of his. Ed can feel Michael watching him, even with his eyes closed, and when he opens them and stares down at his and Samantha's hands interlinked, he realises that not only has Samantha's hand not loosened around his own, but that he's holding onto her, too.

Something about that gives him another jolt of strange but welcome comfort. He doesn't let go, either.

* * *

 

Sam stares at his nails. They glitter back at him, one purple, one blue, one pink.

"Here. Hold still-" Libbie carefully takes his hand in hers' and presses a big wet blob on his fourth nail. Sam blinks at it. It's a bright, glittery purple.

Beatrice is looking at something on her phone. "Have you seen this?"

"What?" Libbie is dabbing at Sam's fingers.

"Zoella-"

"What, the beach walk one-"

"No, the beauty haul one, she put it up on-Sunday, I think-"

Florence, sitting next to Sam on the floor cross-legged, scrambles upright. "Zoella-" She's about to scurry across the floor, when Libbie catches her shoulder. "Flo, hold still-"

"Libbie, later-" There's music playing through the bedroom door and Sam can hear the grown-ups chatting in the kitchen. At home, he can't, down in the basement and this feels nicer.

"Later, can we put Sam in the bag-"

"What bag?" Sam spins to look at her, because kids don't go in _bags._

"The bag-" Flo's doodling on her arm with a felt tip. "Nancy and Libbie and Luke and Beatrice put us in the bag and spin us round in the garden-"

"Yeah, but we do that in the garden, Flo-" Beatrice is saying. "And it's dark. And it's winter. We can do that with Sam in the spring if he wants-"

"When's the spring?" Flo turns to the door as Nancy appears and Daniel comes running over.

"Look-" Sam tries to show Daniel his hand. Daniel holds it and squints at it. "That's nice, Sam-" he says, like their nanny does.

"Nancy, when's spring?" Nancy stops in the doorway as a ball comes bouncing towards her and kicks it back. "Careful, El-spring is-I don't know. March?"

Nancy comes up and crouches down, squinting at Sam's nails. "Cool." Outside, the ball hits the door frame.

"How-when's _March?"_ Flo says, while Nancy unscrews another tube of lipstick and takes hold of Flo's chin gently.

"Two months."

"Two _months?"_ Flo's head jerks back, outraged, as she wriggles away. "That's _ages."_

"That's a lot of days" says Daniel, who's counting on his fingers, the way he learnt to do in the big school. "Lot of days." Outside, the music makes Sam want to nod his head along. Beatrice is, her dark brown hair bouncing in time with the sound. On Beatrice's phone, a girl's voice is saying "I don't know what I'm chatting on about-I'm just going to get on with the haul-"

"Which one's this?"

Nancy sticks her head out of the door and listens for a moment. "Don't know. Something by _The Cure-"_

Sam likes the music and the videos. No one really plays music at home. They just have to watch TV even when Sam's bored with it or go and watch Daddy speak somewhere, and then there's lots of people and nasty cameras. Here, everything seems nicer and now Flo's drawing a smiley face on his arm.

The football flies in and hits Beatrice's shoulder. "Ow! _William-"_

"What-" William charges in for the ball.

"You nearly _broke_ Zoella-"

"Is that her 2014 haul one-" Nancy asks.

"Yeah, have you seen that one-" Libbie crouches down next to them to reach for the lipstick.

"Yeah, on Sunday-"

Florence is still shouting. _"Two months?_ We-we might have- _lots of things_ might have happened-" Her eyes go all wide. "I might be dead."

"I really-that's actually pretty unlikely." Libbie takes the lipstick from Flo and takes Sam's arm. "'Cos you look quite well." She starts colouring in carefully.

Nancy's singing along to something. _"We slip through the streets while everyone sleeps, getting bigger and sleeker and louder-_ isn't Alfie in that one?" She takes Daniel's hand, smearing a bright blue blob on another nail.

"Yeah, at the start-"

Beatrice and William are still yelling at each other. "How can I have _killed_ Zoella? She is a _person_ on a _computer screen-"_

"You nearly smashed my phone, you _idiot-""_ Beatrice chases him to the door, smacking her phone against his shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, careful-" Nancy peers after them, as Elwen appears in the doorway. "I thought that was Mum's iPad-"

Beatrice falls down onto Florence's carpet while Florence leans over and takes Sam's face between her hands. Sam turns to look at her and watches as her tongue pokes out of her mouth, her big blue eyes narrowing. The wet nib touches Sam's cheek. Flo has felt tip colours spiralling up and down her arms.

"Do you remember when he nearly wrecked the Rainbow Loom stall?" Beatrice is saying, flopping back onto the bed with a scowl.

Nancy's nodding her head to the music. _"So wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully pretty-_ yeah, your mum nearly threw that ice cream she was making at him-"

"Yeah, but that was around the time she threw my phone away-" Beatrice flops back on the bed.

Libbie glances at her. "Yeah, but then, she did just _take_ your phone-"

"Yeah, but with Mum, that can mean anything" Beatrice says, playing with a phone case with a girl's face on it. "Like the time she tried to cancel Nickelodeon, because she thought we were watching too much of iCarly, and she managed to shut down the Sky box for three days."

Nancy's still singing, while Flo's finishing Sam's nails with felt tips. Sam doesn't mind.

Nancy lifts up his hand and blows on the nails gently. _"We miss you, hiss the love cats-"_ She almost whispers it, her ponytail bouncing behind her. Sam can smell soap and shampoo-something sweet like Lucozade.

Then Elwen's ball hits Nancy in the head, and bounces into a bottle of nail varnish, sending sparkly blue dots all over the carpet.

Nancy draws in a deep breath and fixes Elwen with a glare, brows drawing together, face whitening. "You _idiot."_

Florence's lips draw together and she bites them in a little grin, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Beatrice rolls her eyes while Libbie grins, glancing between the brother and sister. Sam waits, breathless.

"How was I to know you weren't going to catch it?"

"Because you threw it at my head, you _fool-"_

"Whatever the fight is about-" and Flo's mummy is in the doorway, and then she closes her eyes. "Why, how, and who did that?"

Sam glances at Daniel nervously. Nancy springs up and points at Elwen. "Him, that, now here, and _that"_ she says shortly, pointing at the dots.

Libbie widens her eyes. "We were just here."

Florence nods, little dents appearing in her cheeks from her smile. Sam copies her quickly, nodding so hard he thinks his head might fall off.

"Whatever it is" Flo's mummy says, swaying slightly with the music. "It's interrupting Robert Smith, which isn't really a good thing, kids-"

Sam doesn't have time to ask who Robert Smith is, because that's when Flo's mummy smiles at him and Daniel and says "And dinner's ready for all of you."

* * *

 

It's when they're walking across one of the White House lawns, the press conference behind them, that Barack remarks, as if it's only just occurred to him, "Miliband-"

David frowns. "What about him?" After last night's discussion in the Oval Office, Barack hasn't brought up Miliband all day.

There'd been a moment last night, eating dinner with the Obamas, when Barack had remarked "You see, David's rather more skilled at cross-party co-operation-"

Michelle had nodded. "Yeah, and that's an example-" She'd smacked Barack's arm. "You should follow it-"

Barack had laughed. "I do the-I'll make you a deal, you do the inter-party co-operation, I'll do the international co-operation, deal?"

In amongst the laughing, David had caught Barack's quick glance towards Malia and Sasha, who had both joined in, but a little uncertainly. David had felt a pang of familiarity at the sight of the look he occasionally catches reflected in a mirror or a picture, towards his own children in the middle of a Downing Street function or party, to check they're still there, not swept behind in whatever discussion is filling the night.

"Anyway" Barack had said, tucking into his food with renewed gusto. "If you need to give me some tips-" He'd given a quick wink. "Though then again, inter-party co-operation can be distracting. Like with those books of yours' that we got Nancy. What are they called, Malia?"

Malia had launched shyly into an explanation but David had noticed Barack's eyes roaming to him a couple of times and now, walking across the lawn, he notices it again.

"He-ah-David Miliband's brother, isn't he?"

David nods. "Yes." He pauses for a moment, gauging the conversation, and then, carefully, says "He's planning to help Hillary Clinton, isn't he?"

"Yeah. Could do a pretty great job from what I hear-"

David laughs carefully. "No, I wouldn't be surprised. They've not exactly recovered from that contest, though-"

Barack shakes his head. "Your Miliband's the younger one, right?"

"Um-yes." Something like a jolt goes through David at the words _your Miliband._

(Is that how some people think of them? As if they're permanently linked, or jostling around each other?)

Barack winces. "Oooh. Man, that'd make family dinners awkward. Then again, I deal with Malik by pretending he's a talking Mitt Romney. Doesn't work, because he's more annoying."

"Well, I think David dealt with Ed by moving to New York, I believe."

David almost winces, but it's too late.

Barack's laughing, patting his arm. "Wow. Must be hell at reunions."

David laughs, the sound carrying the words a little stronger. "I don't believe they see each other often. David makes sure of that."

Barack winces. "Man. Still-knifing your brother? Can't really come back from that, can you?"

"No" David says slowly. "No, I don't suppose you can."

A part of him's wondering, yet again, how Miliband had ever thought that he _would_ come back from it. It had baffled him at the time.

 _Surely he can see how it looks_ , he'd said to George, cradling newborn Florence in his arms. _I mean, knifing your brother-bit Cain and Abel, really-_

 _Well, he is a Brownite_ , George had said with a wink. _It's not as though he hasn't got form._ _Still, could be good for us, this-Brits aren't too forgiving of disloyalty-_

They'd both laughed, still dizzy with the fact that they'd done it, it had really happened, they had finally got Labour out of power-

"No, no, the thing-" he says suddenly, because he's been starting to wonder if this Brownite tendency explains a lot about Miliband. "The thing is-with Ed-he's almost-"

His hands twist around thin air, struggling to explain it.

"It's as though-he's such an idealogue. He thinks that-I don't know. That ideas are everything. And that there's this- _ideal_ of this perfect world he's-dying to get his hands on and he'll just do anything to get to it, justify anything to-he thinks anything is justified to get to it-" David trails off, frustrated with himself. "Sorry, I'm not explaining him very well."

When he looks up, Barack's watching him a little oddly, his head on one side. A small smile twitches at his mouth and he says "No, no. You're describing him pretty well."

For some reason, the words make David's cheeks feel warm.

"I suppose-" and for a moment, Barack trails off. When David looks up at him again, Barack's eyes meet his own, and this time there's something more in them, something almost knowing.

"You really know him, don't you?" is all Barack says, and something about the words catch in David's chest.

_You really know him._

_Does he?_

_Should he?_

_As well as he does-?_

Barack's watching him. David tries for a laugh. "Well-" It wavers a little. "He _is_ my-"

_My-_

"Opponent" he finishes, because he can't, doesn't want to think of another word.

Barack just looks at him hard for a moment, and for some reason, David tenses. But then all Barack says is "Yes. I suppose so."

David nods. And they resume walking, a little more quickly this time.

* * *

 

Lying in his room at Blair House, enjoying some of the rare spare time he gets on a foreign trip, David lets his mind wander. He'll give the kids a ring after dinner but now, he's preoccupied.

There's probably a lot he could think about but every time he tries, his mind wanders back to when he stared at Miliband in that hallway, which he hasn't been able to stop thinking about ever since that conversation with Barack.

David sighs and rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow, the way he learnt to at school, when a pillow fight was going on and he needed to think (after yelling at the others to shut up once he'd been given a prefect badge.)

Unfortunately, he has no idea what he can think about to stop his mind going back to that moment over and over again. It's incredibly irritating to have his mind occupied over and over by that puzzled, almost hopeful look Miliband was giving him.

(Hopeful? Fearful?)

(Hopeful and fearful look much the same on Miliband.)

But that and his attempt at explaining Miliband to Barack (as if _he_ , of all people, is suddenly the best person to explain Miliband) has left him preoccupied with trying to explain Miliband to himself.

He's just so-

Naive. Maybe.

Or....

 _Wilfully_ naive.

Sometimes, it's as though Miliband simply doesn't want to see the way things actually _are._

Or in fact, anything which doesn't fit his perfect little _vision-_

Miliband's dark eyes, staring at him. _That's why I'm going to win._

David snorts.

But Miliband's just so-

Believing.

Almost rock-solidly convicted.

 _God_ , Miliband needs to be thrown to the wolves.

But would Miliband be Miliband if he was thrown to the wolves?

And should David even _want_ him to still be Miliband?

David punches the pillow.

He's occupied and restless and the more he thinks about the way Miliband's eyes widened as he looked up at him-

David's hand wanders slowly over his chest to his stomach.

The way Miliband just looked so furiously indignant, stepping right up to him and _hissing-_

David bites his lip, an irritated, aching annoyance wriggling in his body at the memory. His hand moves slowly, massaging his stomach in a circle.

The way Miliband just looks so-so-self-righteously _convinced-_

David shifts restlessly. His hand creeps. Down to his waistband.

_That's why I'm going to win._

God, he's so bloody-

David's hand crawls just a little lower.

There's a knock at the door. David almost leaps upright, his hand flying away from his jeans.

"Yes?" David scrambles off the bed and checks himself frantically in the mirror. His cheeks look a little flushed and he tidies his hair, tugging his shirt down. He takes a deep breath and opens the door, trying to keep his breath steady.

It's Craig and he's holding out a phone with a frown. "It's Miliband."

David jumps. His hands immediately fly to his sides. "Really?" Typical bloody Miliband.

Craig shakes his head. _"David_ Miliband."

David's shoulders sink in relief. And then he wonders if this is actually even worse.

"Hello?" he manages, once the door's closed behind him and he's sitting on the bed, trying not to look at where he was just lying. And what he was thinking about.

Not that it matters. It's not as though he was thinking about-

"Hello, Prime Minister."

"Hi-David-this is a-well, how are you?"

Bloody Miliband. Leaving him this flustered and he's not even here.

"I'm fine. How are you, Prime Minister?"

"Oh, I'm well."

Well. _Well-_

"Anyway, I heard you were in the US-" David Miliband's voice manages to be more drawling than his younger brother's. Ed manages to sound more earnest-and anxious, simultaneously.

(And irritating. Maybe the three go hand-in-hand.)

"That's right-visiting who could be replaced by your boss, technically-"

"My boss?" The first hint of surprise creeps into Miliband's voice before "Oh-if Hillary runs-"

"Yep-well, technically, her boss now, I suppose-"

"Oh. Of course-"

There's a pause. David waits. He hasn't heard from this Miliband since New Year and he knows him well enough to know that Miliband doesn't ring for no reason.

Not this Miliband, anyway.

David feels the heat rise to his cheeks at that thought.

"Anyway-" Miliband's voice is careful. David knows immediately that he wants something.

"I heard that you met up with the Leader of the Opposition in Paris."

Even David winces at that phrasing.

"Yes" he manages, keeping his voice very casual. "We had dinner and a couple of discussions."

"Dinner?"

"Yes." David decides to brazen it out. "With your brother."

He blinks. Where did _that_ come from?

There's only the slightest pause on the other end of the phone. Then Miliband says slowly "I see."

Another pause, then "I'd just heard something about it. I was curious."

 _And you didn't ask your brother_ , David thinks.

He clutches the phone tighter, picturing that moment when George had grinned, giving him a dig in the ribs as they stared at the headlines about Miliband's wedding. _Knew he was lying about everything being fine between them. Imagine your own brother not even turning up to your wedding party._

"Ah-well-yes. He's-um-fine-" It just seems the sort of thing one says when discussing someone with their estranged relative, even when said estranged relative is one who vastly prefers the "estranged" part of the equation.

"Oh, really?" Miliband could be asking about a stranger. Something lurches in David's stomach.

"But yes." He says it a little louder than he means to. "I had dinner with him."

 _Don't you want to know how he was?_ The words fight in David's head.

"Ah. Just wanted to check."

_But then, would I?_

"Since the two of you are friendly, these days."

 _I wouldn't say that_ , David thinks, mind wandering back to that PMQs.

Of course, then there's what happened _after_ that PMQs.

David wrenches his thoughts away. "I don't think he'd always agree with that description" is all he manages, lightly.

There's a laugh from the other end. "Yes, well. I wouldn't know, these days."

There's the tiniest stress on the last two words.

David swallows. Suddenly, he can see Miliband all too clearly, standing across the chamber, hear his own voice, tearing itself out, already shaking with humour.

_There's only one person around here I can remember knifing a foreign secretary-_

God, how long ago was that? Three years ago? Four?

_And I think I'm looking at him!_

Miliband's dark eyes locked with his own across the chamber, widening as if he'd been hit.

"Right-" is all he says.

There's a moment of silence and then Miliband's voice. "Anyway, I just wanted to check-"

"Yes-"

"He doesn't usually spend so much time with someone" Miliband says, almost casually.

David swallows. His heart's suddenly rapid. Something seems to be fluttering in his chest.

"Doesn't he?" His voice sounds taut. He bites his lip hard.

"No" Miliband says, in a voice David could again almost mistake as casual. "It's quite rare. Anyway, I'm sure you're very busy-"

"Oh-yes-"

"Well-" Miliband sounds a little brighter. "I'll let you go. Ready for the election?"

"Hopefully-"

"Anticipating a repeat of 1997?"

David snorts before he can help himself. "Your brother's hardly Blair."

He winces almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth. But all he hears on the other end is a laugh.

"No" Miliband says, and now he sounds the most amused he has in the whole conversation. "No, he isn't."

The words hover in David's mind and even after he's hung up the phone, and so do the others. _He doesn't usually spend so much time with someone._

David's heart flutters again a little too pleasantly, and he can't stop his own smile.

He's not sure which words he's smiling at, and he's not sure if he should be smiling at all.

* * *

 

Sam eats his food carefully in nice, small bites, so that he can keep looking round at everybody. There's so many people, more than there ever are at home, and it's fun to look at them all.

Daniel is sitting just across from him, but their legs can touch across the table, which has had another table pushed against it. Nancy and Elwen are on Daniel's other side and Flo's sitting next to Sam. On Sam's other side is Flo's mummy, who seems to be talking with everybody, and Daddy is on the other side of the table, next to Elwen. Next to him is a man everyone calls Uncle George, who looks like Sam's seen him before and next to him is a pretty lady they call Auntie Frances. The Uncle Michael person is on Flo's mummy's other side and there's a new big boy called Luke, who's Libbie's big brother, sitting next to Flo. Even Gita is sitting there, between the Uncle Michael person and the Auntie Frances person.

Sam had been very surprised when all the grown-ups started sitting down with them. He'd looked around for Daniel, starting to feel bad inside his tummy, because at home, it's just him and Daniel and Zia, and here, everyone eats together-

Flo's hand had wrapped around his. "Oh, now, now, Sam-" she'd said. "Now, now, you tell Flo what's wrong-"

The big girls, who were sitting all three together were laughing but not badly. Sam didn't have words, so he'd tried to curl his fists around them, to push them out of his mouth. "Everyone together?"

Flo's head went all creased. "Yeah!"

Sam had tried to tell her. "At home, we eat in the basement."

"We don't have a basement-"

"It's-" Daddy calls it downstairs. It's Daniel who calls it the basement.

"Are you OK?" The man called Uncle George had been there suddenly, with his hand warm and strong on Sam's shoulder.

Sam had looked up at him. The man had dark hair and dark eyes like Sam does. Sam had reached up to pat his cheek gently.

The Uncle George man had laughed and Flo had said "This is my Uncle George."

Sam had tried to look at him a little more and then Uncle George had put his arm around his shoulders, which had felt nice and warm and safe. "Are you OK?"

Sam had looked up at him. "Lot of people" he'd said, trying to make the words nice and clear.

"Yes, there are a lot of people-" Uncle George had been spooning pasta out onto Sam's plate. It had smelt so nice Sam had nearly pushed his face into it, but he'd been too busy looking about again until Uncle George put his hand on his shoulder. It's all right-"

Sam had nodded his head because it was all right, it was just-

Not like home.

"I like your nail varnish" Uncle George had said to him, and Sam had smiled. Flo had shot out her own hand, nearly hitting Sam in the face. "Look at my varnish-"

Uncle George had held each of their hands and glanced across the table at the big girls. "Was this your doing?"

Libbie had been nodding with her mouth full, but it had been Nancy who'd bounced up. "Uncle George" she'd said, reaching into her pocket. "Have you seen my chip?"

Now, Luke is helping Flo to cut a piece of pasta and Flo's mummy is telling the big girls to put the iPad away-"Not at the table, girls, come on-", "But Mum, Beatrice wants to put the chip on her Instagram for evidence-" and Elwen's talking about something called Chelsea which Sam thinks is like Arsenal, which they watch sometimes. Elwen's poking Daniel's cheek, but Daniel's smiling.

Sam can see Daddy, listening to the Auntie Frances lady, but then Flo's mummy puts her arm round his shoulders and lifts the fork back into his hand. "Do you want to open?"

Sam opens carefully and Flo's mummy puts the pasta in nice and gently, not too quickly like Mummy sometimes does.

Flo's mummy's arm is nice and warm around his shoulders, and even when Gita says something to Elwen and Elwen asks his mummy something, Flo's mummy doesn't stop cuddling Sam. She just rubs his cheek. Sam leans against her and looks at Daniel across the table and strokes Flo's arm and feels safe.

Sam likes eating all together better.

* * *

 

Ed feels oddly drowsy and warm, nestling into the corner of the couch. The children are all circled round a television in another, smaller room with a film playing. Ed never usually feels this contentedly tired after eating a meal. He feels tired, but happy listening to the quiet talking around him.

Ed isn't used to so many people being around a table-not for any meal that isn't centred around work, anyway-and he'd noticed his own son's eyes widen a little at the sight of all the people. He'd been about to say something, but George had already been moving, heading for Sam before Ed was even out of his seat.

Ed had wondered suddenly if he should have noticed sooner and what it means that George noticed before him.

Ed wouldn't admit it, but he'd been slightly nervous. Eating at home with Justine or even with his colleagues, the usual topic of conversation is politics or the law. He'd been fairly certain that that might not be the main topic of conversation here-certainly more certain than he would have been a few months ago-and he'd found himself biting his lip and curling his fingers. It had been George who unwittingly saved him.

"So-" he'd said in an undertone, as he'd helped himself to some pasta. "Missing him, then?"

Ed had almost jumped out of his skin. "Who-um-what-who-who would that be?" he'd said stupidly, trying not to blush under George's gaze.

George had grinned. "You know very well who."

Ed had known he was failing as regarded the idea of not blushing.

He'd focused on helping himself to the pasta, clearing his throat a little too loudly, struggling to ignore George's gaze.

"I _don't"_ he'd managed, keeping his eyes firmly on the pasta dish. "And I doubt he mith-misses me."

George had snorted loudly, prompting Frances to inquire whether or not he'd turned into a pig. George had ignored her, staring at Ed with an expression that, if Ed was being hopeful, he might describe as disbelieving.

"You must be joking" had been George's frank, loud declaration. "As if he wouldn't."

Ed had felt all the heat in his body rush to his cheeks. Hands shaking, he'd concentrated on lowering the bowl back to the table and felt himself blush and blush, a strange warmth spreading through his chest, even as a sudden worry nagged as to quite how he was supposed to make conversation now.

George, again, had saved him-this time, with a little help.

"Sam" he'd said idly across the table. "You nearly voted Green once, didn't you?"

"Oh, shut up." Samantha had aimed a friendly kick at George under the table. "It was a _rumour."_

"Well, Ed'd probably agree with them on the climate change thing" George had remarked, almost casually, and it was then that Samantha had glanced at Ed and said "Oh yeah-you were the one who brought in the Act, weren't you, Ed?"

Ed had blushed. "Um-yeah, I mean-yes-"

"Sam's the one who got Dave into all the green stuff" George had said, as if that was a small thing, and Ed had nearly choked on his pasta.

"D-did you?" he'd managed to get out, after a gulp of water. Samantha had been laughing, but in a fond way that made Ed feel warm and something like safe.

He'd remembered something suddenly, then. One of the first times he'd seen Cameron speak, his voice polished and careful, younger than Ed had expected-

Ed had sat quite still then, listening. Even as Balls had prodded him in the arm, none too gently, when it was over Ed had still sat there for several nonplussed moments, staring at the screen. There was a _Tory_ who was interested in climate change.

There was a Tory who wanted-

 _Maybe I could talk to him,_ Ed had thought hopefully, but nearly dismissed the idea out of hand.

Now, Samantha had been asking "Is it true Gordon created the position for you or did I get that wrong?", and Ed had taken a deep, relieved breath because these were things he knew, these were-

"Well, you see-"

He'd launched into an explanation and somewhere, as more questions were asked that were easy to answer, and the words he knows so well had climbed out of his mouth, stringing themselves into sentences, Ed had forgotten to feel awkward.

Now, he's nestled in the couch. George, next to him, is actually lying down, head on a cushion, dark eyes blinking drowsily. Frances is nestled in, head on her husband's shoulder. Michael is curled in an armchair, occasionally murmuring, while Samantha seems to be combing Gita's hair with her fingers, making suggestions. The music's still on, but playing lower now, quieter, lulling Ed's thoughts even more.

"Oh, Ed" Samantha says suddenly, a little sleepily. "How are you getting to Chequers on Sunday?"

Ed blinks, momentarily roused. "Chequers?"

"Yeah, for Nancy's birthday." Samantha props herself up on one elbow, dark hair falling in a curtain over her face. "You're invited, you and Justine and the boys-"

Ed's head jerks up. "We-we are?" Something blooms in his chest at the thought. Something about them thinking about him, including him-

His heart lurches a little, this time in disappointment. "Oh-I don't think Justine will be able to make it-and I've got-I've got a speech, and-"

Samantha's face falls. "Oh. I suppose it is quite short notice, if you didn't know-"

Ed's heart squeezes. "Well-but-I mean, the boys can come" he manages, and-

_You've got to work. That's more important._

Nancy won't even notice-

He looks again at Samantha's disappointed face.

"I could probably drop in for a bit" he tries. "I mean-it's in Sheffield, the speech, so I could drop them off, and then drop in on my way back-" Something lightens in his chest at the sight of Samantha's smile, relief evident in her face.

"Oh, great-Nancy will be thrilled-"

"And David" George mutters, as he and Michael exchange a quick grin. Frances stretches and gives her husband something like a warning look.

Ed frowns, but then Samantha says "Oh, and John Key will be there."

Ed blinks. "The New Zealand Prime Minister?"

Samantha grins. "Yeah. You know, he's visiting, but we couldn't cancel Nancy's birthday. So we invited him along."

Ed, for some reason, can't speak.

Samantha's forehead creases. "Ed? What's wrong?"

Ed can't open his mouth. He's not even sure why. Just that-

At home, he'd have to be doing something right now. Work or rehearsing or-

Doing something, something that matters.

(Something to make _him_ matter.)

But here-

Politics is an-

Not an _afterthought_ , but-

Is this what everyone else is like?

(Is this what they _can_ be like?)

Ed thought that-

"Nothing" he manages.

Samantha sits up and comes to position herself on the arm of the couch next to Ed. Her arm goes around his shoulders comfortingly.

Ed's not used to this. To someone holding him like this. Justine doesn't. Even his mother never held much with kissing and cuddling.

Which wasn't her fault, Ed reminds himself. She had more important things on her mind. After all she's been through-

But the way Samantha just hugs him-quickly and gently-makes the tension seep out of Ed's shoulders. There's an awkward pat on his arm and he looks round to see George, eyes darting as if seeking confirmation this was the correct course of action, to an approving nod from Frances.

Ed sits up, suddenly intensely aware of how he must look right now, and thanks a God he doesn't believe in that David isn't here to see this.

 _(Cameron_ , he reminds himself.)

"Thank you" he manages, a little stiffly, but Samantha just touches his arm again. Ed fixes his eyes on the floor, searching for a topic of conversation.

"Yeah" he eventually manages, as though there's been no interruption. "I'll be able to bring the boys on Sunday."

Samantha nods. "Oh-make sure they have something to swim in. There's a pool."

Ed had forgotten that, only really having visited Chequers for meetings with Gordon and the others. Still, the boys like swimming-he thinks, anyway.

"That's good" he says, only half-noticing that he's speaking aloud. "I mean-I don't think Justine could have taken them-she's been working a lot lately-"

It might be his imagination, but he thinks Samantha tenses for a moment.

It's Frances though, who says "Justine's always worked a lot." She says the words carefully, as if wondering if they fit in her mouth.

Something about them makes Ed look up, to find Frances staring back, watching quietly. George glances between them, confusion dawning on his face.

Frances speaks slowly, even more carefully than before. "Sometimes, I think, maybe-"

A phone rings throughout the room.

Ed jumps and so does Samantha. Michael slaps a hand over his chest. "God almighty-"

Frances' eyes, however, don't move from Ed's face.

Ed's so busy staring back at her, he almost doesn't notice Samantha scrambling up. Only when she announces "It's Dave", excitement cracking into her voice, does Ed jerk out of his reverie.

"Dave _-Cameron?"_ He half-scrambles further back into the couch. "Dave-Cameron- _David_ Cameron-"

George seems to be smirking. Gita raises an eyebrow.

Samantha's already talking to the screen. Oh God. No. No. It's a FaceTime call, Ed didn't know-

"Everyone's here-" Samantha spins the iPad around, taking in the room at large. There's no time for Ed to dive behind the couch and pretend he doesn't exist, so he just stares, managing to mouth something that resembles a greeting, before springing up the moment Samantha turns the screen away. "Oh-erm-I should-I should probably-"

Oh God, he hasn't seen Cameron since then, since he had that-

Had that-

It was just a stupid _dream!_

"Hey-" George follows from the couch, grabbing his arm, as Samantha carries the iPad towards the sound of childrens' voices. "What's the rush?"

Ed spins round, only just realising that everyone is looking at him with varying expressions of concern. "N-nothing-I-I just-"

Even he himself isn't sure. All he knows is that the thought of just-

Just-

Cameron probably won't even want to speak to him.

These are his family. And his friends. Ed would just be intruding.

"He won't-um-"

George's hand is on Ed's arm. Ed isn't sure when or how it ended up there.

"He won't-he won't want to-" Ed isn't sure why he suddenly feels panicked, why his chest is tight, or why it suddenly feels almost impossible to swallow. His cheeks are too warm, but his palms feel damp. It feels a little like he did in the library at Haverstock, whenever he spotted his classmates coming in and scrambled out of his chair, gathering up his books and diving away from the table before they could tell him to leave. Though it was rarely that polite.

"Yes" George says simply. "He will."

Ed bites his lip. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

George just raises an eyebrow. "He wants to speak to you. You know he does."

Yes and that might be just the problem, Ed thinks.

Because he-they haven't spoken since he-

 _He called me gorgeous,_ says that stupidly happy voice in Ed's head.

_He thinks I'm-_

No. _No_.

It's _Cameron!_

"And you want to speak to him." It's not a question.

Ed swallows. "No?"

George grins. Ed tries not to grin back.

It seems to be too much or too little time until Samantha appears with the iPad stretched out towards him, while George nudges him and oh God, Ed can't not speak to him, Cameron can hear-

And a part of him wants to.

Why does he-

But then Samantha's passing him the iPad and Ed gulps, because-

"You can use our room if you want" Samantha says, and Ed freezes with his hands clenched tight around the iPad because-

Their room-

_Their-_

But their-

Ed doesn't know he's got up. Samantha just grins at him and beckons with a tilt of the head. Ed doesn't dare look at George.

He's glimpsed David and Samantha's bedroom before through the doorway, but now-

He's inside.

God-Ed can't help the slightly childish thought as he looks around the room, with a huge, comfortable bed and a TV in the corner-this is where Cameron _sleeps._

Heat rushes to his cheeks.

"There-" Samantha lowers the iPad, leaving it on the bed.

"Th-thank you-" Ed's blushing, and knows it, which makes it worse.

Samantha just touches his shoulder as she leaves, which really doesn't help.

Ed's so busy trying to tell himself frantically there's nothing to feel guilty about that he almost forgets the iPad.

Slowly, he reaches out and picks it up.

"You nearly _dropped_ me there, Miliband."

Ed rolls his eyes, but his heart is pounding. Cameron's staring back at him, hair shining as though it's been freshly washed, but a little rumpled. Ed reaches over to switch on the lamp, blinking in the sudden brightness.

Cameron blinks. "There-I can see you now-"

Ed snorts. "Fantath-stic for you, I'm sure-" He resists the urge to check himself in the small corner at the top of the screen, but Cameron would see, and oh God, he should have checked, but he didn't know Cameron was going to call-he's so stupid-

"Yes, lucky me." Cameron flashes him a grin. Ed freezes, one hand treacherously halfway to his hair.

Cameron just grins. Ed blushes, jumps, and nearly drops the iPad. "I wath-I wasn't-"

Typical bloody Cameron.

"How are you?" he manages, sounding a little more brusque than he means. "I mean-"

"I'm fine-" Cameron laughs, propping himself up on a pillow.

(Cameron's on a bed too.)

(This shouldn't make Ed blush even more.)

"Oh, I don't have to-" Ed's determined to get this in as quickly as possible. "I mean-if you're too busy-"

"Don't be stupid, Miliband." Ed wouldn't have thought the words _Don't be stupid_ could make him fight not to grin. "We want you here."

The heat rises in Ed's cheeks. He clears his throat. "What does-Nancy-what does Nancy like-for her birthday-"

"Oh, don't worry." Cameron dismisses this with a jerk of the head. "You don't need to get her-"

"I want to. Especially after-"

Ed fidgets. "You know."

Cameron sighs. Ed can picture his expression without looking. "You know that doesn't matter anymore, don't you?"

Ed swallows. "Yeah, but-I still want to get her th-something."

Cameron laughs, more quietly than before. "Well, she's very bright. Anything bookish, I suppose-I'll send you an email of what we've got her, so there's no mix-ups-but really, you don't have to-"

An awkward silence falls between them.

That word wriggles into Ed's head again. _Gorgeous._

He peers up at Cameron under his eyelashes, wondering how Cameron _said_ it.

Did he think about it? Did he want to say it? Did-

"Are you in Blair House?" he blurts out.

Cameron laughs. "Yeah. Robinson regaled me with that story about Churchill and Roosevelt-"

"That one about Churchill-" Ed coughs. "Wandering about-"

"Yes. Stark naked." David's brows arch, a grin twitching at his mouth. "I'm surprised you take an interest in that story, Miliband."

Ed blushes. "I didn't th-say-!"

He catches sight of David's smirk. "You're not funny."

 _"I think I am."_ David makes his voice singsong. He's such a child.

"Don't worry." Cameron's eye flickers in the quickest of winks. "I'm not planning to walk around stark naked, Miliband."

Ed almost chokes, because the thought-

Don't think about it.

It's _Cameron._ Just focus on how annoying his smile is and how smooth his voice is and how blue his eyes are-

"Your brother called."

Ed jumps. "What?"

Cameron's face is careful, blue eyes narrowed just a little. "Your brother. He just called earlier. Wanted to ask about Paris."

For a moment, Ed thinks his heart is going to stop. _"What?"_

Cameron pulls his own screen a little closer, so his voice is a little louder. "Don't worry. Not about-"

Cameron's cheeks look a little pinker.

"Well, he'd just heard we had dinner" he continues, a second later. "I'm not actually entirely sure why he called, because he just seemed to want to-well- _confirm_ it, I suppose."

Something wriggles uncomfortably in Ed's chest. "No" he says, almost thinking aloud, and then "David wouldn't call unless-"

He still knows his brother even if they don't speak.

He thinks.

"Unless?" Cameron prompts gently.

Ed hears himself _hmm._ "I don't know" he says slowly. "But-he doesn't usually call just to confirm things."

"I remember" and Ed looks up to see Cameron grinning a little.

"Oh-yeah-" Ed leans back against the pillow. "I forgot you two were friendly."

"Well. I suppose so." Cameron winks. "We never fell asleep on the same bed together."

Ed feels all the heat in his body rush to his cheeks at once.

 _"Cameron!" It_ comes out as an indignant squeal.

Cameron's laughing. Ed can feel himself blushing and, like a child, ends up hitting the duvet. "Stop _laughing-"_

"Come on. You're quite easy to amuse-"

Ed rolls his eyes. "Is that a compliment?"

"Maybe to me."

Ed rolls them harder. "Characterith-stic humility, Cameron."

Cameron winks. "I like amusing you."

Typical bloody Cameron, because that makes Ed blush again.

"Anyway, yeah, I got on with your brother." Cameron pauses, and then says slowly "I remember I used to get on with you."

There's a very pointed silence. Ed feels himself blush much more deeply.

"I found you agreeable" he mutters, mostly to his knees.

"What? For a Tory?"

Ed shrugs, feeling like a child again. "Th-something like that." He picks at his sleeve absently.

Cameron's voice is a little softer now. "I remember when I met you, actually."

Ed snorts. "I don't remember quite" he mutters, trying not to remember the way Cameron had stuck his hand out, that grin dimpling his cheeks, those eyes bluer than he'd expected, his voice smooth. _Ed. Nice to meet you._

Now, Cameron's voice is softer, fonder. "I do."

Ed's stomach squirms pleasantly.

"I seem to remember someone saying you stuck up for me, rather."

Ed freezes. "Well-" His voice suddenly sounds a little higher-pitched than usual. "I thought you were different. Then."

Cameron's brow creases. "And then you decided I wasn't worth the time?"

Ed's head flies up. "Not exactly" he says tightly. "More that-you seemed to lose interest in some of the things that had attrac-"

He stops dead.

_What?_

_Attracted-_

"Had-" Cameron's voice trails off.

Ed swallows. "That we had in common" he manages, a little too quickly, before realising to his embarrassment that that makes it sound as though Cameron's _jilted_ him.

"Ah-" Cameron's voice is annoyingly inscrutable. Ed waits for an excuse, but all Cameron says is "You know things change, don't you, Miliband?"

Ed hates feeling sulky. "What's that got to do with it?" he manages, thinking of the way Gordon had looked at him when Ed had bitten his lip and said _Cameron might not be as th-superficial as we think, you know._

"It meant that different things became priorities-"

"I know how government works, Cameron-" Ed regrets the tone immediately.

There's another pause. Then, "You're very idealistic."

Ed's head shoots up. "Don't _patronize_ me, Cameron."

Cameron just looks back. "I didn't say it was an insult, Miliband."

Ed eyes him suspiciously.

"Just maybe not-" Cameron laughs suddenly, a little sadly. "Ironically, maybe not ideal for _this."_

Ed snorts. Typical Cameron. "Like that bothers you if it's true."

"You think idealism is a good foundation for government?"

Ed stares back. "I think you have to believe in something to form a government."

"And you don't think I believe in anything." It's not a question.

"I never said that-" Ed meets Cameron's gaze. "I don't think you believe in _enough."_

Cameron just stares back. "And maybe _you_ believe in too much."

Irritation claws at Ed's chest, sharp and raking. "Believe in too-how can you believe in _too much-"_ He shakes his head, knuckles whitening momentarily.

"Forget it." He almost spits it out. "I juth-st wanted to speak to you."

He's not even sure why he's so annoyed. It's not like he didn't know what Cameron believes.

"And I want to speak to you."

It takes Ed a few moments to realise what Cameron's just said.

He looks up. "You want to th-speak to me?"

Cameron stares at him. "Well. Yes. If you can go five minutes without acting as if I'm a monster, that is-"

Ed winces.

"I'm not-" He clears his throat, tries again. "I don't- _think_ you're a monster?" It comes out as more of a question than he meant it to.

Cameron stares, then bursts out laughing. Ed watches him uncertainly.

"You're priceless" is all Cameron says. Ed frowns in confusion. "Thank you?"

Cameron snorts again. Ed makes a mental note to add uncertain compliments to an ever-growing list of things he doesn't understand about David Cameron.

"Anyway, of course I wanted to speak to you" David grins at him.

Ed shrugs. "I thought maybe th-Samantha-"

"Sam what?"

"Samantha had told you to-"

Cameron cackles again. "She would. But no." Another wink. "Contrary to what you believe, I do actually like you, Miliband."

A flood of something warm and happy and squealing fills Ed's chest, leaving him grinning helplessly. He ducks his head, so Cameron can't see his smile.

"You're-" Cameron's voice sounds almost singsong, but then cuts off.

Ed looks up through his eyelashes. "What?"

Cameron's watching him, head on one side, before he jerks, as though pulling himself out of a reverie. "Nothing."

Ed looks back, confused, but then Cameron says "Just....forgotten how you are. It's affecting my supply and demand."

Ed snorts. "That's not even accurate. What do you have an increased demand for? My company?"

Cameron grins. "Precisely. The only supplier of that particular product is reluctant to provide it to those who abide by the rational choice theory."

Ed snorts. Cameron grins. "I studied Economics too, you know, Miliband."

"I wouldn't have gueth-ssed-"

"The supply decreasing even more-"

Ed takes a deep breath, feeling as if he's about to step off a cliff. "Not neth-essarily."

Something brightens in Cameron's eyes. "So I may not have to pay a higher equilibrium price?"

Ed swallows, heart suddenly racing. He feels as though he's balanced on the edge of something, something that leaves him soaring in his chest. He can't step away from it. Something's prickling his skin, tingling in his blood.

He tries to make his voice a little lower. "I wasn't aware you complied with the law of demand, Prime Minister." Ed's heartbeat is increasing slowly and steadily.

"I'd hate to create a lack of economic equilibrium, Miliband" Cameron says, his own voice a little lower and smoother. "But I thought I was working harder for it. In accordance with the labour theory of value-"

Hearing the words _labour theory of value_ in Cameron's voice makes Ed's heart skip. God, Cameron's voice is so smooth.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for someone who preferred Marxist theories, Prime Minister."

Cameron's eyes widen. His breathing suddenly seems a little deeper.

"Well-" His voice is far too smooth, but somehow a little huskier. "I wouldn't have expected you to be so intrigued by capitalism, Miliband."

"It _is_ a free-market economy, Cameron." Ed's own voice is lower, a little breathier. He feels warm, something unfurling in his stomach, seeping into his blood.

That word _sexy_ whispers in his head again. This time, it doesn't fade. It stays there, caught in his thoughts, and tingles seem to be creeping down his body, his breathing slowly deepening.

"Well." Cameron's voice is low and Ed knows without knowing how that Cameron's feeling the same thing he is. "I wouldn't want you to damage your marginal cost, Miliband-"

Cameron's hand is creeping closer to the screen. Ed notices vaguely that his is doing the same, his thoughts slower, charged.

"M-maybe I should reconth-sider my demand schedule" he manages, and hears Cameron's breath catch. Something about that-that _he_ did that-his words did that-sends a thrill through Ed's chest, a thrill that becomes a little tingle that moves slowly down through his body. Ed's legs move, spreading a little. There's an edge of something to this, something that's making him tremble.

"M-maybe." Cameron's voice wavers a little. Any other time, that would make Ed punch the air. Now he's-

His own hand is creeping closer. Cameron's breathing is louder.

If they were opposite each other, they could be touching.

There's a small sound-a laugh or a shriek from one of the kids-but it's enough for Cameron to ask, a little more slowly than usual, "What was that?"

Ed swallows. "Just the kids" he whispers, but his hand creeps back slowly, and on the screen, Cameron's does the same.

"How are they?" Cameron asks, his voice a little less steady, and even though Ed answers, his heartbeat is still rapid, an ache of disappointment settling in his body, as his hand inches further away from Cameron's.

 

* * *

 

Sam really hadn't known she was going to end up inviting Ed Miliband to stay for dinner.

She definitely hadn't known she was going to end up letting him talk to her husband.

But a part of her-

She'd believed David when he talked to her. He knew Miliband better than she did.

Better than most people do, Sam thinks, really.

But while she'd believed it, she hadn't really- _seen_ it.

Until now.

Just watching him as he talked with the others, his eyes darting a little too fast and staring a little too long, his hands seeming to fall over themselves in their gestures, as though struggling to keep up with his thoughts. She'd found herself noticing.

Maybe it was hard to understand without spending time with Ed. Without watching the way his speech seems to flounder, searching for the solid ground everyone else's feet are firmly planted on.

He is different, Sam had known suddenly, watching him. He is.

And so she'd asked him to stay.

"You were right" she'd told Dave later, lying propped on the bed with her chin in her hands, iPad leaning against the pillow. "He is different."

Dave's brow had creased. "Who?"

"Ed Miliband." Sam had glanced back towards the door. "He's here."

Dave had jumped a little. What?"

But his eyes had brightened.

That's what Sam had noticed almost immediately, that his eyes had brightened.

Now, when she hears an uncertain, slightly nasal "Samantha?" and bites back a grin as she heads to the bedroom door, she finds the iPad being passed out to her. It's only once she's delivered it back to the children-who are all gathered around the screen watching Coraline battle the Other Mother-that she realises Ed hasn't yet emerged.

Sam approaches the door slowly, carefully. She pauses, hand against the wood. She listens for a moment, her breathing suddenly seeming much louder than usual, before she gently pushes the door open.

Ed, when she looks in, isn't actually doing anything-he's just sitting on the bed, or so it seems.

But when Sam steps into the room, she notices that Ed is sitting quite still, gazing towards the window. It's the look on his face that makes Sam's breath catch.

He just looks utterly dreamy. His eyes are faraway, seeing some private vision, his fingers drumming idly against his jaw.

Something about the sheer dreaminess of his expression makes Sam grin, and on impulse, she sits down next to him.

"Hey." She says it gently, reaching for his hand. "Ed."

It takes him a moment to look, and when he does, he does so slowly, as though coming out of a daze.

When their gazes meet, he jumps. "Oh-th-Samantha-I-" He looks round as though only just noticing where he is. "Oh-I'm th-sorry, I didn't-"

"It's fine." Sam's more amused than anything else, but then she spots the panicked way Ed's gaze roams around the room, as though not daring to focus anywhere for too long.

"Hey." Her hand settles on his arm. "It's all right. I just wanted to check on you-"

Ed swallows, seeming to stiffen under her hand for a moment. "Y-yeah-yeah-th-sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble-"

"You didn't. I just wanted to check you were all right-"

A goofy sort of smile spreads over Ed's face. Sam watches him duck his head hastily, cheeks dimpling with the grin that's spreading over his face.

"Y-yeah. Yeah. I'm f-fine." He shakes his head a little. "Juth-just-"

He shrugs, stares out of the window, that goofy grin tugging at his mouth.

"Just thinking" he manages, that dreamy tone still in his voice. Something about it makes him look sweetly bemused at himself.

Sam decides to hazard a guess. "You two seemed to have a lot to talk about."

Ed blushes. Even in the dim light, it's noticeable. ""Oh. Well. We-yeth, I suppose we-" He clears his throat. "I suppose I didn't realise how long it had been."

 _Two days_ , Sam thinks wryly.

But she looks at that dreamy expression. Thinks about Dave's face when she asked _Is it Ed Miliband?_

"You must miss him" she says suddenly, on a whim.

Ed jumps under her hand. "Um-"

His eyes dart. His lip crawls into his mouth and is chewed nervously.

That answers that question.

But then Ed says suddenly "Th-Samantha-Th-Samantha, I'm really th-sorry-"

Sam freezes just for a moment.

"About Nancy-I didn't mean to-I juth-st didn't think-"

The words alone might not have been enough to mollify her. But the way Ed turns to look at her-

His eyes widen. There's an awful sort of confusion in his gaze. As if he doesn't quite grasp things and wants to but isn't sure why-

Ed begins to babble in the face of her silence. "I-I really didn't m-mean to-to-upth-set anyone-I juth-st didn't think-" He stares, the confusion making him look much younger. "I'm th-sorry-"

Sam suddenly notices that the music's changed. She isn't sure how or when, but over the sound of childrens' chatter, she can hear a Joy Division song playing. The sound's eerie, almost a little otherworldly, and with Ed sitting next to her, lamplight just touching his face, it seems oddly appropriate.

"I know" she says quietly and as she says it, she has the odd feeling that this isn't the only apology she's answering.

"I know you are." And her hand wraps around his and squeezes once, and for the first time since she entered the room, some, not all, of the tension, seeps from Ed's shoulders.

 

* * *

 

When Michael has set off home with Beatrice and William in tow and George has taken Luke and Libbie back next door (with the three girls hugging at the doorway), Samantha, sitting on the couch, coaxing a wriggling Florence into pyjamas, says "Do you want to read them a story?"

Ed jumps. Sam, who's curled up against Samantha's side, looks up and fixes him with a disbelieving look out of his big, dark eyes.

"Um-if they'll-" Ed tries to look at Florence questioningly, but Flo's engrossed in wriggling.

Ed does read the boys stories at home. (Bob always wants him to talk about it.) But he always feels a little odd, as if he might be putting the emphasis on the wrong words, or not announcing the ending with enough flair-the same way he felt trying to cuddle them as babies, wondering if he should reflect their baby babble back to them.

But he can hardly say no, especially as Samantha cooked dinner and let him stay.

He nods awkwardly, and Florence smiles up at him, beginning to wriggle harder.

The truth is, even as he perches awkwardly on Nancy's bed and Florence scrambles trustingly up under his arm, he glances at the boys nervously. Even watching Nancy cuddle them earlier-

It always just looks so _natural._

As if none of them ever have to search for the words that come next or wonder if they're holding the children the right way or just not know why whatever they're doing isn't _working._

And Ed doesn't know _why._

But he doesn't have time to dwell on it, because Nancy and Elwen, freshly changed into pyjamas, both appear in the doorway, with Daniel between them. Daniel's eyes widen at the sight of Ed perched on the bed-he and Sam are used to being turned away if they try climbing into bed with their parents at home.

Nancy, perhaps unwittingly, saves the situation. "Is Mr. Ed Miliband reading to us?" she asks without preamble, and quite calmly hands Ed a book she seems to have selected, vaulting herself onto the bed next to him.

Elwen scrambles up at the other end, propping himself on one elbow, while Daniel, after a moment of consideration, does the same-though not before he's fixed Ed with a disbelieving look and asked, in a tone more sceptical than any five-year-old should have, _"You're_ going to read?"

It's Samantha's hand Daniel reaches for. Ed tries his best not to notice.

"Right." Nancy, having handed Ed the book, promptly seizes it back. "My go to read."

Samantha grins, propping herself at the end of the bed between Elwen and Daniel. Ed, who's found himself wedged between Nancy and Sam, with Florence on his knee, blinks. "Oh. Um-" He glances at Samantha, and off her encouraging nod, manages "Um. OK."

He wonders if this is the usual protocol with reading to children. He usually only reads to them on trains, going to conferences or events. Tom usually thinks the pictures look good- _Reading to your kids-it's universal, makes you look like a family man-people can relate to it_. Usually, once the cameras have got the shots they want, Ed can go back to working, and the books are forgotten, which is easier. He can't remember the last time he-or Justine-was there at bedtime.

But Nancy launches in, leaning over to touch Flo's hair absently, her head resting against Ed's shoulder. _"If our Anthony was telling this story, he'd start with the money-"_

Nancy reads for a bit. Ed listens, mind drifting idly. Nancy's head feels unfamiliar, the warmth of her hair against his shoulder, the soft scent of childish shampoo. Florence's solid warm weight in his lap is unusual, too, like the warmth of them all being curled together. Ed doesn't often curl up with the boys. In fact, he can't remember the last time he did, and they certainly don't cuddle up in bed together-not even when they were babies.

Once, when Sam was about a year old, he'd been crying and Ed had sat up for three hours, bouncing him on his knee, making the shushing sounds he knew he was meant to make, staring at his son's red, cross little face, his mouth rounded around wails.

Irritation had spiked in his chest. _Well, what else do you want me to do? You don't have an instruction manual._

 _You don't work,_ had reared suddenly, sharply in his mind, and to push the thought away, he'd bounced Sam harder. When Sam had eventually cried himself to sleep, Ed had felt a vindictive jab of _Thank God for that._

(Bob had wanted him to tell a journalist about it-they were doing a soft-focus family article a few days later, for the Mirror, which could always be relied on to be sympathetic. They'd dressed the anecdote up a bit, made him sound prouder.)

(The journalist had looked a little surprised that Ed was so keen to talk about it, and Ed had wondered if that was a normal thing to have to do with babies. Often, Zia, who, after all, had been used to Daniel and lived there Monday to Friday anyway, had taken care of Sam if he really wouldn't stop crying. Other times, he seemed to cry himself to sleep in the end.)

But now-Ed muses. It's warm and Nancy's head is digging a little into his shoulder and Elwen's feet are draped over his legs, but it's nice. Comfortable. Ed tries to assess the situation, even as Nancy reads, her little voice right in his ear. _"I still didn't say a word, but then the phone rang and I accidentally answered it-"_

Do most people do this, then?

Is this what-is it always like this for some people-

Ed's thoughts drift as he listens, taking an almost childlike pleasure in the words. He was never read many stories. Dad used to encourage intellectual pursuits. It was why Ed had liked to hear about Booboo and Heehee so much.

Everything else Dad liked to do-chess, debating, leafleting-was about learning. Doing.

He didn't have to try with Booboo and Heehee.

(He wonders if that's why David liked it, too. They've never talked about it, really.)

This-this is nice. His eyes are heavy. He can smell Nancy's shampoo. Florence is warm, her head resting on his chest, hair tickling his chin. He can see Sam's fingers, curled around hers'.

"You read now" Nancy says abruptly, tiredness apparently overwhelming her, and she nestles against Ed's shoulder.

"Oh-" Ed props himself up, taking the book as Nancy's eyes flicker shut. "Um-OK, let's see-"

Nancy, even with her eyes closed, manages to let her hand crawl out and gently tap the sentence she's paused at.

Ed clears his throat. "OK. Um- _Anthony said goodbye to the old pound nearly every day-"_

He reads on. At some point, he notices Florence has stopped wriggling. She's curled up, peacefully asleep against his chest. Daniel too, seems to have nodded off, his head against Elwen's forehead.

_"Actually, my enthusiasm was because of a misunderstanding. I thought he was suggesting we live in the field, with the string-"_

Ed loses track of time. At some point, his thoughts drift to how the story sounded in Nancy's voice and then to wondering whether he ever read aloud to his parents.

He can't remember. He can't remember them reading stories to him, either. He remembers being read facts and stories about parties forming, but not fairytales. They weren't useful.

He remembers listening outside the door, while his father talked with his friends, ear pressed against the wood, trying to grasp any sound that might sneak through.

He wonders when the last time was that either of his children fell asleep near him.

A hand squeezes his shin gently and Samantha whispers something about getting ready. Ed's head is quieter, thoughts starting to run into one another, as he feels himself nod.

When he glances at Nancy, her eyes are closed, and her breathing has steadied, head still lying on his chest. Elwen and Daniel too, are still. Florence and Sam's breathing is even, slow.

Ed lets his head fall back, the book lying open on his chest. He lets himself bask in the unfamiliar sensation of being cuddled under the weight of sleeping children.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Ed, lulled a little, reaches for it more lazily than usual, and doesn't look at the number.

"Hello?"

"Miliband?"

For once, the voice doesn't make him jump.

Instead, he smiles. It's like sinking into a warm bath.

"Cameron." Ed keeps his eyes closed, luxuriating in David's voice. "Hi."

"Hi."

Something squirms fondly in Ed's chest. "How are you?"

"Fine." Cameron's voice has an edge of amusement. "We did speak less than an hour ago."

"You phoned me." There isn't much venom in the reply.

"Well. Yes. Where are you?"

"Still at yours', actually." Tiredness makes it easier to admit.

"Really?"

Ed swallows. "I-I can go if you want-" It comes out as a mumble.

"No!" David's voice is louder, cutting Ed off. He freezes, glancing at the children, but none of them have stirred.

"No, it's-it's fine. I was-just surprised, that's all."

"Well-th-Samantha asked me to read to them-"

"Oh. Are the kids there?"

"Yeah. But they're asleep. I'm sitting with them. Your kids are in bed, but Daniel and Sam-they're still dressed, obviously, but they're-"

"Asleep-"

"Asleep, yeah."

"Oh."

"Yeah. We're in Nanth-Nancy's room-"

There's another silence, before Cameron's voice comes again-a little smaller. "Can you do something for me?"

Ed frowns. "Yeah-"

"Can you tell me what they look like?"

Ed blinks. "What they-"

"Look like. Just-how they're lying." Cameron's voice sounds taut, wrapped tight around something. "Just-you know. On the bed."

If Ed was a little more awake, he might ask more questions. But he's tired and it's warm and Cameron's voice-

Ed just _likes_ it.

"OK-" Ed props himself against the pillow. "Um-Elwen's at the end of the bed. He's lying-well, just on his side. Curled up. And asleep. His feet are kind of-right down at the end. He's-his head is kind of by Nancy's feet-" Ed's voice is a whisper. "Nancy's up by the headboard, that end-"

"Yeah-"

"And he's just-on his side. His hand's kind of up by his cheek. Daniel's next to him-sorry, you meant your kids-"

"No, it's all right-" Something catches in David's voice. "Tell me."

Ed leans forward, peering at his son. "Daniel's-lying next to Elwen. Same kind of thing-on his side, but he's facing the other way-so they're facing each other, lying there, facing each other-quite close, their arms kind of touching. Nancy's up by this end-she's got her head on my shoulder-"

David's breath catches again. Ed stops. "Is that-"

"No, just-nothing. Go on-"

"Well-she's kind of stretched out with her head on my shoulder-her hair's kind of on the pillow, everywhere-"

David laughs a little. Ed feels himself smile.

"And-" He turns his head gently. "Sam's on my other side-just got his head on my shoulder-"

Daniel looks peaceful, lashes brushing his cheeks. Something aches in Ed's chest. He can't remember the last time he watched Daniel sleep.

Sam's dark curls are nestling on Ed's shoulder, lashes long and fluttering as he sleeps. Ed watches him, that ache there again.

"And Florence is-" Ed looks down, nose burying itself in Florence's hair. "She's here-sitting on my knee-" He bites his lip, worry gnawing in his chest. "I-um-th-sorry-"

"Why?"

Florence huddles closer into his chest. "Why what?"

His voice is a whisper. Florence's baby shampoo is sweet and warm.

"Why are you saying sorry?"

Ed shrugs. "Don't know. Just-"

"Thank you."

It's Ed's turn to be startled. "What for?"

David's voice is a little tighter this time. "Doing that for me."

Ed feels colour flood his face. But it isn't unpleasant. Something seems to dissolve in his chest, leaving behind a warm, tender feeling.

"It's fine-" His own voice is a little faint.

There's a pause, then, "Just something I used to do at boarding school."

"What?"

Cameron laughs, the sound a little strained. "Well. We didn't have phones, but-" He clears his throat. "I used to-I had this trick where I asked my sisters to tell me certain things they were doing or tell them to think about us-me and Alex-at certain times. Then when I was in my dormitory, I could think about them and know they were thinking about us." He laughs again, shorter this time. "I suppose this must sound rather strange to you, Miliband."

Ed swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. "No" he says slowly. "It sounds-"

The word finds its' way out of its' own accord. "Sweet."

Ed cringes. The only thing stopping him from slapping a hand over his mouth is the fact he's got one arm awkwardly positioned around Florence.

There's a startled silence. Then, Cameron laughs a little. "Well. That's-ah-" There's something else there that makes Ed's heart race a little faster. "You don't usually describe me in those terms."

Ed's smiling somehow. Florence's head is nestling over his heart.

"How do you know?" He blurts it out without thinking. "You don't know how I refer to you when you're not listening."

He could kick himself.

"Oh? And are you more complimentary when I'm not around, Miliband?"

Ed freezes, heart thudding. But there's something pleasant in the swooping sensation in his stomach, the heat in his cheeks-like when Cameron's voice curled around the words _rational choice theory,_ as though savouring the taste.

"M-maybe" is all that comes out. He bites his lip, suddenly intensely aware of his own heartbeat.

Florence wriggles suddenly, but doesn't open her eyes. She just arches her back, and then wriggles closer into his chest. Ed rubs her back awkwardly, something aching pleasantly in his chest at the sensation of her sleeping in his arms.

"What was that?"

"Oh. Nothing. Florence just moved a little, that's all."

"Did she wake up?"

"No. Juth-st moved-"

"She was always quite a good sleeper" Cameron says, almost to himself. "Both the girls were. It was the boys who were more difficult. Elwen used to come into our bed every night." He pauses, then "And of course, we never got a full night with Ivan."

Ed swallows. The lump in his throat is back.

"One of the reasons I couldn't send them to boarding school" Cameron says, a little abruptly. "I mean-" He laughs again, tightly. "There, you wake up and cry-no-one comes-"

The lump in Ed's throat swells. He blinks, hard. His eyes flicker closed and like on the train, he sees Cameron, a younger Cameron-a little Cameron, no more than seven, lying alone in a bed in a freezing room, tears trickling down his cheeks, alone amongst the other boys in the dark.

"David-" It comes out as a breath.

"Anyway-" Cameron clears his throat. His voice steadies. "What about your boys?"

 _Don't do that_ , rears suddenly in Ed's mind. _Don't have to do that around me._

"Um-Daniel was a good sleeper" he says instead, hating himself a little for not saying it. "And Sam-Sam used to be, but then he started-waking up, I suppose-"

They were supposed to just leave him, Justine said. So he learnt to cry himself back to sleep.

"I'm not sure when he grew out of that, to be honeth-st-"

Maybe he just hadn't seen Sam grow out of it.

Maybe Sam had grown out of it when he wasn't there to watch.

"But-yeah. He was-more difficult-"

 _It worked on me_ , Justine had told him, when he'd questioned the ignore strategy.

A thought seizes hold irresistibly in Ed's mind. _Did it?_

"Well." David laughs-still that same forced laugh. "Boarding school'd be rather off the cards. Not exactly bedtime stories, you know-"

Something twists in Ed's chest. "Well" he says, feeling an odd sense of deja-vu, as he thinks back to Paris and that room and that bed-

(Not the bed, don't think about the bed.)

"I didn't exactly-well, you know. There wath-wasn't always time for-"

He can feel those bannisters digging into his cheeks again. His mother's fingers, trying to chuck him under the chin. _You know Daddy has to be away._

For three months, twelve months, sixteen months.

It's for the greater good. To make a difference.

"Stories" he says, and then bites his lip, stifling a yawn.

Cameron isn't fooled. "You sound sleepy yourself, Miliband."

Ed issues a denial, which is difficult when one is still yawning.

"Of course you're not" says Cameron, sounding more amused than he should. "I'd bet you'll fall asleep right there. Florence is a fantastic sleep aide. She's very comfortable."

"I will not." Ed knows he sounds like a petulant toddler and hates it.

Cameron laughs knowingly. But his voice is soft. "Goodnight, Miliband."

Ed swallows, his throat suddenly thick with something he can't quite say.

"Night, David." It comes out as a whisper.

It's only when Cameron's hung up that Ed realises he never actually said why he called.

Regardless, he lets his head sink forward, nose pressing into Florence's hair.

He won't fall asleep, he tells himself as his eyes fall closed. He won't.

He's not sure how much later it is when he feels his shoulder being shaken. He lifts his head, from where his nose has ended up pressed into Florence's hair, astonished, stretching his eyes as wide as he can. "I wasn't sleeping!"

Samantha, in a dressing gown, tilts her head to one side, smile dimpling her cheeks. "You look exhausted" she says, as Ed tries to look as awake as possible.

A shadow falls over her face, so Ed can't quite make out her expression. "Do you want to stay here?"

Ed blinks. "W-"

What?

Samantha shrugs. "Well, you'd have to get a car back through London-and the kids are settled. Maybe it makes more sense for you to just stay here tonight."

Ed opens his mouth and closes it again, trying in vain to think of an objection.

It's ridiculous.

The thought of-

But-

The kids are asleep.

And-

Ed glances at her anxiously. "But-wouldn't-"

Samantha doesn't have to do any of this and yet-

(And he's been dreaming about-)

"Wouldn't it be an impoth-imposition-"

"No!" Samantha laughs, somehow managing to do so in a whisper. "Craig and the others sometimes do when they're working late-Dave won't mind. You could have Flo's room, she's dead to the world here-" She reaches out, lifting Florence from Ed's lap, turning her daughter's face into her shoulder. Florence murmurs in her sleep, as Ed carefully disentangles himself and climbs out.

"There-" Samantha settles Florence back on Nancy's other side, so that Nancy's lying in the centre, Florence and Sam on either side. "We can put the boys in a couple of Elwen's old shirts-they'll be a bit big, but it doesn't matter-"

A quick trip to Elwen's room later, and Ed watches, bemused, as Samantha crouches down and guides a sleeping Sam out of his jumper and jeans with a practiced ease. Ed watches, a little awed by how natural it seems to be.

He can't remember the last time he put either Daniel or Sam in their pyjamas.

But Samantha manages effortlessly, manoeuvreing Daniel the same way, throwing their little clothes onto a chair. Ed blinks at how she shushes as his son stirs a little, smoothes his hair after guiding it through, brushes his cheek gently as he curls back onto the duvet. It's like a dance that Samantha's practiced all her life and that Ed can't manage without falling out of step.

"Here-" Samantha lifts Elwen gently, laying his head on her shoulder. She's scrubbed her face clean of make-up and she looks younger, more vulnerable. With a jolt of recognition, Ed notices she looks a little like Nancy.

He stands there for a minute before realising he's supposed to follow suit. He bends and moves Daniel awkwardly into his arms, following Samantha.

Daniel's head is a weight on his shoulder. Ed adjusts him a little. He can feel the panic knotting in his chest, wondering what he should do, if he's holding him tightly enough. His own dad, on the rare occasions he held him, used to fold his hands over his shoulders or around his waist carefully, as though going through a process. Sometimes, he held Ed out in front of him, hands placed carefully over his back.

In Elwen's room, Samantha lifts Elwen down with a kiss on the head and tucks him in, before patting the pillow next to him.

"Oh-"

Ed lowers Daniel down. He swallows, trying to imitate what Samantha did, tucking the duvet over Daniel and then remembers the kiss. He leans down and touches Daniel's hair cautiously, hoping he's doing the right thing.

He stares down at Daniel, watching the way his eyelashes flutter. Something aches in his throat. He presses his mouth to Daniel's forehead quickly, getting a confused impression of warm childish skin, and then stands up quickly, feeling oddly choked.

Samantha eyes him steadily, and then she too kisses Daniel's forehead, stroking his hair back. The panic rises again in Ed's chest, tightening his lungs, before he manages to bend down and kiss Elwen's forehead carefully. And he wonders why it's easier to kiss their son than his own.

Outside, Samantha beckons him. "Come here, I'll lend you one of Dave's shirts-"

 _That_ gets Ed's attention.

Because-

Oh God.

Cameron's shirt.

The thought of-

Oh God.

Cameron's shirt. That's against Cameron's skin.

He's blushing furiously.

But he doesn't have anything else, and the thought of sleeping _without_ a shirt makes Ed blush even more.

He should probably be less embarrassed than he is in their room, given he's already been in there, but he still can't bring himself to glance at the bed. He stands there, trying desperately to avert his eyes, and wondering quite what the protocol is for what to discuss in this situation.

"Th-thank you for this-" he manages nervously, watching a curtain of Samantha's hair fall over her face. "I-I-um-I'm th-sorry about intruding-"

Samantha just shakes her head. "You're not. Don't be silly-"

She trails off as she notices where Ed's gaze has lighted.

He hasn't meant to, but in trying not to look at the bed, he's been glancing around and he's spotted a small row of photographs on the chest of drawers-one in particular.

Samantha grins, chucking him the shirt as she glances at the photo. "That's us. Year we were married."

Ed's breath is caught in his throat and his cheeks are warm. Samantha in the picture is young and pretty, hair a pale blonde with brown streaks spilling through, unlike its' rich, natural darkness. She's holding Cameron's elbow, his arm around her, both of them smiling straight at the camera.

Well.

Cameron's beaming, really.

It's quite obviously him. His hair's darker, and there's a lot more of it. His cheeks are even pinker, but the blush looks natural, healthy. His eyes are bright, glinting mischievously, above dimples that dent his cheeks.

It's obviously Cameron. And yet, Ed stares at it. He wonders when the photo was taken. He wonders what the younger Cameron was thinking. He wonders what was making him smile like that.

It's Samantha's voice at his side that jolts Ed back to awareness. "Handsome, isn't he?" Her grin makes her eyes dance in the lamplight, and standing there, she's more clearly than ever the girl in the picture, looking just as young.

And Cameron-

Cameron's clearly the guy in the picture. The cocky smile. The twinkle of the eyes. The- _look._

It's so-

Ed stares at the picture, Samantha's words echoing vaguely.

"Yeah, he is." His voice is breathy, quiet. Even though he's aware of Samantha's gaze, he just stares at the photograph, Cameron's smile making him feel goofy and dazed and making it far, far too difficult not to grin back.

 

* * *

 

Outside in the hall, he says suddenly "Th-Samantha-"

"Yeah?"

Ed can't meet her eyes.

(It occurs to him that the whole reason Cameron was smiling like that in the picture was Samantha-of course it was, who else would it be?)

(It gives him a strange, out-of-sorts, jabbing feeling, which is ridiculous.)

"Thank you." He says it to his feet and steels himself to meet her eyes. "For-"

He wants to thank her for a lot and some of it he can't quite know or say. Underneath it all, there's an awful sinking feeling in his chest-a sinking dragging down at the words _I'm sorry, I'm sorry,_ and Ed doesn't even know what he's sorry for.

Samantha looks at him, head tilted. "Ed."

It's not a question. It has the hint of a question, but there's something less wondering, more knowing about the word. Ed stares back, a strange urge to justify, to explain, rising up in his throat-

"I-" There's nothing else to say, because how has he even ended up here-

And then Samantha's saying "Ed" and reaching out to touch his arm. Something catches in Ed's throat.

"It's all right, OK?"

Samantha's eyes meet his in the dim light and for a moment, as they watch one another, Ed has the oddest sensation they're both thinking the same thing.

"Thank you." It seems to be all he can say.

Samantha looks at him quietly and then reaches up and presses her mouth gently to his cheek in a soft kiss.

"Night, Ed." Her voice is soft and something almost like sad. Her arms slide around his shoulders and she hugs him once, quickly.

It's quick and warm and confuses Ed, so it's almost too late when he manages to lift his arms to give her an awkward squeeze back.

She gives him another smile then, and says, voice almost a whisper, "Goodnight, Ed."

His own voice is a whisper. "Night, Samantha."

 

* * *

 

He must be more tired than he realised, because it's only once he's got Cameron's shirt over his head that he realises _he's got Cameron's shirt over his head._

He's only blearily taken in Florence's room, and now, even as he pulls the shirt down, he notices that it seems to be mostly unchanged from the last time he was in here. It's still a little girl's bedroom, which is somehow reassuring, in the way that childrens' rooms sometimes are-as though nothing bad could happen here. He'd stripped off his clothing and been pulling the shirt on when it occurred to him just whose shirt it was.

Now, he takes a deep breath, then sinks down onto Florence's bed, staring down at the shirt nervously, as if it might bite him.

It's an ordinary shirt. Too big for Ed, but the material's soft and he pinches it gently between his fingers. It sends an odd shiver through him as he pictures Cameron doing the same thing-and another one when he realises that that's more than likely true.

Ed takes a breath and tucks himself under the duvet before his thoughts can become any more ridiculous. He feels his elbow digging into something, and props himself up to retrieve what turns out to be an Elsa doll.

A few minutes later, cheek pressed into the pillow, Ed realises he can smell Cameron's aftershave. It's an accident, at first-just a sleepy observation that drifts through his brain. Cameron's shirt smells faintly of the scent Ed knows so well, that usually makes him grin somehow. It's so-Cameron-ish.

But lying here, Ed becomes more and more aware of it. It's pleasant-almost like the voice of a friend he'd forgotten since he was very small. Reassuring.

It's the fact he's half-asleep that makes him do it. Slowly, almost without noticing, he tilts his head down so just for a moment, he can burrow his nose into the shirt. The scent is warm and sweet and Cameron-ish. Ed thinks suddenly of that photograph and that beam on Cameron's face and feels oddly uncomfortable.

_Not exactly bedtime stories._

Ed frowns, suddenly thinking about that dormitory again. A young boy, with Cameron's face, huddled under the covers, silent tears streaking his cheeks. It twists, sharp and vicious, in his chest.

 _How old were you_ , he thinks, and then on the heels of that, _How old was I?_

It's ridiculous, of course-they didn't even know each other back then, why on earth would he-but some strange thought jolts over and over, never quite finishing- _How did I not-when they hurt him-how did I-_

It's ridiculous. He'd have been at home himself at the time. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, listening to people talk. Bannisters digging into his cheeks.

_When you cry-no-one comes._

Something shifts a little. Ed's suddenly seized by the thought that there's something similar about those memories.

Something.

It's only when Ed's eyes close, cuddled up in the warmth of the shirt, that his mind wanders, and for a dreamlike moment, the soft material over his back and shoulders seem to become a pair of arms, warm and gentle, pulling him into someone's chest.

Ed slips into sleep, and if something that sounds like "Cameron" comes out of his mouth in a mumble, that doesn't mean anything at all.

* * *

 

 

_It's Dark It's Cold It's Winter-Sleepmakeswaves_ _-this is an instrumental, but it really reminds me of the pervading mood underneath some of this chapter-especially for Ed, Daniel and Sam (younger Sam.) There's a sense of sadness and emptiness about their home lives, which becomes greater when contrasted with the warmth of the Cameron family._

_Simple As This-Jake Bugg -"Mining for treasure deep in my bones/That I never found...Tried institutions of the mind and soul/It only taught me what I should not know/Oh the answer, well/Who would have guessed/Could be something as simple as this/Something as simple as this?"-so this pretty much sums up Ed's reaction to witnessing a Cameron family dinner and the revelation that not all families' lives are centred around work and the greater good (and that his kids might be happier in this type of environment.)_

_Love Cats-The Cure -this is the song Nancy's singing to, that Samantha's playing. Samantha's very into gothic music and it was apparently often on in the Downing Street flat._

_Landfill-Daughter -"Throw me in a landfill/Don't think about the consequences/ Throw me in the dirt pit/Don't think about the choices that you make...Push me out to sea/On a little boat that you made/Out of the evergreen you helped your father cut away/Leave me on the tracks/To wait until the morning train arrives/Don't you dare look back....Well this is torturous electricity/Between both of us and this is/Dangerous 'cause I want you so much/But I hate your guts, I want you so much/But I hate your guts/I want you so much, but I hate your guts"-so this song reminds me of two things. First, David M and David's phone call, and the way Ed's tried to ignore the consequences of his choice to betray his brother. But of course, the latter lines there just perfectly suit David and Ed (and will probably recur in a couple of chapters, when they're arguing and more open about their feelings ;)) and also in that FaceTime phone call, when they're faced with the polarity of their attitudes, and the feeling that they shouldn't want to be so close to each other._

_Atmosphere-Joy Division -"Walk in silence/Don't turn away, in silence/Your confusion/My illusion/Worn like a mask of self-hate/Confronts and then dies/Don't walk away"-so this is the Joy Division song that's playing when Samantha finds Ed sitting in Dave's bedroom, getting dreamy. The lyrics are pretty suitable for how confused Ed is and the dissolving of some of his illusions about David, as well as his own view of himself. But also the eerie, dreamy sound of the song just seems to suit the moments when Ed's staring dreamily out of the window, very clearly thinking about David._

_Whispers-Dave Baxter -"This one comes and this one goes/So here we are across the road/In whispers, in whispers....Our stories and pictures/Oh, we let them go, let them go home/Oh, I have seen your beauty grow/Where others fade, you shine and glow/Our love will be legend/If we let it go, let it go home"-this song just perfectly suits the scene in Dave and Ed's second phone call, after Ed's read to the kids. The way they're sharing their memories with each other and their childhood stories suits the song but also, the mood really suits the common ground they're finding , and what their bond can be if they let it develop._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Remember, videos etc. are at the top! )  
>   
> The "bed story" is when Obama let Cameron have a nap in his bed on Air Force One: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/9155494/Barack-Obama-tucked-David-Cameron-up-in-bed-on-Air-Force-One.html Alastair Campbell did used to throw his head into vending machines.  
> Daniel and Sam are big fans of hoovering:http://metro.co.uk/2015/04/09/ed-miliband-talks-secret-sport-passions-and-recurring-dreams-in-quickfire-interview-5142375/ The nursery is the House of Commons nursery, where MPs can leave children:https://www.nurseryworld.co.uk/nursery-world/news/1155891/house-of-commons-nursery-viable-despite-gbp1m-bill  
> Gove, Cameron & Osborne do (or, in Gove's case, did) take turns doing the school run, being close friends & godparents to each other's children. The meals in the Downing Street flat were also common: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/are-you-part-of-the-mateocracy-6szzwdgzbvr  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/would-daves-mate-ocracy-survive-a-werritty-90hsq576t83  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/how-brexit-caused-a-new-social-apartheid-on-the-notting-hill-dinner-party-circuit-a3371901.html  
> First Aid Kit are one of David & Samantha's favourite bands:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2541909/David-Cameron-gives-intimate-interview-losing-Ivan-driving-Sam-TV-remote-new-love-Swedish-country-music.html "Bells" is Isabel Spearman, Samantha Cameron's personal assistant & close friend:https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/esmagazine/at-home-with-isabel-spearman-in-shepherds-bush-a3391111.html The Cameron & Osborne children loved stealing sweets from the Cabinet Room & playing in the security room: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/8469292/David-Cameron-interview-I-wanted-to-berate-him-but-Dave-won-me-over.html  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YEuwf0FtvJk  
> Dave & Sam referred to the Tories as the Blue Team, Ed & Justine referred to Labour as the Red Team:https://www.yorkshirepost.co.uk/news/kids-know-ed-as-red-team-leader-says-justine-1-7235706  
> https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/103755/my-kids-take-mickey-out-of-me-but-want-blue-team-to-win/  
> The Cameron & Gove children went to the same primary school, Bea & Nancy to the same secondary:https://www.standard.co.uk/news/camerons-daughter-wins-place-at-top-state-school-two-miles-from-home-while-browns-son-goes-to-7244873.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11456423/David-Camerons-daughter-Nancy-to-attend-state-secondary-school.html  
> The kids swinging Florence in a bag in the garden is true:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2052285/The-PMs-nanny-Waitrose-bag-used-carry-baby--mole-hunt-No-10.html Bea is a fan of Zoella: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2846670/What-YouTube-superstar-Zoella-reveals-teenage-girls.htmlThe clip of her dialogue is from her video from 11/01/2015. The stories about iCarly, Bea's phone & the Rainbow Loom stall are genuine:  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2693668/SARAH-VINE-The-school-summer-fair-It-fete-worse-death.html  
> https://www.pressreader.com/uk/daily-mail/20130911/281487864029070  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2634496/SARAH-VINE-Why-I-taken-daughters-phone-away.html  
> David and Louise Miliband didn't attend Ed's wedding party: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/8544232/David-Miliband-fails-to-attend-Ed-Milibands-wedding-party.html Elwen supports Chelsea, while Daniel & Sam are mildly into Arsenal: https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/239808/my-special-son/  
> https://www.buzzfeed.com/jimwaterson/ed-miliband-on-the-road  
> Ed did argue with Brown, through sticking up for Cameron. Samantha did once vote Green: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/fashion/people/didnt-always-vote-conservative-sometimes-went-green-samantha/br />  
> Ed's parents rarely told him they loved him, reportedly, which confused him when others showed affection.br />  
> Ed does turn his kids away if they try to climb into bed with him:https://www.ft.com/content/101913f6-acc1-11e4-beeb-00144feab7de The anecdote about getting Sam to sleep is true, as is lack of awareness that it's usual parenting (he stated Sam was teething, though he was too old to be): https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/ed-miliband-revealed-at-home-with-the-labour-98444 Ed's father was frequently away, sometimes for up to a year at a time, working: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/ed-miliband-all-about-my-father-mps2wbqnksx (Look up the Churchill anecdote.:))  
> David mentioned his kids sleeping patterns: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11514116/General-Election-2015-David-Cameron-jokes-that-he-wants-another-baby.html  
> LEAVE A COMMENT IF YOU LIKED IT :)


	21. Aquatic Assumptions, Innocent Interrogations And A Confounding Of Countenance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which no one can fail to be cheered up by a baby, Tony Blair probably has everyone's phone number, Samantha's family have too many names to count, and Ed really shouldn't be discovering now that he's ticklish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Merry Christmas, guys! Thank you SO MUCH for all your great comments-I love them all! (To the Theresa and Philip fan-I couldn't fit them in this chapter, but I can fit them in next! :))  
> BEFORE YOU READ:  
> Then New Zealand PM John Key did attend Nancy's eleventh birthday party at Chequers: https://www.stuff.co.nz/national/politics/65178061/john-key-kicks-off-europe-trip-by-meeting-uk-pm-david-cameron  
> This chapter again contains dialogue from video clips at the end.  
> ALSO: If you want to ask me anything about this fic, I'm on Tumblr, so just send me an [ask!](http://www.hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask)  
> The holidays mentioned are real: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2728683/Chillaxing-David-Cameron-Cornwall-FIFTEENTH-holiday-Prime-Minister.html   
> http://www.purepeople.com/media/exclusif-david-cameron-et-sa-femme_m1144315#7  
> ALSO: Because their family is so massive, I'm going to just go through them quickly here, rather than at the end, bc they're so confusing! You can read about the whole family here:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3681495/Sam-Cam-s-exotic-clan-racy-family-keeping-low-profile-Dave-s-leaving-No10-watch-world.html  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/astor-la-vista-baby-the-superclan-who-know-everyone-8881109.html  
> Samantha's mother is Annabel: https://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2015/11/annabel-astor-british-noble-ginge-manor William Astor is her second husband, Sam's stepfather-her first husband, Reginald Sheffield ("Reggie") had an affair with her best friend, Victoria Walker. Despite this, they're all close friends.  
> Emily is her sister: https://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/07/in-defence-of-david-cameron/ Tom is Tom Mullion, Emily's husband-Perry and Rex are their kids.  
> Flora, Will & Jake are Samantha's maternal half-siblings-Flora is married to Theo Rycroft and they have a son and daughter, Nelson and Pandora (they now have another daughter.) They live in France: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/its-a-gem-pms-sister-in-law-invites-us-to-her-french-estate-pvjjbdrgspb  
> Will is married to Lohralee Stutz- they have a son & daughter, Waldorf (Wolf) & Allegra (and now 2 more children, Conrad & India): http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-2293377/Lohralee-Astor-She-recently-married-worlds-famous-families-shes-just-socialite-town.html  
> Nancy was a bridesmaid at their 2009 wedding: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1211521/Catch-David-Cameron-shows-safe-pair-hands-catches-daughter-Nancy-family-wedding.html  
> At the wedding, from l-r: Elwen, Nancy, & Perry: https://goo.gl/images/ZeaY2N  
> https://goo.gl/images/UBVU3J  
> Also at the wedding, l-r: David, Sam, Nancy, Annabel, Flora & Emily, holding Nelson: https://goo.gl/images/UBVU3J  
> Jake lives in Hong Kong with his wife Victoria Hargreaves, who was pregnant in January 2015 (they had a daughter, Sibyl):  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2738013/Why-never-10ft-one-Sam-Cam-s-racy-rellies-The-Astor-family-embedded-level-modern-beau-monde-writes-RICHARD-KAY.html  
> Alice, Lucy and Rob are Sam's paternal half-siblings-Etienne is E.Cadestin, Alice's husband: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2415060/Cameron-takes-break-political-battles-Samantha-attend-country-wedding.html  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/david-cameron-takes-it-easy-at-a-family-wedding-wbn7spggbz7  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/10322827/I-only-shared-it-with-eight-friends-says-Emily-Sheffield-after-posting-picture-of-napping-PM.html  
> They now have a daughter, Pia: https://www.pressreader.com/uk/daily-mail/20180130/282175061552122  
> Lucy is married to Thomas Jackson: http://www.yorkpress.co.uk/news/9080844.Prime_Minister_attends_wedding_at__village_church/  
> Rob is a drag king: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2591974/Blue-wig-yellow-frock-Meet-Sam-Cams-VERY-flamboyant-drag-queen-brother.html  
> Tania is David's sister-Carl is her husband, who's intervened on the NHS with David, as he's a cardiologist:https://www.theguardian.com/society/2015/feb/01/david-cameron-brother-in-law-nhs--warning-carl-brookes Jem is David's sister Clare's husband:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1268643/David-Cameron-takes-break-sister-s-wedding.html  
> David's brother Alex is a QC, who's married to Sarah Fearnley-Whittingstall: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2020044/Dave-popular-brother-rivalry-drove-No-10.html  
> Gwen is his childhood nanny:https://www.pressreader.com/uk/daily-mail/20080422/282106337365496  
> br />  
> *takes deep breath*  
> br />  
> If you can't access an article, send me an ask on Tumblr!  
> Anyway, HOPE YOU LIKE THIS CHAPTER! Definitely leave me a comment if you do and feel free to send me an ask on Tumblr! Merry Christmas! :)

_"Underneath this veneer of slightly crazy and mildly socially retarded, I'm a complete disaster."- Fangirl, Rainbow Rowell_

_"She is frozen to the sidewalk. "You can't keep pushing people to do things they don't want to do. You just barge in and help yourself and say we're doing this, we're doing that, but you don't listen. You don't think about anyone else other than yourself."_

_"Actually, I'm thinking about you holed up in that room of yours' on that stupid orange bike. Must go here. Must go there. Here. There. Back and forth, but nowhere new or outside those three or four miles.""- All The Bright Places, Jennifer Niven_

_""Okay. Dare you to speak something true. Really true."_

_"I always speak the truth."_

_"Lie!" I giggled. "Dirty, filthy lie."_

_Nikki sat up. "We can't all be like you, Hannah, just saying whatever the hell we feel like. No act. No costume. It's hard to be naked all the time.""- Girls On Fire, Robin Wasserman_

 

* * *

 

David's almost asleep when Craig rings from his room.

"Someone had better have died" are the first words out of his mouth when he picks up the phone.

He then winces, considering the implications of his words and the current age of Her Majesty.

"David." Craig's voice is trembling with something-something badly suppressed that sounds rather like _hysteria._ "David, open your emails."

Frowning-and with a series of grumbles about what interrupts his sleep these days in which he has to admit the word _Boris_ might be audible-David does so.

"Now-" Craig sounds as though he might weep or shriek or dissolve into laughter that never stops. "The email from me that you are about to open contains the article that the _Daily Mail_ are going to run tomorrow. And yes, that is the headline."

David, wondering whether a sense of foreboding is appropriate or not, clicks on the email.

A moment later, he knows the answer.

"Oh my God."

"I know."

"Labour MPs have _confirmed_ this?"

"Yep."

"He-he-what-he-he _set fire to himself-"_

"It would seem so."

"And he bought them a-a bloody prayer rug-"

"Yep."

"Miliband-Miliband bought them a-"

"Yep." Craig sounds far too merry for this time of the morning. "So am I forgiven for waking you up, then?"

David, still slightly disbelieving, stares at the screen.

"It's a possibility" is all he manages, barely noticing Craig's self-satisfied chuckle as he stares once again at the headline.

 

* * *

 

 _"My 9-And-A-Half Days Of Calamity Ed-"_ George dissolves into sniggers again and pulls out his phone. "Come on, _please_ let's just read the prayer mat bit again-"

David almost yanks the phone out of his hand. "Sam'll confiscate it. Plus, he might be here-"

Michael grimaces. George grins. "Bruises cleared up yet, Michael?"

Michael rolls his eyes. "But _honestly_. It really _did_ take rather a lot out of me to be polite all Friday evening, after-"

He glances at David.

"He didn't _mean_ it, I explained-"

Michael rolls his eyes. David feels a pang of exasperation, but at the same time, can't help being a little touched by the loyalty.

"Come on" he says, with a quick glance over his shoulder at the dining room table, empty apart from caterers and staff. "Just one look at this bit-"

It takes a matter of moments for George to dissolve into laughter again. "For goodness' sake, how could he not _know-"_

David shakes his head. "Well, it's-it's-" His voice is softer than he would have expected. "It's Miliband, isn't it?"

George gives him a sharp look. David keeps his eyes on the screen, his heart suddenly a little rapid, eyes skimming over the words without reading them at all.

 

* * *

 

Nancy is, on the whole, quite satisfied with her presents so far. She has to wait to open Mum and Dad's until tomorrow, along with Elwen and Flo's, but everything else is fair game.

Now that most people are here, Nancy is engaging in her time-honoured and well-practised birthday ritual; card first, then a shake and a squeeze of the package before diving into the wrapping paper. Today, she is performing this ritual in one of the living rooms at Chequers-perched on the edge of an armchair, with Elwen on the arm, Flo nestled in at her side, and everyone else crowded around.

"That's Mr. Obama's present, I think-" Dad says, leaning over the back of the chair.

Nancy inspects it carefully before peeling the paper off to reveal three books, which prompt a series of appreciative sounds from around them.

"Cool-" It isn't too much of a surprise-Mr. Obama always sends her books. She turns them over, examining the blurbs.

Libbie scrambles over one arm of the chair to peer at it. "Oh, yeah-I've read that-"

"Five quid to me" Uncle George mutters.

Nancy examines the books carefully, as best she can with Flo scrambling down to tug at Pandora's hand. "Now, now, Pan-ora, you come up here-"

Pandora sucks at her thumb and lets Flo tug her along by the hand, while Nelson and Perry occupy themselves with clambering next to Elwen. Bea picks a book up, scanning the blurb, while Will glances down to find Wolf, who's at the toddling stage, has wrapped himself around his knees, gazing up out of his big blue eyes.

"Ahh, look at him-" Auntie Sarah picks him up while Uncle Tom grabs Perry and pulls him onto his knee. "Shh, shh-"

"And once again-" Uncle Will pops his head over the back of the chair, making Nancy jump. "This is another present that was _not_ gifted to me."

Mum smacks his shoulder. "In a minute, I'll give you the bloody sketch I was doing yesterday morning just to shut you up."

Uncle Rob's head flies up from where he's bouncing Allegra on his knee. "If one of them's for me, don't you _dare."_

Nancy curls back into the chair, as Granny's head flies up. "Oh, be quiet, William. You're as bad as this when _we're_ giving you presents."

"Like the time I gave you that bloody rifle" Grandad declares, turning back from the window. "And you wanted a different type-"

"OK-" Auntie Emily holds up her hands. "Nancy's day."

Uncle Will opens his mouth and Auntie Flora kicks him. "Yeah, we know it's _your_ day, too-" She scoops up Pandora, whom Auntie Sarah has swapped for Flo, and Uncle Theo pulls Nelson onto the couch gently.

"OK-" Auntie Alice holds out her gift. "Know you've still got all _your_ lot-" She indicates Dad, who winks, with her head. "Coming later. So let's get ours' in first."

"Oh, and Uncle Jake's calling later, Nance-" Dad says, brushing her hair off her face. "They wanted to see you, but they can't leave Hong Kong with the baby coming-"

"S'all right." Nancy can't count all her family on both hands, and part of her wonders if they'd all be able to fit into the same room, so the absence of one or two is occasionally a temporary relief.

Uncle Michael and Uncle George are on either side of her now, and Uncle George's hand creeps out to tug at the wrapping paper. Nancy smacks him, while Wolf tugs at his father's sleeve, wriggling about.

Nancy only just remembers then that with all the kids that are here, Mr. Ed Miliband's still haven't arrived yet.

She wonders, briefly, if they'll be OK. Their eyes had almost come out their heads when they'd seen everyone on Friday night and with even more here, she wonders if it'll bother them. They'd seemed surprised again yesterday morning, when they toddled out in their pyjamas to see Mum at the breakfast table, doodling like she always does on Saturdays.

Mr. Ed Miliband had seemed surprised, too. He'd blinked as Mum offered him porridge and pancakes, looking a little like an owl.

Nancy had watched him, legs swinging under the table. Something about the shirt and tracksuit bottoms he was wearing had looked familiar, and after a moment of puzzling, Nancy had realised they were Dad's.

Mr. Ed Miliband had glanced up and caught her watching him. He'd blushed. Nancy had stared back at him, thinking that he looked young, somehow-with his big eyes and rumpled hair, he looked a bit like a kid.

That impression had only been reinforced when Ed had watched Daniel and Elwen talking and opened his mouth a couple of times, as if daring himself to join in.

Watching him, Nancy had felt a sudden pang of sympathy, and when he'd turned to her, swallowing a mouthful of porridge, Adam's Apple bobbing awkwardly, as Florence sat to his right, chattering away partly to Sam, partly to herself, he'd asked "So-uh-um-w-what do you want for your birthday, Nancy?"

Mum had shot her a quick look, which Nancy pretended not to see.

"Um-anything, really" was all she'd come out with, shrugging. "I like books."

Ed had seemed to heave a sigh of relief. "Oh. Good. I can d-"

He'd trailed off, colour rising to his cheeks and Nancy had felt a surge of something that made her chest ache a little.

"What was your favourite book?" she'd asked him a little abruptly, because that seems to be a question every adult likes answering. "When you were a kid?"

Mr. Ed Miliband had blinked rapidly. "Oh. Well. There was this book by Anthony Crosland, and my dad had _Das Kapital,_ which he wanted me to read _-"_

Nancy had blinked, but made herself look interested. It had been easier than she would have thought. Not because of what Mr. Ed Miliband said, but because of how he said it. His eyes widened and his hands flew about, and his whole face brightened.

Nancy had caught Mum looking up again with a smile, as he talked, his voice carrying higher with every word. Nancy had watched, taking in the way Mr. Ed Miliband's finger had wandered to the collar of Dad's shirt every few moments, stroking the material gently, almost as though he didn't notice he was doing it at all.

 

* * *

 

Ed can't bring himself to get out of the car. He's coming back later after all-he'll pop in then, he thinks, as he sees Gita at the gate, flanked by security, Chequers rising up behind her like a person leaning in to scoop his children up.

It's only as he watches Gita take Daniel and Sam's hands that he remembers he didn't kiss either of them goodbye and nor did either of them try to kiss him.

It had been yesterday that he'd got the phone call-shortly after he'd driven the boys back, having been eager to dispel any notion that he was trying to intrude.

("You could stay until Dave's home, if you like" Samantha had suggested, but Ed, scrambling for words, had managed to get out that he wanted to be home for Justine, despite having no idea when she'd be back. But he'd had to get to the Fabian Conference, anyway, he told himself.)

(When he'd taken off Cameron's shirt, he'd held it for a moment, the knowledge that this was _Cameron's_ -that Cameron _wore_ this against his skin-stirring somehow at the roots of his hair.)

(He'd held it another moment and then dropped it onto the bed as quickly as possible.)

It had been driving into Dartmouth Park Road that he'd felt his phone vibrating and it had been heading up the steps that he'd answered it and heard Bob's voice-"Don't panic."

Now, twenty-four hours later, Ed isn't panicking.

"Well, we can salvage it" Bob says now, without preamble, lowering his phone. "I mean-"

He lapses into far too long a silence for someone who has just discovered they can salvage anything.

"It's only the Mail" Torsten manages, and even Ed knows that's weak.

"I know" he manages, his voice sounding vaguely unreal even to him, as though he's listening to a recording of himself from years before. "I'm fine."

It's not much easier once he arrives in Sheffield. At least today's visit is quieter, with no possibility of cameras-Ed just hopes that this time he's got less chance of bumping into Nick.

His stomach squirms.

 _(David Cameron should be ashamed of himself,_ he'd said on Friday, and now his fingers open and close, trying to feel Cameron's shirt between them.)

Today, they're just meeting Oliver to go over strategies....

 _(Get Clegg._ It's been whispered around the office for over a week, _get Clegg. If we get Clegg out, if we unseat him-)_

Now, he keeps his head down and is grateful he pulled a jacket on over his suit. He keeps his eyes on the ground, grateful for not being required to stand out today.

Ed can't quite fathom it-the strange tugging in his chest, the squeeze of something that makes him feel small and bad and guilty when he thinks about Nick, even though he knows that-

Labour need to win seats, Ed tells the small sad feeling in his chest, trying to sound firm. This is what we have to do.

He's so busy telling himself this very firmly that he barely notices they're walking into a cafe, and then doesn't even look at the cup of tea that ends up sitting in front of him for several moments.

"There" Anna's saying suddenly, with a hand on the shoulder that doesn't feel quite right. "Rachel got it for you."

Ed blinks. "Oh-thanks" he says, but the words seem to take a while to reach his mouth.

Anna and Rachel join him, Tom, Bob and Torsten at the table. For a few moments, nobody says anything, all sipping tea and staring meditatively out of the window, apart from Torsten, who appears to be trying out various phrases under his breath. "Solid promise-promises could stand on-house built on rock, not sand-"

Ed pushes anxiously at the guilty, tugging feeling in his chest, probing it like a bruise. He tries to leave it alone, but his thoughts travel back to it like his tongue to a loose tooth-small jabs of irresistible pain. Outside, the sky hangs, grey and leaden overheard, stubbornly refusing to lift and resisting any vague attempts by light to break through.

"You know" says Rachel, after a moment. "Some of that article. We could use some of it to our advantage."

Ed manages, only by a great exercise of willpower, not to snort.

"I was thinking that" says Bob, taking a sip of his own tea. "I mean-that first bit-about his voice-"

"Yeah, but that was a little bit complimentary-" Anna pulls her Mac into her lap, peering at the screen. _"He has soft, olive skin_ -we could turn that-"

"Yeah, but- _his speech is so nasal it gets in the way of what he is saying-"_

"But we can take it back to the message last summer-politics of image-"

"But we'd have to-I don't know, dismiss some of it-" Rachel's scrolling on her phone. "Bit about him not being able to open the front door-we've got to laugh that off, turn the joke round-"

"He did address that-about his image-" says Bob, as though Ed isn't there or is something too young or stupid to understand that he's being talked about. "You know, at conference-"

"But it wasn't too successful-"

"Rock-sand-hmm, moving from sand to _rock-"_

"Some of the other stuff we could gloss over" Tom says abruptly. "We'll figure that out-"

"We could try dismissing it as trivia-"

 _"Fuck_ Winter." Tom glowers at the screen, as though it personally has written the article. "Does he _want_ us to fucking lose?"

"Well, you know how he was when we made him go Independent-"

"I could ask Daddy-" Rachel suggests, with a flick of her blonde hair. "He'd have some advice-Torsten, what on _earth_ are you doing-"

Torsten, who's been muttering "Rock-stones-stones-reliable-" looks up. "Just trying to think of a way to present a contrast to Cameron's broken-promises schtick."

"Well, do it quietly."

Ed catches a glimpse of the article on the screen and hastily turns his face away, though it doesn't matter. He's already read it-in quick grabs of paragraphs, something snatched through half-opened eyes, yesterday in his study. He can't stop his thoughts leaping back to it even now, even while his advisers talk around him as though he's not there, to those memories.

He'd felt out of place in Mark's house; even though his children had all been welcoming and funny, they'd been noisier than he was used to and so _bright._ Their voices were bright, bright and chattering and happy. A bit like the Cameron children.

He hadn't known that they'd known about paintings. He'd only been surprised. Surprised and a little excited to discover they knew things, and he'd only acted as if they hadn't because-

Well.

Because he'd _had_ to-

He was used to it. At school, when some topic had been mentioned that he knew something about-economics or mathematics principles or the history of socialism-Ed would wriggle in his seat, almost bursting with excitement with all of the things he knew and wanted to blurt out.

He had at first. Teachers had always nodded, encouraging him, their eyes brightening as he felt his own voice brighten too.

But afterwards, the other kids would either stare at him, brows crinkling and mouths pulled tight, as if he was some strange creature, the likes of which they'd never seen before, or they'd laugh, their laughter too sharp and clashing and hurting somehow, a type of laughter Ed had grown to anticipate, a prickling of his senses, one he'd learnt to run at if it clattered into the air loud enough, dodging a shove in the chest or sharp little barbs of words, that confused him and left him blushing and nervous and alone.

Ed had learnt to keep a little quieter, watching for clues and hints he didn't quite understand. He'd tried to listen into the other children's conversations, trying to familiarise himself with their teams and bands and TV shows, which sounded like a foreign language, harsh and unfamiliar in his ears. Dutifully, he'd scrabbled for some details, trying to take an interest in the things that filled their days, but his mind had sagged under the boredom of it all.

So he'd been surprised when Mark's children had seemed to know things of their own accord and only now does it occur that maybe he'd seemed too surprised.

But he hadn't meant to upset them.

Or with the money. He feels miserable thinking about it. But it hadn't occurred to him. When people stayed at their house when he was a child, they hadn't had to pay. Though maybe his parents hadn't needed the money.

Ed frowns at the thought. He hadn't considered money much when he was growing up.

But he hadn't known-

Or about the rug.

Suddenly, the thought strikes him-what if he annoyed Cameron's family too, and didn't know-

He hadn't known with what had happened with David.

"The less we make of it the better" Anna's saying, while Rachel tucks her hair behind her ears, saying "I still think we should ring Daddy" and Tom barks "For fuck's sake, Rachel, you do remember your dad _lost_ the fucking election?"

Next to them, Torsten's muttering to himself. "Reliable-what we need is some kind of visual, something dependable, that can't fade-some kind of _stone-"_

Ed listens to his advisers argue as if he isn't there. He bites his lip and ducks down further into his seat, fixing his gaze again on the window, hoping for once that nobody looks at him, his chest tightening, his eyes full of the sky, hanging heavy and grey overhead.

* * *

 

It's when they're scattering outside, while the pool's being checked and prepared, that Nancy overhears Uncle Rob.

"One for the memoirs for Nancy" is all he says, with a wink and a jerk of the head at the books Mr. Obama sent her, and Mum laughs, but it gets Nancy thinking.

The thing is, she reflects, as she heads over to Libbie and Beatrice, standing on a corner of the tennis court, and dodging Elwen's football, vaguely noticing it fly over the net and bounce off Perry's head, that until recently, she didn't think about it, really. As long as Nancy can remember Dad's been on telly, giving speeches, and so have her uncles.

She doesn't remember when she realised not everyone's dad was on the telly, or when she realised he was famous, which still sounds strange to her. She wasn't even sure what famous was when she was younger-all she knew was that it meant Dad was on telly and sometimes had to have his photograph taken. Nancy had grasped at some point, without quite knowing it, that politics was Dad's job, and it meant making speeches and wanting to be the government, but that was all it had been to her.

One of the only times she remembers noticing things were different is a vague little pocket of memory, when she'd been at the toddling stage-the stage where memories come in quick flashes, one after the other. She remembers being small, tucked into Daddy's knees and laughing in the way toddlers laugh, hard enough to leave her cheeks aching, which somehow made her laugh harder, her little face pressed into Daddy's warm chest. They were watching a cartoon called _Dave The Chameleon_ and Nancy had been laughing when Daddy had said "That's me."

Nancy had just kept laughing because Daddy was, even when Daddy had said, chucking her under the chin, "They've made me into a cartoon."

Nancy had heard that, and a part of her had noticed it as unusual, but the colours had been bright and she'd kept laughing, though that, even though she hadn't known it then, was one of the first times Nancy would notice. Most daddies weren't cartoons. Her daddy was different.

Now, as Nancy heads for Libbie and Bea, she turns to see Chequers towering over them. Nancy has to tilt her head back to see the top. Wandering back, she almost loses her balance and is steadied by Bea and Libbie, who each grab one of her arms.

"Hey" Bea's face says, looking down at her. "Are we going in the pool yet? It's freezing."

Nancy straightens up, wrapping her arms around herself. "Hope so" she says, stamping her feet to keep warm, as Libbie is doing vigorously. "I was thinking."

Libbie, fairly dancing up and down, wraps her arms around herself while Nancy and Bea press themselves into her sides for warmth.

"Did it hurt?" Bea's eyes sparkle and Libbie elbows her. "W-what about?"

Nancy hesitates, unsure how best to put it. She watches idly as Flo and Pandora pull Auntie Flora along, one on each hand, outside the tennis court and watches Wolf delight in spinning himself round, falling over and then, laughing uproariously, pick himself up and do the same thing again. Uncle Will shouts encouragement while baby Allegra toddles determinedly in front of her father, occasionally sinking to her knees, with an astonished look, blinking down at herself, and then, with a little shake of the head, pulling herself up right and plodding determinedly forwards.

"Um-" Nancy turns to look back at Chequers. "Just. _This._ This place. Here. I mean-" She looks at Beatrice for help.

The truth is, while Nancy remembers Dad becoming Prime Minister, she doesn't remember noticing it much. She'd known there was an election, and that Daddy might win or lose. She hadn't seen any of the cameras. The only thing it had really meant was moving house. Of course, she knew John and Fraser's daddy, Mr. Brown, was the Prime Minister before, but somehow she hadn't thought about that much.

It had still been Dad's job and back then, Dad was just Dad. His job was something else he did, when they were at school, and it wasn't _them._ They'd had to live somewhere else, in a big flat instead of their old house, but they'd just seemed vague things happening around Nancy, like planets spinning in their own little orbits.

Nancy isn't sure when it started to sink in; how odd things are for them. She isn't sure when _Prime Minister_ had stopped being lodged between safe capital letters, somewhere off to one side, and had grown bigger and brighter, so that she had to keep quiet about it at school, as though, when she opened her mouth, the light might pour out.

She'd known that it wasn't like other people, but she hadn't known _how_ not like other people it was.

"You know" she manages, looking at Bea and Libbie as she hopes to make them understand. "I mean-here. Other kids. They don't-"

She stops abruptly, not wanting to sound complaining or condescending.

But Bea and Libbie get it. Nancy might not realise it at the time, but later, in years to come, she'll look back on moments like these and realise just what a snatched little gift it was to always have Libbie and Beatrice there, as long as she can remember. The three of them took their first toddling steps together; whispered secrets under duvets together; stood in front of mirrors, twisting and turning into new school uniforms together; watched their parents slide into headlines together; squealed with delight at their feet sinking into hot sand and the cold tickle of waves against their bare toes, little fingers damp and strong in the way children's fingers are, wrapped tightly around and squeezing each other's hands as they ran, legs getting tangled up, in and out of the water on a dozen beaches together. It was always together and even if she won't grasp it yet, Nancy has a little sliding, sure hint in her chest now of how much this is to be treasured.

"Yeah" says Bea, without preamble. "It's weird."

Nancy peers up at Chequers again, and frowns at the thought she's had a few times now. "It's just odd. If we don't get to come back here, you know-"

Of course, this happens more and more often now.

Libbie bites her lip, dark hair blowing about her chin. Bea glances between them and Nancy remembers again that Beatrice, unlike her and Liberty, can at least take comfort in the fact that no matter what happens in May, it's unlikely to result in a change of address.

But, and this thought strikes again, a thought that Nancy doesn't quite understand yet and will reflect on more in years to come; the thought that somehow their fathers' careers seem tied together-they always have been, as long as Nancy remembers, Dad and Uncle George and Uncle Michael working together, and now, thinking about May, she has that sense again.

Tug at the rope between the three of them, and if it breaks, all three of them will be sent flying.

Of course, Nancy isn't quite able to grasp any of this yet. Instead, she huddles closer to her friends, taking comfort in the fact they _know_ , in the way that other kids at school and on holidays simply don't, however much Nancy likes them.

Despite the icy air jabbing their cheeks, there's an oddly comfortable silence for a few minutes, before Beatrice says "We can swim all day, right?"

"Yeah." Nancy's only allowed to wear a tankini, which she hates, but Dad'd freak at the thought of anything else. It's not for lack of trying on Nancy's part-as she's pointed out, more times than either of them can remember, she was allowed to wear bikinis up until a couple of years ago when they were on holiday in Ibiza at half-term when she was nine, and Dad had stopped when he'd seen Mum tying Nancy's bikini top for her, her fingers curling into the warm sand, almost flinching from the heat.

"Sam" he'd said, worry creeping into his tone as Nancy had turned round and spun happily, discarding her T-shirt and denim shorts next to her blue dress on the stretcher, while Auntie Veneta struggled to get a wriggling Seth to stay still as she suncreamed him.

"Yeah?" Mum had squirted some cream into her hand and then carefully tipped Nancy's head forward. "Here, let me just go over this to give you a second layer, I'll start at the back of your neck-" Nancy had gasped slightly at the cold of the suncream. "Sorry-"

"Are you sure she should be wearing that?"

"What, suncream?" Mum had given Dad a puzzled look under her sunglasses, pulling her own bikini into place. "What are you talking about?"

Nancy had turned to glance at Dad over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Gita further down the beach, cuddling Flo into her side-Elwen and Xandie were charging in and out of the waves, Uncle Chris with them. Boys could get changed so much quicker-it wasn't fair.

"Sam."

"Oh, for God's sake, it's a swimming costume."

"But it's not."

Nancy had stared at Dad, bemused. "Auntie Anna gave it to me. She said now Alexandra had finished with it, I could have it."

"Yeah, but-" Dad had bitten his lip. "Alexandra's older."

Nancy had stared. "She's a year older than me." She'd turned to frown at Dad. "You can't tell me not to wear it."

"I didn't tell you not to wear it." Dad had been stretched out on his stomach on the stretcher next to Mum, sunglasses on, so Nancy couldn't see his expression properly. "I asked if you were sure you should be."

"No, you asked Mum." Nancy had plucked at the bikini, glancing down at it. "What's wrong with it? You let Alexandra wear it when we went to Italy. And you've let me wear them before."

"It wasn't up to me to let Alexandra wear it or not wear it."

"But you let me."

"Guys." Mum's voice had gone a little bit sharper. "Can we not start the holiday with a bloody argument, please? You look fine, Nance." She'd given Nancy's shoulder a quick kiss, cupping her chin to assuage her daughter's doubtful look.

"I look fine" she'd announced to her father, jutting her chin up at him, sticking her lip out defiantly. "I can wear what I want."

"I know you do" Dad had said, the sunglasses stopping Nancy from meeting his eyes. "It's not about how you look. You look fine, like Mum said."

"Right." Nancy had folded her arms, glancing from one of her parents to the other.

Mum had given her a pat. "Come here, let me finish off your cream."

Nancy had, and by the time Mum had finished a few minutes later, and Nancy ran off down to the water to join Elwen and Xandie paddling, she'd almost forgotten about the argument altogether. She was allowed to wear the bikini for the rest of the week and Dad didn't say anything else about it. In fact, it hadn't been until the summer holidays that year, when they went to Portugal, and then to Cornwall, that the bikini simply hadn't made its' way into Nancy's luggage. It wasn't until the Easter holidays a year later, when they went to Lanzarote, that Nancy had realised once again, examining Mum's unpacking in the villa, that the bikini hadn't appeared.

"Mum, did you pack the bikini?"

"What?" Mum had come in, carrying Flo with her armbands on, Elwen half-ripping his T-shirt off in his haste to reach their swimming pool, which shimmered tantalisingly at them from outside the window.

"My bikini. My black one."

Mum had kissed Flo, setting her down in her baby swimming costume, while Flo had padded back and forth proudly between the beds. "It's a bit small for you, Nance. I think we were pushing it getting into you last time."

"Can we get a new one?"

Mum had glanced at her. "I bought you a couple of new ones. They're in your suitcase, look."

Nancy had glanced at the case. "Yeah, I know. But they're tankinis. Not a bikini."

Mum had drawn in her breath. "Look, Nance-"

"Is this because Dad got mad about it?"

"It's not about Dad."

Nancy had slammed the lid of the suitcase shut. Flo had jumped, looking round in surprise. "Why can't I wear one?"

Mum had sighed. "Sweetheart." She'd sat down on the bed next to Nancy, stroking her hair. Nancy had glowered at her, furious both at her parents for having clearly decided all this quietly behind her back, and at herself for not realising sooner.

"Why can't I wear one? Why's Dad so weird about it?"

Mum had sighed. "Nancy, they were all right when you were little. But now you're getting to be a big girl-"

"I'm not a big girl, though."

Mum had sighed. "You're getting older, lovely. It means that sometimes, you have to be more careful about the things you wear."

Nancy had stared at her. "You wear bikinis."

"But I'm grown up, sweetheart. It's different, then."

Nancy had folded her arms. "Liberty wears them."

"That's up to Uncle George and Auntie Frances, Nance."

"But why don't you let me? If they think it's all right, then how come you don't think it's all right?"

Flo had made an aggrieved growling sound, holding out her hands to be picked up.

"It's not like Uncle George and Auntie Frances are bad parents."

"No, it's not. But different parents make different decisions."

" _Why?"_ Nancy had hit the suitcase again. "Dad didn't even care about it until last year!"

"Nancy, it's not just Dad-"

"I'll be the only one when we go to the beach who doesn't have one!"

"Oh, don't be so silly, Nancy, you know that's not true."

Nancy had shoved the suitcase again hard, with the result that it slid off the bed onto the floor, both of the tankinis sliding onto the floor. Flo had squeaked at the sound, putting her little hands over her ears.

"Oi!" Mum's tone had been harder now and she'd taken Nancy's arm, making Nancy glare at her. "Don't you dare. Pick them up now."

Nancy had glared at her, daring herself to say something more.

Mum had leant forward as Flo whimpered to pick her up. She'd slid her hand under Nancy's chin to make her look at her. "Nancy. We have just spent a fortune on this holiday."

"So?"

"So there are children who would sell their bloody soul to have a holiday like this. They wouldn't even think of behaving like a spoilt brat because they didn't have the swimming costume they wanted."

"That's the B word" Elwen had lifted his head to point out helpfully. Mum had given him a look and he'd fallen silent.

"It's a bikini, not a swimming costume."

"Really?" Mum had pointed at the costumes on the floor. "Well, if they're not good enough for you, after you pick those costumes up and get them back in your suitcase right now, you can just sit in here and think about the difference while the rest of us have a nice swim. If you want to swim, they're the only things you've got to wear."

Nancy had folded her arms and glowered as Mum left the room, waiting until the door had closed before she'd deigned to pick up the tankinis. Once she'd got one of them on, she'd thrown the door open and stormed through the villa, making as much noise as she could in bare feet, giving Dad a furious glare as she passed him, leaving him to call after her as she stamped to the swimming pool without looking back, "What was _that_ for?"

Now, relaying this to Bea and Libbie, Bea reports similar rather gloomily. Libbie remains tactfully quiet, being already allowed to wear a bikini. Nancy shoots her a look of no little envy.

"Nancy-" Nancy turns to see Mum standing at the side of the court, with her hand extended. Nancy can make out a phone and at the same moment, she spots two familiar little boys trailing behind Mum, the older one holding Dad's hand.

But she doesn't have time to consider this, as Mum's voice splits the air. "It's Mr. Blair on the phone."

 

* * *

 

"I hear it's your birthday."

Mr. Blair's voice sounds the same as it always does-smooth, as though it's a wave rolling over sand, with a few rises and falls carefully inserted in the right places. It's pleasant to listen to, but a little too smooth.

"Yeah." Nancy sits down, gathering her dress around her a little.

"Well, happy birthday." Nancy can picture the grin that just rose up in the middle of Mr. Blair's face-the way it always does at just the right moment, as though he's carefully examined the situation and planned every one out beforehand. "Eleven, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Tomorrow?" Nancy can picture Mr. Blair's grin, which always shows a few too many teeth. They're brighter than anyone else's teeth, as well. Nancy has a vague memory of being small and lifted up by Dad, her cheek pressed against his suit, and seeing Mr. Blair's big smile right there. His teeth had been big and bright and Nancy had put her hand up to his mouth and tried to grab one of them.

"Yeah. The party's today, though." Nancy crumples the material in her hand, her head resting against the back of the armchair.

"Ah, at Chequers. Fantastic for parties. We held a couple of Leo's there." Nancy doesn't remember much about Mr. Blair being Prime Minister, but she remembers Leo, who'd always been running about, with bright, blond hair.

"Oh. Right."

"It's my son's birthday tomorrow as well, actually."

"Leo's."

"No, Euan's."

"How old is he?"

"Thirty-one."

Nancy blinks. "Not eleven, then?"

"No, not quite." Mr. Blair laughs. Nancy pictures the teeth. "Lots of people there?"

"Yeah. Dad and Mum and my aunties and Uncle George and Uncle Michael and everyone."

"Ah-"

"And Mr. Ed Miliband's kids are here-"

Nancy hears something like the catch of a breath and pictures the smile fading a little. She feels a small jab of something like triumph.

"Are they, really?" The voice is just as chipper as before.

"Yep."

"I've been hearing that he and your dad are spending more time together."

Nancy frowns. "But you and Dad spent _some_ time together."

Mr. Blair laughs, and it sounds a little more taut than usual. Nancy glances at the door to see Uncle George and Uncle Michael, clutching swimming goggles, and pretending to tap at their watches.

Nancy's so busy rolling her eyes and turning her back that she almost misses Mr. Blair's words.

"Well-" She pictures even more of the teeth appearing. "But that's me and your dad."

Nancy frowns. "Yeah, but they're-" She frowns. "They're doing the same jobs you were doing, I think."

"Well-yes-" Mr. Blair pauses for a moment. "I suppose that is the case, yes. Prime Minister and Leader of the Opposition."

Nancy chews her lip thoughtfully. "Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten you were Prime Minister, once."

There's a strange muffled explosion of laughter from the doorway. Nancy rolls her eyes again as she hears Uncle Michael mutter "To the envy of the rest of the nation."

Nancy presses one hand over her ear as Mr. Blair chortles. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome."

There's another snort from the doorway.

"I didn't entirely mean it like that-what I meant was-" Mr. Blair does the laugh again. (Nancy always thinks it sounds as though Mr. Blair times his laughs.) "We're quite-different personalities, if you know what I mean."

"You and Dad?"

"No." Mr. Blair sounds a little more thoughtful then, a little quieter. "Me and Miliband-well-then again, your dad and Miliband-" There's a pause, then "More like me and Gordon, really."

It takes a moment for Nancy to grasp the words. "Who? Gordon Brown-" She remembers more of Mr. Brown being Prime Minister, but mainly because Dad beat him.

"Ah-yeah."

"You're saying Dad's like _him?"_ Nancy frowns, unable to imagine someone for her father to be less like.

There's a louder laugh this time, that cracks into the air, smashing its' way out from the careful laughs so far. "Dear God, no. I was thinking about Mr. Miliband-but I was thinking more of the dynamic that that means."

"I know" Nancy interrupts. "Their relationship, and whatever."

There's another snort from the hall, and another surprised laugh from Mr Blair. "Yes."

"But how-weren't you and Mr. Brown on the same side?"

At this, the snort from the hall is so loud that Nancy turns round to see if someone's turned into a pig.

There's a pause, then "Hmmmm."

Nancy waits.

"We _were._ But-well, I suppose you might know-people who are on the same side can sometimes cause more problems for each other than the ones they know they disagree with."

Nancy frowns. There's something about the words that sounds odd, tentative. She wants to touch them and not touch them at once.

"I suppose what I'm saying is-" Mr. Blair goes on when Nancy doesn't say anything-"Maybe it's easier when you know everyone expects you to disagree. Rather than if you're expected to agree, I mean-"

He laughs again, but the sound's quieter this time. Almost a bit sad. "If you already know you disagree-it can be relaxing to not have to tiptoe around each other. Or-" he adds, seemingly as an afterthought. "You can surprise each other."

Nancy frowns to herself. There's a long moment of silence. Even the noises from the hall have stopped.

"Anyway-" Mr. Blair says, sounding as though he's just remembered something. "Have you opened your presents? What did you get?"

Nancy frowns, but only hesitates for a moment before she answers. She knows when grown-ups don't want to talk about something and Mr. Blair might tell her nothing more if she gets to talk to him in the future.

So Nancy answers his question, but her mind hangs onto Mr. Blair's words, turning them over slowly to examine from all sides, while she wonders whether Mr. Blair was talking about Dad or himself or maybe both at once.

 

* * *

 

"To be fair" Clare says, lounging against Jem's shoulder. "At least Ed isn't taking your kids punting."

David laughs, though he isn't sure how he feels about Clare calling Miliband "Ed."

"You're the one who asked" he says, taking a sip of his tea, watching Alex through one of the big windows that looks out over the Chequers lawn, and watches as his brother kicks a ball back and forth with Elwen, Daniel, Nelson and Perry. Sam, he notices, has been picked up by Flora, who's taking it in turns to carry him and Pandora, while Florence walks at their side. Will's there too, kicking a ball with Wolf, who occasionally puts his arms up and is cuddled into his father's chest.

"You _begged_ me to take you and Jade punting when I visited you" he says, turning back to his family. George, chin nestled in one hand, is listening with interest, while Frances glances out of the window, eyes falling on Luke, who now seems to be trying to lift Nelson and Daniel simultaneously. "How was I to know she hadn't called her dad?"

Mum, sitting in one of the biggest armchairs with the others circled around her, sucks in a breath. "Yes, Mick Jagger on the phone may have seemed funny to you, Clare-"-off Clare's snort of laughter-"-but it wasn't particularly amusing to have to explain that I didn't even know my son participated in bloodsports, let alone that he'd taken Mick's daughter along-"

"It was hardly my fault he hadn't heard her properly" David argues, looking to Michael and William for support. "I must have said _punting_ about three times."

"Well, he was a man of-" Mum frowns. "Actually, goodness knows how old he was, I've no idea how old he is now."

"Immortal" chips in Sarah. "Surviving on the wonder of plastic."

Annabel shakes her head. "Well, at least you were getting a call from someone _interesting-"_ She fixes her eyes on Emily, who grins cheerily back at her. "The headmistress at bloody Marlborough at five in the morning managed to be a fantastic tonic for insomnia. I could have fallen asleep again rather easily, if it hadn't been for William telling me to take the phone out of the room." She raises an eyebrow. "It was quite a feat on her part really, considering she was telling me my daughter had been expelled."

"To be fair" Emily remarks, leaning forward to grab her cup of tea. "They didn't tell you I was expelled until you got there."

"Oh well, that _certainly_ wasn't a wasted journey-" Annabel settles back into the chair. "I still remember sitting in that godforsaken office."

"I don't" remarks Emily.

Samantha snorts. "Of course you don't. You were probably high as a kite on the stuff they found-"

Emily grins. "No worse than your husband-"

"At least I never blackened my academic record-"

Samantha elbows him. "No, you just nearly got expelled over it-"

David winks at her and Tania, grinning, says "Of course, these days, wouldn't be surprised to see you bringing in a relaxation on cannabis, given who you're spending time with-"

David rolls his eyes. "I don't imagine Miliband is considering legalising cannabis any time soon-"

Tania's eyes twinkle, the way they used to as a child, blue and deep and bright, as she kicked him under the table, dark hair falling over her shoulders. "I might have been talking about Clegg, for all you know-"

David manages to laugh. "Your husband could give them some advice-"

Carl throws up his hands. "I intervene _once_ on the bloody NHS-"

"Twice, at last count-"

"Dad?"

David turns, amongst the laughter around him, to see Nancy holding the phone out. "Mr. Blair wants to speak to you."

"Oh-thanks, darling." He takes the phone, calling after his daughter, who's already darting outside again-"Daniel and Sam are outside, sweetheart. Pool'll be ready in a minute."

Outside, in the hallway, he discovers that this remark has not gone unheard.

"The pool at Chequers hasn't deteriorated, I see" come the unfailingly chipper tones.

David laughs. It's always easy to laugh with Blair, as long as David remembers that there's often a reason Blair wants you to laugh with him.

"Nancy been regaling you with stories, then?"

"Not quite regaling-" Another Blair-laugh. "I have heard about you making a few new friends, though-"

David only just manages to suppress a groan. (And has no doubt that Blair will pick up on it as quickly as he himself would.)

"Well" he says, leaning against the wall. "I suppose it's good for the Tories to befriend a few of Labour's enemies. Which I presume from your recent remarks, Miliband counts as, given you're the pinnacle of Old Labour, Militant values-"

Blair laughs sunnily. Someone who didn't know him well might have thought it was just sunnily. "Is _Red Tory_ back in the headlines again?"

"Should get Campbell back on running them. Might prevent a few more articles like the one the Mail ran yesterday-"

"Still relying on that old rag?"

"Rather an evasion of the question-"

"You're the Prime Minister. You know the strategy."

"You sound a little like him, now."

"Who?"

"Miliband."

Tony laughs. "I'm not sure he'd agree with that. He's rather more like Gordon."

David frowns. "Well, he's certainly a paid-up little Brownite."

"He always was quite like Gordon. Maybe that's why you like him so much."

David almost chokes. Which is quite a feat, given he's got nothing in his mouth.

 _"What-_ because he reminds me of-of-" He can't even say the name.

Tony laughs. "Not quite."

David tries not to sound too relieved. "Oh. Right."

"I meant more-well-" Tony laughs again. David's one of the few people who would pick up on the slight tautness of the sound. "I suppose Gordon and I are rather different, too."

David frowns. "But you're-" He trails off. "Well."

Tony laughs again. This time, anyone could hear the tautness.

"I know. We weren't exactly an advertisement for opposites attract."

David feels his brow crease. "Opposites attract-" He supposes that's as fair a description as any of him and Miliband.

(Him and Miliband. Like they're a unit.)

"Well-" Tony's voice is slower this time, more careful. "Gordon and I had similar ideas. I suppose it was our- _attitudes_ to things that were different."

"Well, then, Miliband and I might shatter the opposites attract dynamic. We're different in-well-pretty much every way you can-"

"Oh, I wouldn't say so." Blair's voice is a little more cheerful now. "You've got more things in common than you'd realise."

David laughs a little too loudly, heart beating too rapidly. "Given your recent insights on him, that might not be taken as a compliment, Tony."

Another chuckle. "Up to you. But you're not as far apart as you'd like to think."

"Hardly you and-" David still can't say the name. "Brown, though. We're not on the same side, for one thing."

"Well." Tony pauses, then "Maybe that makes it easier."

"What do you mean?"

"Well." There's a moment of silence. "I imagine knowing you disagree can be quite a good starting point."

Starting point for what?

"Well-" David chooses his words carefully. "I imagine it must be harder to be fighting with those you're supposed to agree with."

"Obviously. Why else would you be offering an EU referendum to appease your backbenchers?"

"Only listening to the will of the people. And I meant more-" David hesitates. "Friend-well. Personally."

"Well-" Tony's voice is a little more careful, too. "I suppose when you're meant to agree with someone-"

He clears his throat. "But then" he says, voice a little sharper. "Being supposed to disagree with someone isn't really different."

There's another, longer silence. David suddenly thinks of those photos of Blair and Brown when they were younger, grinning together, arms touching, and then of Miliband, eyes glittering in the candlelight across the table in Paris-

"Well" he says, a little too surely. "Maybe we can reconcile some values, I suppose." He hesitates, then says deliberately, "We can agree on some inquiries, at least."

He isn't sure if he feels bad or not.

Tony laughs too loudly. "Well. I'm sure that's something for me to look forward to with great anticipation-"

"Every cloud-" David follows suit (and thinks grimly of what the headlines would make of _that_ thought) and laughs a little too loudly himself, hearing that tautness, that hint of discomfort David's managed to carve out in the smoothness of Blair's voice over the years, the word _Chilcot_ breathing under it all.

 

* * *

 

Elwen's always liked swimming. When he strains his memory back to being very young, not even quite a toddler, he can remember being in warm water with Dad pulling him back and forth. He remembers laughing, liking the splashing sound his feet made when he kicked hard.

Ivan loved being in water. Although Elwen doesn't remember as much of his brother as he'd like to, he knows, without ever needing to ask how, that he and Nancy both remember that without having to be told.

Elwen always remembers Ivan a little more on birthdays and at Christmas. It leaves him with a sad, aching feeling in his chest, but mostly he tries to feel happy about remembering him. It's easier now, with everyone here, splashing about in the water, to remember when Ivan laughed in the pool, his hands opening and closing like starfish.

Now, Elwen scrambles away from Will, who's trying to duck him under the water, and turns to watch his sister. Nancy, Libbie and Bea are all racing each other back and forth, and shouting to Auntie Lohralee and Auntie Sarah, who are supporting Waldorf on his stomach, helping him kick his legs. Auntie Flora's doing the same with Pandora, while Flo and Sam bob nearby, with their water-wings strapped on. Uncle George has been given baby Allegra, who is being bounced in the water and swung up into the air from Uncle George to Uncle Michael to other Auntie Sarah to Uncle Will and back again. Allegra laughs, splashing the surface with her chubby fists and gurgling uproariously. Elwen watches as Uncle Michael kisses her head, then turns back to the side of the pool where Uncle Theo and Uncle Tom are swimming with their arms out, while Nelson and Perry count themselves in and then jump into the pool, Nelson huddling into his father's chest, and then Daniel follows them.

Elwen's swum forward, so when Daniel's head breaks through the surface, he joins in the subsequent clapping and watches as Daniel's eyes widen.

Elwen feels a pang of something he doesn't quite understand, but it's similar to the way he felt on Friday when he saw the way Daniel burrowed into Mum's leg. Maybe that's what makes him swim a little closer and tap Daniel's shoulder. "Hi."

Daniel looks up at him with big blue eyes. Elwen remembers the way Daniel had stared around on Friday at the dinner table. Now, his eyes seem to be pulled in a new direction every second, by the splashing of the water and the laughter of their voices echoing around the pool, and Elwen, remembering Nancy's words about the basement, touches Daniel's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Daniel glances up and nods, before Nelson calls out from his father's arms. "We're going again-"

This time, Elwen and William join the boys as they scramble out of the water. Daniel glances about as they line up, getting ready to jump again, and then taps Elwen's wrist. "Where's your mum and dad?"

"Mum and Dad?" Elwen shrugs, glances around the pool, then remembers. "Oh. They're just meeting Mr. Key. He's the New Zealand Prime Minister."

"Oh. Like your daddy's Prime Minister."

"Yeah."

"And our daddy wants to be Prime Minister."

Elwen only hesitates for a moment. "Yeah. He does."

He waits for Daniel to say something else, but Daniel just sticks his lip out and then tugs at Elwen's hand again. Elwen frowns, but, remembering Daniel's little, holds onto his hand until they get nearer the edge, so that when they jump, Daniel's hand squeezes his tightly.

A few minutes later, Elwen taps Nancy on the shoulder and when she turns, says "Robin Hood."

Bea, Libbie and Daniel all blink, but Nancy just nods.

"Wait, Robin Hood?" Bea stares at her. "What are you doing, like, robbing the rich or something?"

"No. That's his dad's job" says Nancy, pointing at Daniel, who frowns a little. "Though his dad's rich. Anyway, no. World Book Day."

Beatrice's forehead clears. "Ohh."

"What are you being?" Elwen asks, but Nancy just shrugs. "Flo still wants Elsa, though."

Elwen glances across at their younger sister, who's currently jumping into the pool with Sam, to the applause of Auntie Sarah and Auntie Emily. "Yeah. I don't think she grasped the book characters thing, yet."

"Yeah." Nancy pushes back her hair, which is pressed, dark and wet, to her forehead. "But then Dad hasn't either, with Frozen. I think he's still convinced it's based off a book."

Libbie snorts. "Yeah, but Uncle David nearly had a fit when you went to Sayers Croft-"

"God." Nancy's head smacks into the surface of the water. "He wanted to give me a phone just to keep in touch. So he could ring me every night."

Beatrice snorts. "Should have taken it."

"He'd have given me one of Mum's old blocks and then taken it off me the second I got home."

"Actually, yeah." Elwen's lying on his back now, kicking his legs in the water. Daniel's face appears above him. "Dad's got the whole thing about screen-time."

Bea snorts and mutters something about "My dad" which Elwen doesn't quite catch. Instead, he says to Daniel "Who are you going as for World Book Day?"

"Skeletor" says Daniel without hesitation, as Elwen bounces upright. "But just a skeleton costume, I think."

Elwen's half-nodding at Daniel, and half-kicking at Nancy, who's tugging at his ankles, trying to pull him back under the water. "Get off-"

Nancy tries ducking him and Elwen scrabbles back upright, one hand in his sister's hair. Nancy's breath is hot and rapid, her giggles vibrating against his cheek. Her eyes are a bright, clear blue, sparkling and something leaps in Elwen's chest a little, because this is what Nancy's eyes are meant to look like. Not like they looked when he took Flo in to leave her a Get Well Soon note-her cheeks pale, with dark shadows under her eyes, so that she looked younger than him, almost younger than Flo.

Now Nancy's cheeks have some colour back in them. Her eyes sparkle, even as she lifts her head and says "What?"

Elwen's not about to tell her, so he just splashes her instead, simply because he knows it will make her splash him back-which indeed it does, saving them from having to say any more.

The children are still happily engaged in their warfare, when Elwen hears his name being called and stops, arms flailing, Daniel giggling at his side, and looks up to see Dad standing, watching them, accompanied by a smaller man with greying hair and a round, pleasant-looking face.

"And these are my two eldest" Dad's saying, cheeks crinkling with a grin. "Elwen-"

Elwen waves. "Hi" he says, and then, only just remembering what he's meant to do, holds up his hand.

The man kneels down and takes it, rather than ignoring him, which sends him up in Elwen's estimation immediately.

"Hey, Elwen. Great to meet you-"

"This is Mr. Key, Elwen-"

"Jonathon, please-"

Dad leans out, ruffling Nancy's hair. "And this is Nancy. Birthday girl-"

"Hey, Nancy-" Mr. Key shakes Nancy's hand, too, and Nancy takes it a little solemnly, with a quick glance at Dad. "Hello-"

"Happy Birthday." Mr. Key flashes her a grin, which Nancy returns. "Thanks."

"And these-" Dad grins, ruffling Daniel's hair now. "These are my goddaughters-George's daughter, Liberty and this is Beatrice-and William, Beatrice's brother-and they're Michael's children-and this is Daniel. Sam-" Dad laughs, pointing to Sam across the pool. _"That_ Sam is here too-Daniel's brother."

"Hey, there." Mr. Key, having grasped each child's hand for a few seconds, bends down and holds Daniel's too. "How are you doing?"

Daniel bites his lip, blue eyes widening, and shrugs. Dad and Mr. Key both laugh, which is when Will blurts out "Are you going in the pool?"

Bea slams her head into her hands. "Oh my _God-"_

Dad and Mr. Key are laughing, but Mr. Key just says "That's up to your Uncle David, here-"

Dad's laughing. "Be my guest-"

Mr. Key nods and gives a wink to Will, who punches the air. Elwen notes that Mr. Key spoke to everyone just like Dad, which, he's learnt over the years, isn't always the case.

He decides he likes Mr. Key.

"So over there-that's Liberty's brother Luke-George and Frances's eldest-and see the two little ones playing with the dinosaur ring? That's Florence, our youngest, and Sam, Daniel's younger brother."

"Sweet-and who's Daniel and Sam's parents again? Or are they not-"

Elwen doesn't hear the rest of the sentence, or Dad's answer. Instead, he's too busy splashing water at Daniel-gently, the way he does with Flo-and in Daniel's uncertain but high, happy laughter and Nancy wrestling William, those shadows under her eyes gone, and the girls' voices clattering happily together in his ears, Elwen forgets to think about it.

 

* * *

 

Ed has already wondered a hundred times if he should even turn up here by the time he knocks on the door-which, as always, feels a little strange after being waved through the gate by a security guard.

But then he remembers that Nancy will have been told he's coming and he can't not arrive and what if they're expecting him to-

The door opens and a baby is handed to him.

Ed splutters, and somehow manages to take the proffered baby, which is issuing him with a joyful, one-toothed grin.

"Um-"

"You're Ed. Come in." Ed finds a hand seizing his arm and tugging him inside, even as he frantically juggles the squirming baby from one arm to the other. As the door is closed behind him, he finds himself standing, holding the baby, facing a tall, tanned woman with long, dark, glossy hair, wearing nothing but a black bikini.

"Um-" Ed immediately snaps his gaze firmly up to her face. The baby's chubby hand reaches out and squeezes his cheek.

"Hey!" She has an accent that sounds something like American and a smile that crawls up, crinkling her dark eyes. "Hey, I'm Lohralee-Sam's sister-in law?"

Ed nods. "Oh-" He sticks his hand out, then reconsiders, but Lohralee's already taken it. "Lohralee. Nice to meet you."

Lohralee's already got a hand on his arm, leading him down the corridor. "Come in! Some of us are in here, and the kids are all in the pool-oh, and this is mine and Will's daughter, Allegra-"

"Oh." Ed shifts the baby cautiously, so that he can look at her. She beams back, cheeks crinkling with delight as she waves her chubby fists in the air. "Um-hello, Allegra."

Allegra stares at him, then throws her head back and proclaims joyfully, _"Baaaaa!"_

Ed isn't sure, but takes this as a positive sign.

Allegra is a rather wriggly baby and Ed finds himself quite firmly concentrating on holding her. Her arms fumble at his neck and as a result, answering Lohralee's questions about the journey and quality thereof, he barely notices where they're going until suddenly he finds himself facing a room full of women and a couple of men-some in swimwear, some fully-clothed.

Ed stops dead. He gulps, not knowing where on earth to look. "Um-"

"Everyone, Ed's here-" Lohralee pats Allegra, and almost skips to a chair-next to Frances, whom Ed recognizes with no small amount of relief.

"Hi, Ed-"

There's a chorus of voices from around the room. Ed looks from one to the other and hugs Allegra very tightly, breathing in her warm baby smell as deeply as possible.

"All right, this is Flora-"

Another woman with dark hair and blue eyes that look a little like Nancy's, gives him a wave. "Sam's sister-and then this is Tania, Dave's sister."

Ed jumps a little at this. "Um-hey-hi-um-"

Tania, who's fully-dressed, swings herself to her feet with grace and a grin that reminds Ed a little of Cameron's with a pleasant jolt. She's got a handsome face, if a woman's face can be called handsome, with a dark curtain of hair that falls over her shoulders.

"I'm the family leftie" are the first words out of her mouth, as she takes Ed's hand. When she grins, Ed gets that jolt again, as though he's just seen David peering out at him. "So you're in safe hands."

Ed feels his shoulders relax before he's quite aware of it. It's something similar to the effect Cameron has on him, but milder, more friendly than-

Than what?

"Hi." Ed can't help smiling back at her and Allegra gurgles happily, waving a hand out to Tania.

"And there's-" Tania points at the men lounging in their trunks, who both grin and wave. Ed feels far too warm in his suit. "Etienne-Alice's husband-and Jem-"

"Jeremy Fawcus" says the other man, standing up with a grin, and adjusting his glasses. "Nice to meet you. I'm Clare's husband."

"Your and David's sister?" Ed asks uncertainly, glancing at both Tania and Lohralee, who's sprung up to smooth Allegra's few tufts of hair.

"Yep." Tania grins. "She's down at the pool with-" She glances at Lohralee. "Well, everyone, really. The kids, and David and Sam-and John Key-"

"John Key-"

"Yep, they're all down there-and Alex-our brother-and Clare-and Carl, my husband-"

"And Will and Theo are in there, too" Flora says, rubbing her eyes. "God knows how Theo's got the energy." Noticing Ed's look, she waves a hand. "God, you'll have to excuse us-we were coming in from France last night and the plane was delayed. It was a whole bloody nightmare-we live in France" she explains, off Ed's questioning look. "Alice and Etienne-" Etienne lazily raises a hand. "Were visiting."

Ed blinks, struggling to hold all the names in his head at once. "Ah. Right. Gosh, that must have been-so you're married to-" He glances at Etienne nervously. "Alice?"

"Yep!" With a bounce, another woman sits upright, from where she's been lying on the couch next to Flora, dark hair bouncing around her shoulders, holding up her wedding finger, upon which a ring glitters.

"And you're th-Sam's sister-"

"Well" Alice shrugs. "Half-sister."

"And I'm her half-sister too" Flora chips in. "On our mum's side, though."

"I'm on her dad's" Alice tells him brightly.

"And my husband Will's her half-brother" Lohralee chips in. "On her mum's side."

"Well, we're all halves, really-"

"No, no-Emily-"

"Right-" Alice grins at him. "Basically, we're Sam's half-brothers and sisters, apart from Emily. Who's her sister. Though we're her sisters too, obviously."

Ed blinks.

"You haven't even met all of us in the pool yet" Flora remarks, with a grin. "You should be grateful Lucy and Jake aren't here as well."

Ed blinks again.

It's Etienne who saves him, with a roll of the eyes. "For ze love of God-this poor guy has only just walked in-" Etienne gives Ed a lazy grin. "Stop expecting him to remember all these names-I don't bloody remember zem myself half the time-"

"Well, you did call me Flora the other day" Alice points out, curling up against her sister's shoulder. "Which prompted some questions."

Frances, clearly sensing Ed's confusion, gets up. "Here, let me take the present-that way, you can hold the baby with both arms-"

Allegra places both her hands on Ed's cheeks and beams. It is a task of immense difficulty to refuse to return a baby's beam and it is not one Ed is capable of.

"Oh, you're Mummy's gorgeous pumpkin-" Lohralee coos, pressing kisses onto Allegra's forehead, while Frances tickles under her chin. "Aren't you, aren't you the most precious pumpkin-"

Ed listens to the baby-talk with something like fascination. He wonders if he ever spoke like that to Daniel or Sam. He can't remember, for some reason.

"Anyway-"Tania claps her hands together. "Let's get you to the birthday girl. She's down in the pool with-well-"

"Everyone" Etienne announces from the couch. "Please don't go through ze names again-I'm sure you'll find a couple of strangers in there if you look hard enough. Indeed, I believe even Lord Lucan might show his face-"

"Emily certainly will" Lohralee grins, curling up on one of the couches. "And Tom."

Ed feels a little despairing. Tania catches the look. "Don't worry" she says, with a quick squeeze of the arm. "I forget their names half the time."

"And Dave tries to forget yours'" Flora says, without even opening her eyes, causing Frances to snort.

Lohralee, dropping another kiss onto Allegra's head, says "Oh, if she starts fussing at the pool, just give her to her dad. She's a right daddy's girl."

Ed isn't even sure he'll remember who her dad is. He stares at Allegra, who stares back out of big blue eyes, smile dimpling her chubby, rosy cheeks.

"Please don't fuss" he says to her, rather timidly.

Allegra doesn't respond, apart from another happy gurgle that sounds rather blessedly unlike fussing, but the rest of the room bursts into laughter. But it's friendly, a little like the dinner on Friday night, and once again, Ed feels his shoulders sink a little.

Tania's hand on his arm is a relief, however. "Come on. I'll show you the way."

 

* * *

 

"So-" Tania glances back every few moments, hand tickling under Allegra's chin. "Must be rather fun opposing my little brother."

"Oh. Well-" Away from the bustle and noise, Ed feels a little better, calmer. He clears his throat, trying to grasp the strange swelling sensation in his chest whenever he tries to describe Cameron, something that feels exasperated and fond all at once. He's-he's so-

"He can be....intransigent" he manages, and feels a slow smile spread out as he says it, rich and warm, like melted chocolate.

Tania snorts. "You don't have to tell me that. Always has been." She gives Ed a quick wink. "He must have a soft spot for you, though."

Ed gulps and concentrates on holding Allegra very carefully. Allegra blows a bubble and then smacks her own tummy triumphantly.

"W-why would you say that?" he manages faintly, but before Tania can answer, there's a declaration from the other end of the corridor. _"Darlings-"_

Ed gulps. A regal-looking woman is striding towards them, a translucent black sarong draped over her shoulders, over what looks suspiciously like a black, lacy bikini. Beside her, stands a younger woman, with smooth, brown skin, and a swishing curtain of black hair, whom Ed vaguely recognizes. She eyes the other woman, amused.

"Darlings, the children don't tire at _all_ , it's simply _ludicrous-"_ The woman sighs, pulling her dark, dripping hair up and running her fingers through it. "God knows where they get the energy-you know, I think Mary had the right idea going to check on Gwen-William had to start going on about how when he was their age, he'd work the energy off with a rifle, and the hounds being let loose-" She shakes her head and then says, "Anyway, Tania, who's this young chap?"

Tania grins. "This is Ed, Annabel. Ed Miliband. Ed, this is Annabel."

Ed smiles nervously as Allegra's cheek presses against his own.

Annabel clasps her hands. "Of course. How are you?" She extends her hand graciously.

Ed takes it awkwardly, wondering for a slightly bizarre moment if she expects him to kiss it, but his awkward shake in return seems to be satisfactory.

"I'm Annabel, Samantha's mother" she says, clasping Ed's hand. "And you're David's opponent, of course."

Ed blinks, not having expected her assessment to be quite so blunt. "Well-um-yes-"

"Oh, darling, don't worry yourself about that." Annabel dismisses this with a shake of the head, as if being one's political opponent is a rather small thing. "Reggie was still invited, and he ran off with Victoria-"

"To be fair" the other woman points out, looking a little bored as she quickly bundles her hair into a ponytail. "That was over thirty years ago-"

"Bells, darling, these wounds take time to heal-"

Bells rolls her eyes.

It's a few minutes later, when they're heading towards the pool, that Ed, feeling as though he should make some comment on what just happened, says "Um-"

Tania laughs. "Yeah. It's always like this."

Ed opens his mouth, but notes that that pretty much answers his question. Allegra beams, as if concurring.

"And that was Bells" Tania informs him, pushing open the door. "She's Sam's assistant-they've been friends for years-"

Ed doesn't get a chance to reply, because then they walk into the pool area and, rather like Friday, Ed finds himself right in the centre of a loud, friendly chaos.

The swimming pool is huge-safely under the cover of a glass outhouse stretches out either side of the door, the water a beautiful blue, lapping gently, occasionally smashing into ripples as someone jumps in. At one end, a slide seems to have been dragged in separately, which the majority of the children seem to be heading for again and again. Ed's been to Chequers before but always on official business-and never with Cameron.

There are so many people in here that Ed's eyes automatically dart around for any one person he can recognize. His shoulders sink when he spots Samantha and Sarah, both laughing, waist-deep in the water-and then his own son, floating next to them in a rubber ring, dark curls plastered to his head, his dark eyes bright with laughter.

"Come here, Sam-" Samantha seizes his son gently, spinning him round in the water. Sam laughs loudly, and next to him, Florence's head emerges delightedly from the water, Sarah holding her snugly under the arms. Next to them are another woman with long, dark hair who, even at this distance, looks strikingly like Samantha, and a man holding a toddler, bouncing him very gently up and down in the water, the little boy leaning trustingly into his chest.

"Slide" Florence announces, smacking the water with her hands. "I want the slide. Now, _now,_ slide _now_ , please-"

"All right-" Sarah taps her nose gently. "Come on then, missy-Sam, do you want to-"

Samantha scoops Sam into her arms and then the other woman calls "Alex, have you got-"

"Yeah, Al, could you get Pandora-" Tania's calling too. Ed turns and does a double-take. At the other end of the pool, Michael Gove is floating, chatting away with two other men-one a much older gentleman and the other, one who at first glance looks quite like Cameron, but chubbier and with a shock of white hair. Between them floats a toddler, who seems to have attached most firmly to the older gentleman, who lifts her into the air every few moments, blowing raspberries on the baby chubbiness of her little tummy.

"Al-" Tania calls, and the man who looks like Cameron glances up.

Tania touches Ed's arm. "This is Alex, our elder brother-"

"Ed!" The welcome rises, high and unmistakeable in Samantha's voice, and after today, the sound makes a lump swell in Ed's throat. He presses his face into Allegra's sweet tufts of baby hair, giving her a quick kiss. Allegra gurgles happily.

"Emily-Em, could you come and take Sam-" Samantha holds out Ed's son, who wraps his arms around Emily's neck with no hesitation. "John-John-Dave-" Samantha's already at the steps. "Oh, you found Tania-" She scrambles out of the pool, unabashed in her dark bikini, and Tania yells-"Al-bring Pandora-"

"Oh, no need-" The older man lifts Pandora in the air, holding her happily over his head. "We'll get ourselves up there, shall we-"

Pandora shrieks with delight as the man lowers her, carrying her with her head nestling into his shoulder.

Samantha gives Ed a quick kiss on the cheek, and Emily juggles Sam. "Say hi to Daddy-"

Sam buries his head into Emily's shoulder, but gives a shy wave. Something jabs in Ed's chest.

A small body hurls itself into his legs, and Ed looks down to see a familiar pair of blue eyes staring up at him. The last time he saw those eyes was yesterday morning, when he'd woken up to find them, along with his son's darker ones, staring down at him, and the owner of the blue eyes poking him decisively in the cheek with one finger.

"Oh, hi, Florence-" He tries to reach down to pat her, while juggling Allegra awkwardly.

Florence beams up and Sarah bends, picking her up, which is all it takes for Ed to immediately remember David's claim last week, and for his cheeks to erupt into a riot of blushing.

But then the older man's shaking his head, eyes twinkling. "Ah. You're the Labour fellow, Miliband."

"Um-yeah. Yes-"

"Ah, I see-" The older man nods and cuddles Pandora a little closer. "Very interesting-not that we could vote for you, of course, we have to say, but each to their own, eh-"

"Ed-" Samantha interrupts, as Emily grins and she and Sarah carry the little ones towards the slide. "This is mine and Emily's stepdad, William. William Astor. He's my half-sister Flora's dad-and my half-brothers, Will and Jake, though Jake isn't here."

"Pleasure" purrs William Astor, while Pandora tugs at his hair and he shakes Ed's hand so fiercely that Ed wonders for a moment if his hand could be about to be pulled off. "Pity Reggie and Vicky couldn't be here, they'd have loved this, fine turnout-"

Samantha's eyes flicker quickly to Tania, who immediately turns to William, gesturing to the slide, while Samantha takes Ed's arm and manoevres him gently to one of the deckchairs at the side, where Alex joins them.

"It _is_ great that you're here" Samantha's saying, pushing her hair back. "We had some food earlier, but the birthday tea hasn't been done yet-or Nancy's cake, so you haven't missed much."

She clasps his hand, squeezing it gently. "And like Tania said, this is Alex."

Ed turns, still holding Allegra, to find Alex sitting next to him. "Hello-" His grin's like Cameron's and so are his eyes. He is certainly handsome, in a slightly unusual way, but, Ed thinks, perhaps with a hint of bias, _his_ Cameron has the edge.

He blinks.

_What-_

"David's brother" Alex introduces himself and Ed becomes aware that he's staring silently, with his mouth open.

"Oh. Alex-right, nice to meet you-" They shake hands and Ed tightens his hold around Allegra, suddenly fearful of dropping her.

"I've heard a lot about you" Alex says, with the same easy charm as Cameron.

Ed gulps. "Oh-" He bites his lip, guessing that he's unlikely to have come across another family leftie. "Probably not a lot of good things, then-" He says this mostly to Allegra's head.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that-" Ed looks up to see Alex chuckling a little, but before he can ask anything else, Samantha calls "John-"

Ed glances at the group of people huddled around the slide and blinks.

One of the men waiting at the bottom is quite clearly George Osborne. Another is very obviously the Prime Minister of New Zealand.

The other two are men Ed doesn't recognize, but at that moment John looks round at Samantha's voice, which is precisely the second Elwen Cameron comes shooting off the end of the slide and crashes straight into John Key's chest.

 _"Elwen-"_ Samantha's voice is a shout, but John's already laughing, even as Elwen bobs up to the surface, hair drenched, eyes creased with laughter. "I thought Mr. Key would catch me-"

"It's all right-" John's laughing, even as George pats him on the back, saying something to Elwen who laughs, dimpling his freckled cheeks, and then heads for the slide again. "Stephie and Max did that enough times-"

Ed's so busy trying to take everyone in that he almost doesn't notice John pulling himself out of the water and heading towards them until he's right there.

"Ed Miliband." John takes his hand with a grin, and then offers Allegra a beam. "And is this little beauty yours'?"

Allegra puts her head on one side and answers this question with a long _"Aaaaaah",_ her little hands clapping together happily.

Ed can't help but laugh, surprised at how natural it is to hold Allegra, carry her about. Whenever he'd held Daniel or Sam when they were babies, he'd often felt odd, as though there was one final step he was missing out on.

"No" he manages, even as Allegra presses her cheek to his. "She's-Lohralee's, I think-"

"And Will's-" Samantha chips in, chucking Allegra under the chin. "Would you like a hold?"

John beams and immediately holds out his arms. "Ahhh, hand the little angel over-"

Ed is strangely reluctant-something about Allegra's warm trusting weight is comforting-but he does so and John just beams down at the baby, who beams at Ed over her shoulder. "Hey there, Allegra-"

And it's then that Samantha says "Oh, Dave's coming."

Ed looks up a little too eagerly, and doesn't spot Cameron for a moment. His eyes search, and then he spots him, just getting out of the pool-

Just getting out of the-

He's-

And it's Cameron and he's-

And he's walking towards him and-

Well-

Well, he's in a-

He doesn't have a shirt on.

Cameron doesn't have a shirt on.

Cameron-he-

_Cameron!_

Ed should look away. His cheeks are burning.

But, God, his eyes are suddenly _there,_ right _there,_ on Cameron's stomach, and there's-

There's-just so much of Cameron's skin and it looks slick with water, and Ed can't stop looking, taking in-just taking in his chest and-

God, he looks-

Ed blinks frantically.

Oh God. Oh God. Look up.

His cheeks are a frenzy of heat.

Look up, _now._

He does, but as he does, he notices the little bulge of David's stomach.

He's noticed it before, of course, but he's never seen it like-

(Cameron usually pulls it in when he's standing up straight-it's only when he relaxes that Ed notices it)

He just catches it out of the corner of his eye, and somehow-

It's just so _Cameronish_ that-

Ed's eyes fly up, but he can still see Cameron's stomach and chest and everything that's usually kept hidden from him-

All Cameron's bare skin and-

Well.

Something twitches. There's a surge of sensation, a rush of heat, and then there's a-

Oh God.

Ed stands very still, apart from his hands, which immediately and frantically tug his shirt down. He very pointedly does not look down at himself.

Oh God. Oh God.

Oh _God...._

"Nice of you to turn up, Miliband" Cameron says, and he winks.

Oh God, don't wink.

Ed swallows. "Um-"

Say something. Anything.

"I-um-"

His cheeks have erupted into a riot of heat.

Cameron steps closer and Ed feels a strange tug in his chest, wanting him to back away and at the same time, step closer, nearer-

Ed's breath catches.

What's happening-

What's _happening_ to him?

Cameron frowns. "You all right, Miliband? You look like you're having a hard time with something."

Ed squeezes his eyes shut and, feeling himself twitch again, curses Cameron's name more viciously than he ever has in any session of Prime Minister's Questions.

Cameron's skin's so near, and Ed's insides swoop suddenly.

Oh God.

What's _happening_ to him?

 

* * *

 

By the time Cameron's taken him round everyone, Ed's calmed himself.

A little.

Because-

It can't have been anything. It _can't_ have.

That-that has to happen sometimes.

It _has_ to.

It-it _must_ do, because-

Ed can't even let his thoughts go there.

Because it's ludicrous that they even _would._

But Cameron's walking him around everyone-John's handed him Allegra back and Ed's grateful, hugging her carefully as they walk. It's not until they get to the group of boys hovering at the slide that he realises Daniel is amongst them, along with Elwen and William. David points out the other two as Nelson and Perry-"Flora and Emily's sons, and there's Rex, Perry's little brother-Nelson's Pandora's brother, Tania's boys aren't here today, they're on a school trip-"and another man as Theo, Flora's husband.

Daniel waves at him but he doesn't come down from the slide. Something wrenches in Ed's chest as he watches, but there's something else too, as he watches Daniel chatting to Elwen, watches the boys nudging and jostling each other in a friendly fashion. Something aches sadly in his chest as he watches, the way it had reading that article.

"And that" Cameron says, leading Ed round to the other side of the pool. "Is my sister Clare. And here is the birthday girl."

Nancy waves at Ed from the water, blue eyes bright and dancing. She's flanked by Liberty and Beatrice, and another guy, who's lounging against the side of the pool.

"Hi, Mr. Ed Miliband-" but Nancy is interrupted by Beatrice inquiring of the other man rather loudly "So, do you actually take your clothes off, then?"

Liberty snorts. Ed almost chokes and covers Allegra's ears protectively.

"Not all the way off" replies the other man, a slight twang in his voice as he examines his nails. "Mostly just putting other people's _on."_

"You mean dresses" says Beatrice, whose interests apparently do not extend to tact.

"Yep" says the man, unfazed, ruffling Beatrice's hair. "Though sometimes we get others. Usually sparkly, though."

"This is Rob" Cameron explains, a grin playing at his mouth. "My brother-in-law."

At this point, Ed's been introduced to so many people with this sort of description that he'd hardly be surprised if Cameron told him Prince Philip was his brother-in-law.

"Hi." Rob gives him a wave, before Beatrice waylays him again.

Ed can't stop looking at Cameron, for some reason. He looks, then looks away. It's almost a silent dare to himself: _See, you didn't feel anything. It didn't mean anything._

Because it _can't_ have done.

"Oh. Um-" Ed suddenly realises the three girls are looking up at him. He crouches down awkwardly, adjusting baby Allegra even as Liberty scrambles up out of the water to press kisses to the baby's head.

"Happy birthday, Nancy" he manages, and, not knowing what else to do, he puts out a hand to shake.

Beatrice giggles, but Nancy folds her smaller hand around his and shakes it solemnly up and down. "Thank you."

"I do have a present for you" he says quickly, still grasping Nancy's hand. "It's-ah-it's in one of the dining rooms, Frances took it for me."

Nancy nods and Ed struggles for something else to say, until Nancy asks, suddenly "Are you coming in?"

Ed freezes. Next to him, for a second, he's sure he feels Cameron freeze too.

"Um-" He bites his lip. "I-maybe a little later-" It comes out as more of a question than he means it to.

"Look-" Beatrice points over Nancy's shoulder and Nancy turns her head to see three of the blondest boys Ed's ever seen running along the side of the swimming pool, followed by a tall woman with long blonde hair, clapping her hands. "Xandie, grab Seth-Isaac, you're meant to be telling them to _stop-"_ Behind them strolls a man Ed vaguely recognizes from Downing Street.

"Oi!" Nancy slaps the water in apparent greeting to the middle of the three boys, who looks to be about her age. "You were meant to be here ages ago."

"Seth needed to find his iPad" the little boy explains with a shrug, before hurtling himself into the water in a cannonball that sprinkles both Ed and David with water, and leads Beatrice to pull the boy into a headlock, the second his head breaks the surface.

"They're my cousins" Nancy explains to Ed. "And that's Uncle Chris and Auntie Venetia."

"Chris-" Ed looks at the man again, and does a double take. "Oh-"

"Yeah, Chris Lockwood" David says with a grin, stroking Allegra's cheek. "Met him through Sam originally-she and Venetia have been close for years-" He points at each of the three blond boys in turn. "Isaac-" the eldest, who's sliding into the water. "Xandie-" the boy currently being dunked by Nancy and Beatrice. "And Seth-" The youngest, who seems to be hurrying to the steps, his father's hand in his, to join Elwen and the others.

Ed nods, thankful for the distraction.

But Cameron, as he straightens up, gives him a tap, as Ed hands him Allegra awkwardly, his arms tiring a little. "Aren't you coming in? Everyone else is-"

Ed swallows, trying to ignore the way his heart is suddenly racing. His palms feel damp. "Oh. Well. Maybe-maybe I-"

Cameron's just looking at him, and he's so close. Ed can see droplets of water clinging to Cameron's eyelashes. He really shouldn't be this close.

"I-I didn't bring anything." His voice is breathier than usual. "To-to-um-wear-"

He's blushing, his cheeks burning.

And he's looking at Cameron's bare chest again.

Ed tugs his shirt down.

"Um-" Cameron's clearing his throat. He scratches his head nervously.

"Ah-Miliband-" His blue eyes meet Ed's too nervously. "You could-well, you could borrow a pair of mine-" and, oh, God, _no-_

"N-no! No-I'll be-be-" Oh God, stop stuttering, stop-

But the thought of wearing-

Wearing Cameron's-

_Like you wore his shirt._

But wearing his-

In the same _area-_

Ed feels dizzy.

A strange squeak comes out of his mouth. "I-"

Cameron's watching him, head on one side, and Ed swallows. "Um-n-no, I'll-I'm fine, I-really-"

Something, do something-

Ed coughs, then clears his throat loudly. "Um-I've-" He coughs again. "I've got a cold. Th-see?"

Cameron stares at him. Ed stares back, cheeks burning.

A grin creeps out at Cameron's mouth slowly, denting dimples in his cheeks. "You really are a terrible liar, Miliband."

Ed blinks. "I-I am not!"

Cameron's sniggering now. "You are. _I've got a cold-"_

"How do you know I haven't?"

Cameron just shakes his head. "You're meant to be a _politician_ , Miliband. Don't you think you should improve those skills a little?"

Ed tries to raise an eyebrow. "Th-so-so that's the th-sort of skill you associate with being a politician, Cameron?"

Cameron just laughs. "I could push you into that pool, you know, Miliband."

Ed jumps back almost immediately, arms wrapping around himself. "Don't!"

Cameron holds up a hand, laughing, but Ed bites his lip at the sharpness of his voice.

"It's all right" Cameron says, and Ed scowls and looks away, because Cameron's skin is too bare and his voice is too kind.

"I know it is" he says a little too sharply, but when Cameron's hand takes his sleeve, it's too gentle and Ed can pretend he doesn't notice.

 

* * *

 

It's not that Ed hates sitting by the pool. To an extent, he likes it, watching the others swim. It's one of the first times today that he hasn't felt the urge to talk or argue or even think. Though knowing he's meant to argue with Cameron is sometimes a relief.

He leans forward, watching vaguely as the boys wave to him. His eyes fall on Cameron, tracking him as he swims.

A part of Ed would like to be in the water. But another-

It's not just the thought of Cameron's-offer-which sounds ridiculous in itself-but, and Ed shivers a little-

The thought of-

Well-

Ed folds his arms a little nervously, even thinking about it.

The thought of just-taking his shirt off.

Of Cameron looking at him-well, of _everyone_ looking at him.

But especially Cameron.

That thought makes the heat rise to Ed's cheeks.

The truth is, even though everyone, particularly Samantha and George, makes a point of calling out to him every few moments, Ed, in some ways, prefers it when he's allowed to sit silently, just watching the kids splash about and not having to think of a reply. Not gathering his words into order quickly, trying to squeeze whatever's filling his head into sentences.

He has a vague memory of school-day swimming lessons; lining up shivering at the side of a pool, arms wrapped around his own bare chest, goosebumps aching on his arms. He remembers a hard shove in the back, the water smacking into his face, stinging all over his chest and stomach, laughter ringing off the bare, damp walls around him.

"What are you thinking about, Miliband?"

Ed almost jumps out of his skin.

Cameron's standing next to him. This time, Ed manages to keep his eyes on Cameron's face, though it's harder than it should be to let them rove past his chest. Cameron's nipples are peaked and that sends an odd ripple through him.

He suddenly remembers a couple of years beforehand, standing on the stage, hearing his own voice quavering a little: _I-I'm in no doubt he'll even be taking off his shirt and flinging it into the crowd, expecting adoration from the British people, li-like he did-er-recently on holiday-_

Oh God. Don't think about those pictures of him on holiday.

"Do you sneak up on everyone, Prime Minith-ster?" he manages, when his heart is racing a little slower.

Cameron does something remarkably like winking as he sits down next to Ed. "Only you."

Ed can't bear to blush again. He fixes his eyes on his knees, hoping to pretend it's not happening. From a speaker, some pop song is playing, something with lyrics that seem to bounce like a question.

"Are you sure you don't want to swim?"

Ed threads his fingers together, wondering if he's entirely justified in cursing Cameron for being nice. If that's what he's being.

"Maybe later" he manages, threading his fingers in and out of one another, too conscious of David's gaze on him. "Did she have a good birthday?"

Cameron looks up, eyes falling on his daughter, who's laughing with the other girls and, Ed now notices, tugging Daniel along behind her. "I think so. Well-her actual birthday isn't until tomorrow, but she seems to have liked the party."

"I-um-I got her a present." Ed glances up at Cameron through his eyelashes.

Cameron chuckles. "I knew you would."

"How?"

"Because I know you."

Heat rushes to Ed's cheeks as Cameron winks at him.

"It's only manners, Cameron" he mutters.

"That's how you care for us, is it?" Cameron's bare shoulder nudges Ed's clothed one. A shiver of heat runs through Ed.

_And maybe I should make this-maybe I should make this promise while I'm about it, that if I become Prime Minister, I won't take my shirt off in public, I mean it's just-it's just-it's just not necessary, is it..._

"Out of manners?"

His voice is light, but Ed meets his eyes. "Is that what you think?"

They watch each other. Ed can smell David's shampoo, because they're far too close now. Far too close.

"No." Cameron's voice is still light, but lower. "Like I said. I know you."

Ed's heart skips a few beats. He can see the light freckles sprinkled over Cameron's cheeks from here. He can count the drops falling from his hair, let his eyes trace the soft bulge of his stomach.

(He can hear the words he was told were Cameron's reply, imagine them in his voice: _Ed, you keep your shirt on, I'll keep the lights on!)_

What's happening-

He yanks his gaze away quickly. "I bought her a book" he manages, voice somehow remaining fairly steady. "Do you think that's suitable?"

Ed has never been much aware of the peculiarities of his own phrasing, so even if he had not been rather keen to change the subject, he may have been entirely bemused as to why Cameron immediately starts laughing again.

"What?"

"Nothing." Cameron's hand touches Ed's arm quickly, so quickly Ed would barely notice if it wasn't for the odd flutter he's becoming accustomed to around Cameron. "Just-yes, I'm pretty sure Nancy will find that suitable."

"You're making fun of me." Ed says this without his voice trembling.

Cameron meets his eyes. "No."

Ed snorts.

"No. Really."

This time, Cameron doesn't touch him. It would have been easier if he had because Ed looks at him before he can stop himself.

"I-" Cameron clears his throat, the words lost under the childrens' laughter bouncing off the walls. "Well-I-"

It's when Ed catches the tinge of colour in Cameron's cheek that he hastily looks back at his knees, but not before he notices that both of their fingers are drumming back and forth on their thighs.

"And I got her a Rubix Cube" he says, before he can think about it.

There's a silence, then "A Rubix Cube?"

Ed braces himself, but when he looks up, Cameron's just watching him with-

A grin, but-

There's something softer about his eyes.

Ed's fingers slide in and out of one another.

"Is that what you're doing?"

Ed blinks. "What?"

Cameron points at his fingers, sliding back and forth. "A Rubix Cube?"

"Oh-" Ed stares, a little jolted. It's a habit he's so used to it barely merits attention these days; but now, watching them, he can make out the familiarity of the darting movements, the way his fingers criss-cross each other.

"You noticed that."

"Doesn't everyone?"

Ed meets Cameron's eyes. This time, something in him doesn't let him look away. He holds Cameron's gaze, even as his heart beats faster, his breath more and more rapid. It's an odd, excited, frightened feeling, and Ed doesn't know if he likes it or not, but he wants it to go on.

"Not moth-st people, no."

Cameron doesn't look away, either. "Didn't I hear you could solve it in-"

"Under a minute-"

"One minute-"

They both speak at once. There's a jolt in Ed's chest as he sees a smile too like his own creep to Cameron's mouth and for a moment, each sees their own expression on the other's face. It's something they'll remember, even if Ed doesn't know it yet.

"Yeah." He swallows, his mouth suddenly intensely dry. "Yes. I could."

David nods. Ed feels his fingers flutter back and forth nervously, the same way they did on Friday.

His stomach squeezes.

 _(I didn't want to be rude and not come up to you_ , he'd managed to get out, as Nick had stood there silently after returning Ed's nervous _Hi_ a lot more coldly. His eyes had moved up and down Ed's face once, quickly, but Nick's own had been closed somehow, while Ed stood there, feeling more and more nervous and awkward, the gazes of the others burning into his back.)

( _You've been rude enough already._ The slight smile at Nick's mouth, but the words weren't warm, and Ed had bitten his lip, unsure how to navigate around them.)

"Hey-" Cameron's voice pulls his eyes back up. "You're-"

Cameron points and Ed looks to see his fingers sliding again.

"You only do that when you're-" Cameron's voice is low. He stares at Ed, blue eyes unreadable, and then-

His hand settles over Ed's gently, folding over his fingers.

Ed can't speak. His heart is pounding so hard it almost hurts. But he can still hear the kids' shouts echoing-their _kids_ are in here, most of Cameron's _family_ are in here, and so this is fine. It's _fine._ This doesn't mean anything, because if it did, they wouldn't-

Cameron's hand is warm and soft and just folds over his and squeezes gently. The sensation makes Ed gulp. It's _Cameron-_

"There." Cameron's eyes are soft, but they sparkle a bit as they meet Ed's.

It takes Ed a moment to look down and realise that his fingers, Cameron's brushing them gently, have stopped shaking.

"Oh." That's all that comes out, faintly, and then "Thank you."

He can't quite meet Cameron's eyes. He bites his lip, glancing down and away, trying to hide the stupid smile he can feel playing at his own mouth.

When he looks back, it's to catch Cameron's eyes darting away. When he risks another glance, he finds Cameron's eyes glancing up at him. A smile's playing at his mouth, one that looks like Ed feels.

Their eyes meet and dart away. Ed wants to laugh and hide, even as he stares at the pool. He can feel his heartbeat thumping, feel a scrunching sensation in his chest that's almost unbearably pleasant. That little glance Cameron gave him when he caught him looking sends a little jolt through Ed. He stares out at the water, breathless, hardly daring to move, watching the kids play without seeing them, his whole body aware, charged, of the fact Cameron's hand is still touching his own.

 

* * *

 

Nancy, since it's her birthday, is the last to get out of the pool, so she's floating on her back, staring up at the ceiling, while the others all make their way to the side. Nancy takes the opportunity to squint up at the sky, tracing patterns in it with her eyes. At her side, Bea's hair floats out, tickling Nancy's cheek. Libbie's hand brushes her own and Nancy has a brief memory of being much smaller, on her back in a swimming pool, Dad's arms around her, one finger tracing out shapes in the sky, Bea and Libbie on either side, while Uncle Michael and Uncle George did the same, carving out illustrations in the clouds.

Now, Nancy turns her face in the water to look at Bea, who eventually turns to look back. For a moment, they watch each other.

"Bird" Bea says, without even needing to look at the sky, and Nancy and Libbie say "Dragon."

When they get out of the pool, Nancy glances at the deckchair where Dad and Mr. Ed Miliband were sitting and then slows as she realises the latter is still there alone.

Nancy pauses almost without realising, shivering a little now that she's out of the warmth of the water. She glances up to see Dad at the other end of the pool talking to Mum. Mr. Ed Miliband's sitting looking at the pool, but his eyes are odd, almost as though he's looking at something quite different.

Nancy debates for a moment and then says to Bea and Libbie "See you inside."

She trots up to the chair and when he doesn't acknowledge her, decides to claim the place next to him as her own.

Close up, she squints at him. Mr. Ed Miliband always looks older close up, and sadder, somehow. There are shadows under his eyes, lines creasing at his lips.

"Hi" Nancy says, feeling slightly irked that he hasn't so much as looked at her.

He does look at her, then. "Oh-" He jumps a little, as if Nancy's pushed him, blinking owlishly. "Hi, Nancy."

Nancy watches him, head on one side, considering herself to have made enough effort to initiate the conversation.

"Did you-um-have you had a good day?" Nancy feels a stab of guilt, then, for the edge of worry in his voice. She remembers yesterday morning at the breakfast table and turns towards him a little more.

"Yeah. It was fun. Did you?"

She's not sure why Ed Miliband smiles a little. Nancy's discovered that grown-ups often smile to themselves when she asks questions-particularly ones they've just asked. She's trying to decide whether it annoys her or not.

"Um-yes, actually." Nancy decides it doesn't annoy her coming from Ed Miliband. Something about his eyes-they're too wide, too young. His smiles look too nervous. "It was-ah. Interesting."

Nancy nods at his suit. "Why didn't you swim?"

Ed Miliband's head jerks a little. "What?"

Nancy indicates the suit again, shivering a little. "Everyone else swam. How come you didn't?"

Ed Miliband's forehead creases. He bites his lip. "Ah-I wath-sn't feeling up to it today, Nancy." Nancy notices the lisp again.

"Can you swim?"

Mr. Ed Miliband jumps a little. "Of course I can _swim."_

Nancy frowns. "How come you didn't want to swim, then?"

She notices colour creeping into Ed Miliband's cheeks and stops abruptly.

Instead, wrapping her arms around herself, she asks "Did you have fun?"

He looks up. "I juth-st answered-"

"No, I meant earlier." Nancy squeezes her hair, letting the water drip out. "Where you went earlier. Before you arrived."

"Oh."

Nancy's looking down, trying to dry her hair a little without the aid of a towel, but she senses Mr. Ed Miliband go very still for a second.

"Oh-yes. Well, it was work, but-"

"Where did you go?"

He hesitates and Nancy glances up. "Um. I was in Sheffield."

Nancy brushes her hair behind her ears, shivering at the droplets that fall onto her bare shoulders. "Were you trying to beat my dad?"

This time, Mr. Ed Miliband does freeze. Nancy looks up at him, wondering if he'll actually tell her or not.

"I-" He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. "It's not like that."

Nancy doesn't look away. "Were you?"

"No, I wasn't."

Nancy crosses her legs, tugging her tankini top down. "Were you trying to beat somebody else?"

Mr. Ed Miliband meets her eyes this time. There's a moment of silence. Then, "Yeah."

"Uncle Nick?"

Ed Miliband blinks. "How did you-"

Nancy rolls her eyes. "I know his constituency's in Sheffield." She sits up, folding her hands as she turns to face him. "And..." She hesitates for a moment. "I know everyone sort of hates him."

Ed Miliband doesn't laugh. Instead, he shakes his head and looks away. "It's not-"

"Not what?"

"Not as simple as that." His voice is slower this time. His eyes are staring into the deep blue water.

Nancy wraps her arms around herself, shivering a little more violently. Mr. Ed Miliband looks up sharply. "Why haven't you got a towel?"

Nancy shakes her head. "Everyone else needs them first. They're my guests."

Mr. Ed Miliband's eyes narrow then, and his face-

His face makes an odd, crumpling motion and he looks away. Nancy frowns, but the next thing she knows, Ed Miliband's wriggling out of his suit, tugging at his sleeves. Nancy stares as he pulls off his suit.

"Come here." He drapes it round her shoulders carefully.

"It'll get ruined" Nancy warns him, but he shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, I've got lots of them."

Nancy shakes her head. "It'll get all wet" but she pulls Ed Miliband's suit around her anyway. It smells nice, a different aftershave from Daddy's clinging to the material.

Mr. Ed Miliband's hand rubs her back in an awkward circle before patting her shoulder nervously. Nancy glances him. She'll reflect in years to come that if Mr. Ed Miliband hadn't been as awkward as he was, she might not have asked him the question.

But she curls up a little, pulling his suit tighter around her, and says, watching the pool shimmer under the lights, "Do you like my dad?"

Mr. Ed Miliband jumps a little. When Nancy looks at him, he's biting his lip very, very hard.

Nancy stares. He glances at her and for a moment she thinks he's going to brush the question away.

But then he swallows. "It's-it's not about-"

"Not about what?"

Ed Miliband clears his throat. "Not about-liking or disliking-"

Nancy rolls her eyes, impatience sharpening in her chest. "So do you _not_ like my dad?"

"No!"

This time, Ed Miliband's voice is louder. He could sound angry. Almost.

Nancy waits. Ed Miliband turns around, pushing one hand through his hair. He stares straight ahead, eyes flickering as though he's thinking very fast.

"I don't-" His voice suddenly takes on an almost petulant tone. "I don't not like your dad." His voice trails off into something like a mumble. "It's just-"

Nancy considers this new information carefully.

"Well-" she says, after a moment. "You must like him. I mean, you wouldn't be here, otherwise."

For some reason, Mr. Ed Miliband flinches at that, but Nancy doesn't have time to think about it before he takes a deep breath and looks at her, his eyes widening a little, as if about to tell her something.

Nancy waits, but he just looks.

After a moment, thinking about something that's been puzzling her, she blurts out "You know on Wednesdays?"

Mr. Ed Miliband frowns. "What about Wednesdays?"

"Prime Minister's Questions. You argue, then?"

A tinge of colour appears in Ed Miliband's cheeks. "Yes, I suppose-"

"But at weekends, you're-"

Nancy can't find the right word. She settles on "Friendly."

The colour deepens.

"So what about in between?"

Ed Miliband frowns, then, and looks up at her. "What do you mean, in between?"

"When do you go from yelling at each other to being friendly?" Nancy puts her head on one side, looks at him properly. "Are you just pretending?" she says slowly, carving words around a thought that has crept around for a few days without her being entirely sure what to do with it, or even what it is.

"Pretending." Mr. Ed Miliband says the word slowly, as though trying to find a taste to it, and then "When?"

"When what?"

"When am I pretending?" His voice is lower now. He's looking right at her.

Nancy stares back, with her chin up, feeling oddly grown-up and sharp and clever and a little bit nervous all at once. She has an odd sense suddenly that she's poking at something. Something she doesn't quite understand, something bigger than she is. It leaves her feeling strange, opened out a bit.

But she asks the question carefully, feeling as though she's balancing and stumbling her way through the words carefully. "That's what I asked you."

There's a longer silence this time. Ed Miliband watches her, his head tilted to the side. Nancy notices for the first time that they're alone by the pool-everyone else has left while they were talking, so the only sound apart from their conversation is the occasional lap of the water.

"No" Ed Miliband says, and his voice is quieter but a little more sure. "No, I'm not pretending, Nanth-cy."

The colour rises in his cheeks. Nancy just looks back, taking in the lines under his eyes and the quietness of the words, and then

"Oh" is all she says, more quietly herself. "Right."

There's another silence, but it's more comfortable. Nancy stares at the pool for a moment, mulling over the words and feeling oddly pacified, as though they've just settled a question, though she's not sure how.

"Do you think Daniel and Sam had a good time?"

Mr. Ed Miliband is watching her, but his eyes seem softer now, brighter.

"Um. Yeah, I suppose." Nancy pulls her knees up again, huddling inside Ed's suit. "Elwen and Will looked after them. But they were going down the slide a lot."

A corner of Ed Miliband's mouth twitches. "Yeah. I think they like slides."

Nancy looks up, frowning. "You _think?"_

Mr. Ed Miliband bites his lip. Nancy watches him, noticing the way his fingers have started to play back and forth.

"What presents did you get?" The words come out a little too fast. It might be him chewing his lip that makes Nancy answer without questioning the abrupt change of subject.

"Oh. Mostly books."

"Books."

"Yeah. I always get books."

Mr. Ed Miliband chews his lip again. "I got you a book."

Nancy stares at him, and then bursts out laughing before she can stop herself.

Mr. Ed Miliband stares like she's a puzzle he's trying to find all the pieces to. Nancy sits up.

"You aren't meant to tell me" she explains, still snorting. "What my present is."

He winces. "Oh. Gosh. Th-sorry-"

"It's all right" Nancy says, calming herself down. "Like I said, I always get books. Sometimes, Libbie or Bea give me one of their old ones. Or vice versa."

Ed Miliband's eyes widen a little, but he bites his lip, fingers playing back and forth again. He glances at her.

"What?"

He bites his lip. "I also got you a Rubix Cube."

Nancy bursts out laughing again.

This time, Ed Miliband just keeps talking, even as she's laughing. "I could-I could-I didn't mean-"

Nancy notices the worry widening his eyes, and makes an effort to rein in the laughter.

"I could-" He's stuttering. "I could take it back if you don't like it-"

"No." Nancy shakes her head, calming a little now. "No, I'll like it. Most kids wouldn't, though. Don't get Daniel or Sam one."

Ed Miliband's forehead creases. "No?"

This time, Nancy carefully doesn't laugh. Instead, she wriggles closer, so that she can press against his side.

He doesn't jump, but he tenses a little. Nancy's about to pull away but then feels his hand come up and pat her shoulder nervously.

"Any good books?"

"Don't know. I got a series."

"A series?"

"Yeah. From Mr. Obama."

"From Mr-oh, from Barack."

Nancy looks up. "No, Mr. Obama-Dad says I have to call him Mr. Obama. Anyway, he got me a series."

"Have you read any?"

"Only the blurb."

"What's it about?"

Nancy pulls her knees up. "Like-it's this world where they've figured out a way to stop you falling in love. Or, they can make you fall in love with the right person or who they think is the right person. They just take this gene out of you or something when you're eighteen. And then you can't fall in love. Love's an illness. You're just....with the person they want you to be with."

Nancy trails off because Mr. Ed Miliband is looking at her in a decidedly odd way. "It was a long blurb."

He blinks when she looks up, as if just waking up. "Oh. Um. What do you think?"

Nancy shrugs. "Don't know. Haven't read it yet."

"No, I meant-" He looks away, chewing his lip. "Of the idea."

"The idea-"

Ed Miliband's fingers flutter. "Yeah. I mean-it's interesting."

Nancy frowns. "Don't know. Yet. What about you?"

"Hmm."

Nancy looks straight at him. "What do you think of it?"

They watch each other. The water laps softly in the background as though probing the question themselves.

His voice is quieter this time. "Well. I don't know."

Something catches a little in his voice. He stares at the water, his eyes soft. Nancy frowns, suddenly gripped by the feeling that there's something there she can't see somehow.

"Come on." Abruptly, Mr. Ed Miliband gets to his feet and holds out a hand. "You're cold. Let's get you inside."

Nancy knows when not to push, so she gathers his suit around her and hops up. She does a little skip, liking the way it billows around her.

"If it was rainbow-coloured" she explains, when she sees Ed Miliband looking at her. "It would be like Joseph's in the musical. I'm going to write one of them."

She does another little jump and spins to see Ed Miliband watching her. He's smiling, but not in the usual way grown-ups do, when they think that whatever a kid says has just been for them. His eyes are softer, his head tilted to the side, and he watches her as though trying to make something out, trace a pattern with his eyes.

Nancy hops, skips and jumps to the door, turning to check Ed Miliband's still following her. There's something she recognizes about the way he's looking at her, but she's not sure how. She won't realise it yet-it'll be a long time before she realises that the way Mr. Ed Miliband watches her now is almost exactly the same look she herself wore as she watched him watch the pool minutes earlier. Because she's watching him seem to see something else, too-the same look she wore as she tried to grasp something that, for now, is just out of reach.

 

* * *

 

It's later, as everyone's singing, eleven candles flickering into life, that Nancy glances at Dad and sees his hand on Mr. Ed Miliband's arm.

She only watches for a moment, but it's enough for her to, looking round at the rest of her family, reflect that everyone here feels like they belong with her, as if their blood runs in each other's veins. Nancy has the odd thought that if she didn't already know-if she had been looking in on the room as a stranger-she wouldn't be able to work out who was related and who wasn't.

For some reason, that thought sticks in her head and reaches out to touch that other quick glimpse of Dad's hand on Mr. Ed Miliband's arm.

It doesn't feel bad, but she looks away quickly.

Not bad. Just...

Private, somehow.

_"Happy birthday to you!"_

Mum kisses her head. "Make a wish, Nance."

Flo jumps up and down at her side. Daniel nestles into her for a moment, before Elwen's hands grip his shoulders. Bea's chin hoicks itself into the crook of Nancy's neck.

Nancy looks up, catching Dad's eye across the table. He's watching her, his cheeks dented, one hand still brushing Ed Miliband's arm. His eye flickers in a quick wink.

Nancy closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and blows out all the candles at once, and in that second of caught blackness with her eyes shut, between the flames vanishing as though they've never been and the hands slapping out their applause around her, she makes a wish.

 

* * *

 

David isn't even sure he's thinking about it until he does it.

Somehow, they're off to the side and Ed's there and tugging at his fingers and the kids are ensconced watching a film, and David just touches his wrist.

Ed looks up out of big dark eyes and David blurts it out. "Come for a walk with me?"

And now that's what they're doing. David just hopes Miliband hasn't noticed where they're heading.

But thankfully, Miliband seems to be in a chatty mood.

"I like your sister" he informs David, threading his fingers together.

"Which one?"

"Tania." Miliband blushes. "I mean, both, of course. But I was talking with Tania."

"Family leftie" David says with a nudge. "She's held that position for years."

Miliband's cheeks crease a little. "That wath-sn't really possible in my family."

David laughs, surprise sharpening the sound. Miliband's eyes widen delightedly.

"Did you have fun?"

David curses the question. He sounds like a child, trying to ask someone to his own party.

Miliband shrugs. "Y-yeah, I suppose-" He shoots David a sudden nervous look. "Did Nancy like her present?"

David grins, remembering the sight of Nancy handling a Rubix Cube as though it was a treasure.

"Yeah, she liked them." He glances at Miliband. "Most people don't buy kids Rubix Cubes, though."

He expects a smile, at least, but Miliband bites his lip, dropping his gaze. "I-um-"

David frowns but before he can tell him it was a joke, Miliband squeezes his hands together. "I always had those kind of things when I was younger."

Somehow, that isn't surprising.

But Miliband's brow is puckered a little, and David glances at him. "Come on" he says, giving his wrist a tug. "If you hadn't had one, you'd never have been able to do that trick with one hand."

The oddest squeaking sound comes from Miliband. David stares at him. Miliband blushes scarlet. "D-did-do-"

"Your Rubix Cube trick. You know, under one minute with one hand."

Miliband, if possible, blushes even deeper. "Oh. Um-yes-I thought-"

He trails off, scarlet. David opens his mouth and then snaps it shut, heat reaching his own cheeks. "I-" He can't bear to meet Miliband's eyes for a moment, glancing at him then away, only to notice Miliband doing the same thing.

The one good thing about their mutual embarrassment is that it allows David to beckon Ed into the pool area before he notices.

Of course, there's no way to hide it from him for long.

"What are we-" Ed's eyes snap straight to his and he steps back, arms crossing tightly. "I'm not swimming."

"Fine."

Ed eyes him suspiciously. "I'm really _not_ , Cameron."

"Fine." David kicks off his shoes and socks with a grin and a wink. For some reason, he's gratified to see the colour flood Miliband's cheeks. "That doesn't mean _I_ can't."

It's when he reaches for his shirt that Miliband lets out a sudden exclamation. _"Cameron!"_

"What?" David pauses, hands at his buttons. "I've got to take it _off_ , Miliband."

"But-but-" If Miliband was blushing before, it's nothing to what he's doing now. "You can't-take all your-"

He trails off, apparently too mortified to continue.

"I'm _scandalised_ , Miliband." David starts unbuttoning his shirt, thoroughly enjoying the sight of Miliband scowling as ferociously as he can at him, blushing like the setting sun. The sight's about as threatening as a chipmunk. "Imagine even suggesting such a thing."

"I was _not_ suggesting-"

He trails off, eyes sliding to David's chest. David glances down, to where he's slid most of the buttons loose.

Miliband's staring at him. Something like a jolt goes through David, something that leaves him far too unsettled.

"Unless of course, you were speaking for yourself, Miliband." He blurts it out, heart thudding. He keeps his voice smooth, his fingers steady, even if he speaks a little more quickly than usual.

The look Miliband gives him then-

David bites his lip, completely failing to suppress his laughter. "I always forget you're not used to that."

Miliband falls silent, as David kicks off his trousers and he looks up expectantly only to see Miliband staring very fixedly at the pool. His fingers open and close rapidly. The colour in his cheeks gives David a small, pleasant jolt in the chest, as he watches Miliband watch the water.

It's an age before Miliband replies "What?" His voice is rougher than usual. His fingers curl.

"Being teased." David drapes his clothes over one of the chairs. "I forget you're not used to it."

Miliband glances up, opening his mouth-and then stares, eyes opening wide. His gaze flickers down, apparently unthinkingly, to David's boxers.

The look-

Something about the look on his face-

David turns away quickly, heart pounding, though he isn't even in the water yet. He lowers himself into the pool as quickly as possible, more grateful than usual for the warm water as it closes over his head.

When he pops up again, head breaking through the surface with a gasp, the first thing he hears is Miliband's voice, echoing off the walls, so it sounds as though there are several Milibands there at once, all shouting at him. "How do you know?"

David has to gasp and blink for a moment. "How do I know what?" He turns to face Miliband, who's standing where he left him, looking oddly drawn-up, as though waiting for David to start arguing with him.

(To start, they'd have to have _stopped_ in the first place.)

Miliband's almost glaring, but not quite. "How do you know I'm not used to being teased?"

Before David can snort, Miliband blurts "People always-"

He shakes his head halfway through the word. "No, forget-" He turns away, as though to head for the door.

"No, don't _go-"_

Miliband stops dead, right where he is. David curses himself, even as he feels limp with relief.

Miliband slowly turns back towards him. Even from this distance, David can make out the shadows under his eyes, and his heart aches.

"I was joking" he hears himself say, when the silence stretches out too long between them. "Honestly-I was-" He clears his throat. "I'm sorry. Miliband."

There's another silence.

Then, abruptly, Miliband moves, turning to perch himself on the end of one of the chairs. He leans over to fiddle with his shoelace. "I think that's the first time you've ever apologised to me, Cameron."

David is so indignant at that, he almost chokes on a mouthful of water. "It is bloody _not,_ Miliband. I've apologised to you _plenty_ of times."

Miliband snorts, even as he pulls off his shoes and socks and only when he perches on the edge of the pool, letting one of his feet dabble in the water does David realise what he's doing and come out with it:

"I've never seen your feet before."

David almost throws his head underwater at _that_ remark.

He knows he's blushing. Miliband certainly is. "They're nothing th-special" is all he mutters, but he doesn't pull them out of the water.

And now that he's said that, David can't stop thinking about it. His eyes stray to Miliband again and again. They're perfectly normal feet. Their arches are slightly delicate, but apart from that-

It's just odd to realise there's parts of Miliband he hasn't seen before.

Without realising it, David's drifted closer to where Miliband's sitting, dangling his feet in the water. He only notices when Miliband's foot kicks gently and some water splashes in his face.

"Oi!"

Miliband laughs. It's his laugh, one he always does when he has to, but the slightly more relaxed one, that dents his eyes and dimples his cheeks, that David's learnt somehow, without knowing when or how, is Miliband's real laugh, the one he only does at his most relaxed, or at least when he's not pretending.

Miliband kicks the water again, and laughs, that high-pitched sound breaking through.

David wants to hear him laugh like that again, which is the only thing he thinks as he reaches out and, before he can stop himself, tickles Miliband's foot quickly.

Miliband _shrieks_. That's the only way David can describe it, because Miliband's laughter cracks into a high-pitched _"No-"_ and he wriggles away furiously, laughter still creasing his cheeks and David could punch the air because _Miliband's ticklish._

Something about that is just-

"You're ticklish." David grins and reaches for Miliband's foot without thinking, scrabbles with his fingers.

 _"No-"_ Miliband wriggles frantically, laugher shaking his whole body. _"Stop-"_

"You're _ticklish_ , Miliband-"

Miiband's other foot kicks wildly, soaking David's hair. He squeaks, trying fruitlessly to escape, while David holds onto him, both of them shaking with laughter.

"Get _off-"_

_"You're ticklish-"_

Miliband's laughing too hard to speak. David, noticing the way his breathing's growing heavier, his eyes widening, takes some pity on him, slowing down the tickling until Ed pulls his foot free and curls up, gasping, cheeks flushed.

A slightly awkward silence falls. David bites his lip. "How come you didn't want to swim?"

Miliband, laughter dying away, clears his throat, and wriggles back. "I didn't feel-"

"Don't." David's voice is softer. He suddenly feels softer-something about Miliband's eyes, suddenly watchful, nervous, makes him softer, more gentle.

"Don't-?"

"You can- " He clears his throat. "I'm not going to make you swim-I was just-curious."

Miliband's breath catches. David treads water slowly. "Only I seem to remember you liked swimming."

Miliband frowns. "Have you been checking up on me, Cameron?"

David feels himself blush. (Bloody Miliband. Again.) "That's rather a high opinion you've got of yourself, Miliband."

Miliband snorts, mutters something in which the words "not likely" are audible.

David looks up sharply. "You're shy."

Miliband jumps as if David's hit him. "I am _not."_

David grins. "You could always prove it."

Miliband scowls. "I said _no."_

He gets up abruptly, pulling his feet out of the water, and David's hand shoots out, grabbing his ankle.

_"Cameron!"_

But David holds on, looking up at him. "Miliband. I'm sorry."

He's not sure why his voice is so urgent or why he's holding on, but he can't let Miliband leave, not right now, not when-

Miliband eyes him suspiciously. David stares back and slowly, Miliband sits down again.

"I just-" David tries, once he's sure it's safe enough. "Didn't like the thought of you missing out."

"What?"

"Well-" David rolls onto his back, looking past Miliband at the ceiling. "I didn't want you missing out. Because you were. You know-" He takes a deep breath. "Uncomfortable. Around-"

His voice trails off. He immediately absorbs himself in performing something of a forward roll in the water.

When he emerges, gasping for breath, it's to Miliband's voice. "You really are terribly self-obsessed, Cameron."

"And how?"

Miliband's mouth twitches. "Not everything's about you. This-"

He looks away.

David swims closer and, taking a deep breath, says "Well. It's just me."

Miliband's eyes narrow. "I said-"

Abruptly, he breaks off. His brow creases. He watches David for a long moment. David waits, hardly daring to breathe.

"Turn around." Miliband's voice is very soft.

His voice catches. David stares and Ed's eyebrow raises.

"Oh. Um-" David paddles back, his heart suddenly rapid.

Miliband stands up and then fixes his eyes on David. "Don't look."

"Fine."

"I mean it, Cameron."

"While you're changing, I won't look." David makes his voice as loud as possible, hoping frantically to disguise the sudden rapid beat of his heart.

He turns slowly, but he can hear the soft rustle of clothes against skin. His eyes flicker closed, his breathing deepening. He doesn't know if he wants to picture what's happening behind him or not. Excitement rises achingly in his body, almost a sickness in his stomach, as though something might burst in his chest.

"Are you done?" His voice is louder than usual, clumsier.

"Almoth-st-yeah. You can-"

David turns slowly.

Ed's standing there in his boxers. (That's the first thing that David notices-not his bare chest, the fact he's wearing boxers. It's just so weird putting _Miliband_ and _underwear_ together in his head.)

Then he notices everything else.

He very much notices everything else.

David's breath shortens. His heart quickens. Because-

Oh God.

Miliband's chest.

Bloody _hell_ , Miliband's-

He's skinny. Of course he's skinny-David can even make out the planes of his hips, sharp even at this distance. But he's-

His skin's smooth and olive. There isn't much hair on his chest but all David can look at is-

His shoulders are bare and smooth. He can see the slight middle-aged bulge of his stomach, and-

Miliband has nipples.

And oh for God's sake, of _course_ he does, of course David _knew_ that, but just seeing them like that, a little peaked and-

_Oh, bloody hell._

Miliband's blushing. He's blushing like David's never seen him blush before. His arms rise, as though to cover himself, and then pause. His eyes, big and dark, hover at David's for a second, then dart away.

He just looks so-

Standing there and _that's_ how he looks under those suits and those shirts-

God, with those big dark eyes and his chest bare-

David's heart pounds. His breathing is quick. His cheeks are warm.

Neither of them's said anything yet-

And David feels a rush of aching sensation below his waist, a sudden pressure and-

Oh God.

He very carefully doesn't look down at himself. He doesn't need to. He feels himself twitch a little.

Oh God, it can't matter, it can't because-

He nearly laughs, because there are so many reasons because.

He swallows. "Coming in, then?" His voice is hoarse. He's amazed he can manage his voice.

Miliband doesn't nod, but just moves towards the pool and David lowers himself carefully further down in the water, thanking God for the depth and the fact that Miliband isn't wearing goggles.

 

* * *

 

The only good thing about being this embarrassed, Ed reflects, is that it makes him numb.

He has absolutely no idea where to look when he walks into the pool, so he just fixes his eyes on the steps, watching his feet disappear slowly under the water

(the same feet Cameron was just tickling, and the heat rushes to Ed's cheeks so quickly that he feels dizzy)

He doesn't know what he was thinking, agreeing.

But it had been-

Cameron had looked as though he thought the problem might be _him._

(and Ed can't bear that.)

Cameron isn't the problem.

Well. He is _a_ problem.

He's _a_ problem, but not _the_ problem.

He's not even sure how he got his clothes off. It might have just been the sheer focus on removing each article, his mind clinging onto anything to distract from the urge to curl up inside his own skin.

Ed has to force himself not to dive into the water, to cover as much of his skin as possible. Instead, he only lets himself relax when he finally steps in, the water closing over his shoulders, and then he promptly ducks his head under the water as deeply as possible until his cheeks feel a little cooler.

Only once his head breaks through the surface does he feel able to look at Cameron. He frowns because Cameron's cheeks look as flushed as his own feel and their eyes only meet for a second before they both glance awkwardly away.

"Well, I'm in" he manages, when he's judged the silence to have gone on long enough.

"Well. Yes." Cameron clears his throat, then does the quick glance away. "Didn't know you were ticklish, Miliband."

Ed rolls his eyes, feeling the heat creep even higher in his cheeks. He hadn't particularly known himself. He wasn't often tickled as a child-only by David, whose childish fingers had scrabbled and poked at his ribs inexpertly. Ever since, he hasn't had much experience with it and so the sensation that had erupted when Cameron had run his fingers over his foot had been a shock, as had the giggling that had wracked his body, the feeling of wanting to crawl away but laughing too hard to speak.

"Apparently so" he manages, a little more shortly than he means to.

He bites his lip, staring down at the water, only to look up and find Cameron watching him. They both look away, only to look back and find themselves watching each other again.

This time, they watch each other for another moment before Ed feels a nervous giggle break out of his mouth. Cameron stares at him and then they both dissolve into laughter, glancing at each other only making the situation worse.

Cameron's still laughing when he leans forward and splashes at Ed with a grin. Ed jumps. "Cameron!"

Cameron winks. It sends a shiver through Ed, and he tells himself he only splashes back to push it away.

Cameron splashes him back and Ed backs away from him, scooping water with his hands over David's head.

Cameron splutters. "You-"

Ed doesn't remember ever engaging in a splash fight before. But there are giggles shaking his chest, even as he tries to remind himself that _this is Cameron._

But Cameron's blue eyes crease as he laughs when Ed splashes him furiously, but when Ed repeats the scooping trick, Cameron's eyes and brighten.

He-well-

He-

Tackles Ed.

That's the only way Ed can put it, because he-

Cameron's arms sort of _crash_ around his shoulders, knocking him back into the water.

Ed splutters and shoves him back and he-

Somehow, he forgets that this is _Cameron_ and where they are and that he's meant to hate-

He just pushes back and he-

In the moment before their chests touch, Ed just feels a strange, leaping sensation in his chest-a bizarrely _happy_ sensation-and it makes him laugh louder than he usually does, even as his arms fall around Cameron's shoulders.

And that's when he realises they're holding onto each other.

His arms are over Cameron's shoulders, and Cameron's-

Cameron's holding his sides, his fingers digging in a little, and-

Their chests are touching. Cameron's skin is slick and wet and warm.

God, he smells good, and if Ed just turned his face into David's neck-

He freezes.

He only freezes for a second-and then they both leap back at once, or rather, Ed pushes himself back, so busy stammering over the words "Th-sorry, th-sorry-" and in making sure that absolutely no part of his skin is touching Cameron's, that consequently, he falls back into the water, arms windmilling wildly.

Ed gasps and would swallow a mouthful of water, if not for David's hands fastening under his arms, pulling him gently upright. "Hey. It's all right, Miliband. Breathe-"

With a great deal of effort and his fingers digging into Cameron's hand for a moment, Ed just about manages to do so.

"Easy, Miliband-" Cameron's hand lingers on his back a second longer than it needs to. "Though to be fair, that's the kids' usual reaction after I've splashed them-"

If Ed wasn't so busy catching his breath, he'd drop his face back into his hands again. _Brilliant._ Cameron thinks he's a _child._

"It was an accident" is all he can summon, glancing up at Cameron, and far, far too aware of the slight pressure in his boxers, even as he feeds himself frantic, reassuring words. _Calm down-calm down, it can't mean anything-_

"Well." Cameron winks. "I wouldn't be surprised, Miliband. We're apparently at the stage of sharing clothes, according to Samantha-"

Ed nearly moans with embarrassment.

Cameron laughs, a little shakier than usual. "It's fine, Miliband-"

Ed cringes. "Stop _mentioning_ it, then!"

"I've mentioned it _once."_

"Well, _don't."_ Ed knows he sounds like a child, which irritates him even more.

Cameron winks. "It's all right" he says irritatingly, in his most Cameron-ish voice. "You know I generally don't _wear_ them to sleep."

He winks again.

Ed feels faint.

Oh God, please don't talk about not wearing anything.

He tries not to think about it, but-

Oh.

_Oh._

The rush of sensation below his waist is so sudden, Ed nearly gasps. He holds himself ramrod-still, willing Cameron not to look under the water.

God. Oh _God-_

"You can't be that much of a prude, Miliband." Cameron's voice is softly teasing, which makes the sensation worse.

"Um-" Ed can't think straight. He can't.

He takes a deep breath, desperately trying to focus on reciting something, anything, to calm himself down.

It's a coincidence.

A _coincidence._

It has to be-

"Did Nanth-cy have a good time?" He blurts it out desperately, hoping against hope that David doesn't notice how still he's gone.

"I think she did, rather. She certainly liked looking after your boys."

Something about that makes Ed wince.

Suddenly, he remembers asking a similar question, but somewhere completely different-walking next to Justine towards the Echo Arena in Liverpool, autumn sunshine bright on his face, aware the whole time of cameras clicking around him, their shoes clapping against the pavement too loudly, as they chatted the way they'd been told to do- _Ignore the cameras. Talk about the kids-that way if any of the dialogue gets picked up, it's relatable-_

Justine had been at his side, clad in a dark blue dress-Ed thought it was purple, but the papers kept insisting on referring to it as Tory blue, which Tom liked- _Dismisses partisanship, makes you look like you can take a joke at yourselves-_

Justine's hand had been shoved into his own, their fingers grasping too tight around each other. Ed's never been entirely sure about holding hands. He'd been trying to keep the conversation light, relatable, but something had made him-

Some nagging feeling had made him turn to her and ask _So do you think he had a nice time with you and Zia?_

Justine had spoken too quickly, almost before he finished the question. _I think he did. I think he did-_ Her words had been a little overbright and something about that had made Ed look away from her.

 _He said-my mother said to him_ , _she said_ -Justine's arm had jostled his a little, so he'd had to look at her. _Did you have a nice time-and he said-er-"Too many, too many of Mummy and Daddy's friends-"_

Ed had felt himself frown, thinking of Daniel's general lackadaisical air when he'd awkwardly kissed his forehead that morning, the way he'd turned towards Zia rather than Justine or Margaret with his arms up-and the other day, when they'd first arrived and they'd been carrying the boys towards the cameras. That had been suggested by Tom, even though no one else did it- _You need to look like a family. If you're carrying the boys when you arrive, it looks relatable, more endearing-have Justine carry the little one, that looks more maternal-_

They'd been pointing up at the buildings, Ed thinking a shot of the boys smiling would be good, look natural, as they walked towards the cameras, but when he'd peered at Daniel's face, Daniel's forehead had been crumpled, a little frown pulling his eyebrows down, even as Justine murmured to him, a hint of irritation creeping into her voice.

Daniel hadn't smiled-he'd just peered in a desultory manner at everything, as if his parents' company was something he'd just have to endure, staring at the cameras crossly. Ed had felt a stab of relief when he could put him down and descend into questions about the economy-Daniel had slithered loose too readily, Justine's hand wrapping a little too hard around his wrist, pulling it a little too high.

 _Is that what he said?_ he'd muttered then, walking towards the Echo Arena, glancing down and wondering whether he should have seen Daniel earlier, before they left, but he hadn't had time, and he'd thought Daniel was too little to understand, anyway.

Justine had still been talking, blithely unaware of Ed's ruminations. _And then, erm-but basically, he loved the-I had an amazing packet of chips, and the, erm- brown sauce and the tomato sauce-_

 _It might give him heart disease_. Ed had tried to make it sound light, amusing, though there had been an irked jab underneath at the idea that Justine saw fit to give Daniel a bag of chips when she wanted to shut him up when he remembered her face in Cornwall, when Ed had carried Daniel back from the beach, ice cream smeared around his mouth, already excitedly pulling out his phone to show her the pictures he'd taken proudly of their son eating his very first ice cream.

 _What the hell were you thinking?_ She'd half-snatched Daniel from him, her fingers digging in too tightly around their son's waist, and Daniel's face had crumpled, a shrill wail spilling out of his mouth. _He's not meant to touch ice cream, do you know what's in it? Are you trying to give him bloody heart disease-_

_I just thought it was a treat-_

Justine had bounced Daniel too hard, and Daniel had screamed louder, his feet kicking dangerously near to her pregnant stomach. _He doesn't need a treat, why do you think we brought the fucking banana bread, for God's sake-Daniel, stop crying, stop crying-_ Daniel's face had crumpled and he'd shrieked even louder, even as Ed said his name- _Daniel, Daniel-_ over and over, trying to make him see sense, until he was howling so loudly Ed was convinced he could hear it roaring inside his head.

Justine had clearly been remembering the same thing. _Oh, that's funny._ Her voice had been tighter, a blunted spike of irritation, and Ed had felt a small childish stab of something like triumph, looking away from her.

 _So, er-_ and Ed had noticed the cameras inching closer, and so had Justine, because suddenly her voice was carefully lighter, sweeter, with no hint of the irritation that had crept in, sharpening her words a second before. _No, I, I think he did, I think he had a lovely time._

Ed hadn't had much time to reflect on this before a camera had been there, and he'd been saying _Such a beautiful day_ , and then he'd had to step closer to Justine, force his smile brighter, and there hadn't been time to dwell on the fact that for a child who'd had a lovely time, Daniel hadn't laughed once all weekend.

"Hello?" Now, Ed blinks to find Cameron's hand waving in front of his eyes. "Miliband. Still here?"

"Oh. Sorry-just-thinking about things." He jerks his mind out of the past and notices Cameron's floating on his back. His stomach just breaks through the water, sending a strange thrill through Ed.

"Well, anyway-" Ed jerks himself out of his reverie to find Cameron watching him. "The boys had a good time, today. Jumping in and out of the pool a lot-"

"Oh, yeah. They, um-they like that, I think-"

Cameron sits up, looking at him. "You _think?"_ His voice sounds a bit like Nancy's earlier.

Ed swallows. And he's reminded again of that day in Liverpool, walking out towards the Echo Arena, Justine and he launching into their agreed topic of conversation, pretending to ignore the camera following them.

_What did you say?_

_So I went to-we've been to the exhibition, and I got them-I've got Daniel a little-erm, train-that's coming out of the dining room?_

_Yeah._ He'd been waving, interspersing his waves with Thank yous as the clapping echoed around them, so he'd almost missed Justine's next words.

_'Cos I thought that would appeal-because basically, he's really keen on his trains, apparently-_

Ed had only just caught the words, but had noted, almost without noticing himself doing it, that Zia or someone must have told her that.

He wonders if that should have rung any bells.

He blinks. Bells for what-?

He shakes his head a little, glancing at Cameron, then away.

"What?"

"Nothing. Juth-st-earlier-Nancy-"

"Yeah?"

"She asked me if I liked you." Ed tilts his head back to look at the ceiling, avoiding Cameron's eyes.

There's a moment of silence. Then, "Hmm. What did you say?"

Ed looks up, letting himself fall upright in the water. "What do you think?" he asks indignantly. "I've told you before."

Cameron smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "What about vice versa?"

"What?"

"Well." Cameron adopts a slightly different tone that doesn't fool Ed for a second. "Do you think _I_ like _you?"_

Ed swallows. "Is this your way of trying to tell me you don't?"

"Don't be stupid, Miliband." Cameron's voice is far too gentle for the words _Don't be stupid._ "You know I do."

Ed's cheeks are too warm. He looks away, then back.

"Not that I don't enjoy proving you wrong, Miliband, but-"

"I know you're going to mention it." Ed's voice cracks a little, and he curses the words immediately.

"Mention what?"

Ed rolls his eyes. He turns to look at Cameron, trying to look as exasperated as he possibly can. "The article. I know you're going to use it." He tries to arch his eyebrow a little, to look up the way Cameron does across the chamber at PMQs, dismissive and uncaring. "You might as well tell me." His voice is a little too high.

Cameron's eyes are very, very soft. He stays quiet for a few moments, as if letting Ed's words babble themselves into silence. Ed flushes, feeling stupid and young, and scowling because he feels stupid and young.

"You're not an idiot, Miliband." Cameron's voice is gentle, now. "You know we're going to use that article."

And that's all right. It _is._

Cameron's moved closer, his hand lying on the water next to Ed's. "But it's just a stupid article."

Ed laughs, but the sound quavers a little too much. "But it's useful for you, isn't it?"

Cameron's mouth twitches. "Not if you set fire to yourself, Miliband. My life would be vastly inferior if you set fire to yourself."

Ed doesn't know whether he wants to laugh or not. So he just stands there, shirtless in a pool, staring at Cameron, water clinging to his bare skin, his lips pressed tightly together until it bursts out very suddenly. "You're still happy about it."

"Ed" and Ed doesn't even notice Cameron's using his first name.

"You don't have to _lie_ -I know you're happy that-"

He thinks he's going to say something about the article, but what comes out is something very different. "That I'm like _this."_

The moment it's out of his mouth, Ed wants to sink. His eyes nearly squeeze themselves shut, and he's just said this to _Cameron._

There's a silence. Then, the water ripples and Ed, only just realising he's closed his eyes, opens them to see Cameron's moved towards him.

"I do like that you're like this." Cameron's voice is almost small and Ed's eyes catch his. They're so blue. His voice is quiet. "But not because-"

"Because what?" Ed's voice catches instead of sounding defiant. "Because you want to win?"

"Yes." Cameron's voice is low, feeling its' way through the words. "But-that's not why I like you being like this."

Ed doesn't think he asks why, but Cameron blinks as if he has.

"Well" he says. "I just like.....you, I suppose."

Ed's heartbeat is louder and louder in his ears. It doesn't sound like the other times Cameron has told him he likes him.

But it's the same.

It has to-

"Oh." His own voice is soft, breathy. Cameron's just looking at him.

Then, his hand comes out. Ed thinks for a moment that it looks as if it's shaking, but that's got to be imagination.

And then Cameron's hand touches his cheek.

Ed's breath stops in his throat. Cameron's hand is so warm. The place he's touching tingles, sending something through Ed's skin that makes him want to grin and shriek and stay very still at the same time, in case he breaks whatever's happening. He feels almost unbearably giddy.

"Your hair's dripping." Cameron's fingers are skating up his cheek. They leave a trail of heat behind them, something that sends Ed's thoughts spiralling.

"Yeah." His voice is tiny and his whole body seems to be willing Cameron to do something- _go on, go on, please, come on_ -and he's not even sure what-

Cameron's fingers settle all too briefly on Ed's cheek next to his ear. Their noses are almost touching. His chest is nearly pressing into Cameron's.

He _wants._ He wants something, his body almost aching, and he's not even sure-

Cameron's mouth parts a little, a soft flush of pink and Ed's eyes flicker to them, head tilting a little, his breath catching.

The door opens. Ed knows that before he even turns and looks, before he's even pushed himself away from Cameron, almost falling back into the water.

He backs away rapidly, even as George's eyes flicker between them, while Ed stares back, telling himself that George can't possibly have seen anything-

Because there was nothing to see!

Because there _can't_ have been, because this _wouldn't happen-_

 _How_ would this-

 _What_ wouldn't happen-

Ed's staring at George, his heart pounding. He doesn't look at Cameron. He thinks he might never look at Cameron again.

"Hi" George says-is this the first thing he's said? Ed can't be sure.

Cameron says something but right then is when Ed plunges his face into the water, letting himself sink forward, his cheeks burning, below his waist-

He can't even think about there.

His head breaks through the surface again to George's voice, louder than he's expecting."And the kids will be ready-Sam just said to get dried and dressed if you were swimming-"

"Fine." Cameron still sounds Cameron-ish. "Just give me a few minutes."

George isn't looking away. Ed wants to sink again.

"What?" It's Cameron who asks, but George doesn't even blink, just keeps looking, eyes steady and quiet, and Ed gulps.

"Nothing" he says, and then "Just be careful, all right?"

"Yeah" Cameron says, already heading for the steps. "We'll be quick."

Ed, lagging behind, finds George searching for his eyes now. Cheeks burning, he keeps his eyes carefully away from Cameron.

 _(Quick,_ Cameron said.)

 _(Careful_ , George said.)

Now, hovering, water lapping around his legs, Ed feels his mouth shape one of those words, though he's not sure which one.

"Yes" George says slowly, to whichever one it is, or maybe both at once. "That's what I meant."

* * *

 

 

_ Playlist _

_ Dear Prudence-The Beatles-" _ _Dear Prudence/Won't you come out to play?/Dear Prudence/Greet the brand new day/The sun is up, the sky is blue/It's beautiful, and so are you...Dear Prudence, let me see you smile/Dear Prudence, like a little child/The clouds will be a daisy chain/So let me see you smile again/Dear Prudence, won't you let me see you smile?"-so this to me, totally suits David's-and to an extent, Nancy's-interactions with Ed in this chapter. In very different ways, both of them are trying to open Ed up to the world a little, and bring him out of his shell._

 _ Kidz N' Stuff-Shura-" _ _Wish I knew right from the start/That we would never, ever work things out/Maybe I knew right from the start/And that's exactly how I broke us down/How can I not be, everything that you need?/How can I not be, everything that you need?"-so this reminds me a lot of the phone call with Tony, where he and David are discussing the similarities and differences in Tony and Gordon's relationship, and David and Ed's relationship. It reflects both Tony's regrets about what happened to his and Gordon's friendship and David's subconscious fears-and Tony's surreptitious warnings-about what could happen to his and Ed's relationship._

 _ Everywhere, Everything-This Century-" _ _Cause I hear your voice cut through the noise/And I wanna hear the words you say..Don't you see me standing in your sunrise/Soaking up your daylight/'Cause I know your smile will last for a while/But I need you more and more each day/'Cause I hear your voice cut through the noise"-so this is the pop song that's playing while Ed and Dave are having their conversation by the pool, but I also really liked these lyrics, because they reminded me of one of the things that attracts Ed to Dave quite strongly-Dave's understanding of the world, no matter how much Ed hates to admit it, is at times much better than Ed's own, but he's also better at translating the world for Ed, so they go well together._

 _ Clean-The Japanese House- _ _"From the movements you made/And the soft gaze you gave/You understood...And I knew it wouldn't last/But in the clean light you cast/I was good/I was good/All the years my soul, all the things you thought I did/This soulless kid was under all my skin/All the things I tried to say remain within/I'm cooling in the clay/I've always been moulded this way"-this just completely suits the scene in the end at the swimming pool, and the way Dave and Ed are clearly getting much closer to admitting that there's something between them, but aren't quite sure how to. But it also suits the way they understand each other in ways they might not expect, and how that's affecting their feelings for each other too. It also really suits Ed's memories of his conversation with Nick and his conversation with Nancy at the side of the pool-particularly the latter, if you consider it from Ed's point of view. It's a song that sums up a lot of different views in this chapter, actually._

 _ Prove You Wrong-He Is We-" _ _Tell me it's all right/Just for one night/Show you how to feel like/What it feels like/To be hugged, to be kissed/Yes, I can be that part of you..I can be that part of you/Let me be that part of you/I see that you're breaking/Your heart is breaking/Here's my hand if you'll take it..I can be that part of you/I'll try my best"-this is pretty self-explanatory. It just sums up the way David is trying to get through to Ed-even if he's not doing it consciously at this point-but in some ways, Ed is trying to get through to David too. But this and the tune just reminds me of how David and Ed feel at the moment-giddy over each other and not sure how to accept it or deal with it._

_She-Dodie_ _-"I'd never tell/No, I'd never say a word/And oh, it aches/But it feels oddly good to hurt..And she smells like lemongrass and sleep/She tastes like apple juice and peach/You would find her in a polaroid picture...Because she tastes like birthday cake and storytime and fall"-this is a recurring song, but I felt it just really fits the sort of quiet longing in this chapter between David and Ed, but also between Ed and the kind of family life David has-not in terms of financial privilege, but in the love and warmth of his family. It also fits what David is coming to mean to Ed._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The articles Ed were excerpts from a book by Martin Winter, whose house Ed stayed in while he was trying to become an MP- all anecdotes discussed are genuine: br />  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2914888/My-nine-half-weeks-Calamity-Ed-Political-kingmaker-reveals-aghast-bumbling-oddball-agreed-turn-MP-book-rock-Labour.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2924955/Ed-Miliband-s-masterstroke-beat-floods-Let-s-call-fleet-oil-lorries-vacuum-water.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2924842/Help-cried-Ed-m-locked-stuck-garden-ll-late-Gordon-excruciating-misadventures-Calamity-Ed-blistering-memoir-s-got-Labour-squirming.html  
> Tania is a leftie: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/conservative/3080460/David-Cameron-Thoroughly-modern-Dave-or-the-most-traditional-Tory-leader-ever.html  
> Samantha's family love hunting: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/12/16/exclusive-david-cameron-takes-shooting-decade-leading-conservative/  
> The punting story is real-Clare and Jade were friends at school & David was nearly expelled in a drugs bust: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/exclusive-cameron-did-smoke-cannabis-7242077.html Emily was expelled from Marlborough, after cannabis was found in her dorm in a drugs bust:http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/cameron-and-his-women-the-ladies-man-518998.html  
> Samantha does like to do sketches on Saturday mornings, designing clothes: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2016/dec/02/samantha-cameron-pursues-long-held-goal-with-fashion-label-launch  
> Ed's speech is genuine, as well as the encounter with Nick: https://www.shortlist.com/home/ed-miliband-talks-to-shortlist/64520 Oliver (O. Coppard) was the Sheffield Hallam Labour candidate-they attempted to unseat Nick, but failed. Torsten came up with the EdStone: https://order-order.com/2015/11/05/miliband-advisor-quizzed-about-edstone/ br />  
> Dave The Chameleon was a Labour Party broadcast in 2006, trying to present Cameron as a chameleon without principles, which Nancy loved to watch: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/personal-view/3624562/Cameron-is-a-true-blue-Tory-for-all-his-chameleon-traits.html  
> Blair & Cameron, are good friends. Ed was a Brownite-a member of the inner circle loyal to Brown in the feud between him & Blair. (Cameron was nicknamed the "Heir to Blair.")  
> The feud between Blair & Brown destroyed their close friendship & contributed to the destruction of New Labour. Leo and Euan are two of Blair's kids. Blair was derided as a "Red Tory" due to how much he tried to move Labour to being a centre-ground party, which angered Old Labour factions, (particularly Militant.)  
> Blair implied he didn't think Miliband was capable of winning the election in December 2014: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/dec/30/tony-blair-ed-miliband-general-election-labour  
> br />  
> Ivan loved being in water, which was part of his therapy: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/8143036/David-Cameron-makes-emotional-visit-to-Ivans-former-school.html  
> Nancy made their costumes for World Book Day -Elwen went as Robin Hood. Daniel went dressed in a skeleton costume. The Cameron children discuss it at 1:24: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pyECCsEQcMY  
> Sayers Croft is often used for school trips in the autumn of Year Six (last year of primary school), including Nancy's school. Stephie and Max are John Key's children.  
> The quotes about David shirtless are from Ed's 2013 conference speech, which referred to photos taken of David on holiday: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/10260698/David-Cameron-goes-topless-on-Polzeath-beach-in-Cornwall.html David's response is also genuine: https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/david-cameron-conservative-conference-prime-2330761  
> Ed talking at 16:21: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nCqrFmNBPQk  
> The books Nancy discusses are the Delirium series by Lauren Oliver. David and Ed both love swimming. David has disclosed that he wears nothing to bed: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2420955/BLACK-DOG-Naked-truth-David-Camerons-zingers.html br />  
> Ed's flashbacks to him & Justine walking towards the arena & having the boys filmed are genuine, as is the dialogue. You can see Ed and Justine walking towards the Echo Arena here:https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/688163096  
> & see their arrival with the boys, showing them to the cameras, here: http://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/127445812  
> Ed could do the Rubix Cube one-handed:https://www.theguardian.com/theguardian/2010/oct/02/simon-hoggart-week-ed-miliband  
> The account of Justine getting furious about Ed giving Daniel his first ice cream in Cornwall after Ed is also genuine-she wanted him to eat unsweetened banana bread:https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/ed-miliband-interview-244184


	22. Aspirational Aggravations, Enlightening  Eavesdropping And A Fulmination Of Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which midnight conversations over hot chocolate are good for Alastair, listening through bannisters can be the only way to find things out, Ed knows all the British Prime Ministers and Peter is rather world-weary of it all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long (it was Christmas, I was ill, etc. :)) But here it is! Anyway, I felt we needed to get a look at Dave and Ed through a few of the others' eyes so that's a lot of this chapter. But I hope you like it! :)  
> THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the comments, and especially for the people who've said they like all the research put into the fic! If you want to ask me anything about the fic, how I write it, etc., send me an ask on [Tumblr!](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask)  
> There are video clips again-and as always, you can find them at the end, especially the one of Ed's wedding, visit to Israel and the Marr/Newsnight interviews mentioned. (Bonus: one guest at Ed's wedding gave the following description of it: "A spectacularly soulless non-event." Ouch. Maybe they were one of David Miliband's friends.)  
> I've included a few of the links here, as the end notes were quite long. If there's any you can't access/read, send me an ask on Tumblr and I'll send you screenshots of the article or something :) :  
> Several of Ed's advisors stated the wedding was politically-motivated: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/a-good-reason-for-a-party-7l5gn2px9d2  
> Peter did nickname Daniel "Daniel Peter": https://www.thejc.com/culture/books/review-the-third-man-1.68489 Potato latkes are a Polish recipe Ed makes: http://www.radiotimes.com/news/2015-04-15/20-questions-with-ed-miliband/  
> Ed does need written plans to tell stories to his children: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/ed-miliband-all-about-my-father-mps2wbqnksx The Israel trip was an attempt at a PR move: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11991793/How-a-trip-to-Israel-helped-Ed-Miliband-rediscover-his-Judaism.html  
> https://www.spectator.co.uk/2015/04/how-ed-miliband-lost-the-jewish-vote/  
> Lola is the Osbornes' dog: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-25178010 Liberty does learn Mandarin: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/11883153/George-Osborne-promises-extra-cash-so-children-can-learn-Mandarin-like-his-daughter.html  
> Alastair & Peter helped create New Labour under Blair, which helped make the party electable by moving it to the centre ground. When Miliband became Labour leader, he declared that New Labour was "dead":https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/labour/8026708/Ed-Miliband-New-Labour-is-dead.html In the wars between "Blairites" (loyal to Blair, centre/right of the party) & "Brownites" (loyal to Brown, left of the party), Ed was a Brownite & David M was a Blairite. The reference to Robertson refers to Peter's forced resignation in 1998 after taking a loan from Geoffrey Robinson (under investigation by the DTI) to pay for his house:http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/241464.stm Peter-nicknamed the Prince of Darkness-was famously very comfortable in the company of the super-rich, as was Blair. He also has an unusual friendship with George Osborne:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-3287203/PETER-OBORNE-surprising-dangerous-love-un.html<  
> Bea and Will faced bullying at school over their dad's job: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/educationnews/10850746/Michael-Goves-children-are-traumatised-by-hate-aimed-at-their-father.html  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/news/uk/michael-goves-wife-my-children-suffer-hate-at-school-aimed-at-their-father-9417932.html  
> Miliband intended to bring in the mansion tax if he was PM, to fund the NHS-everyone who owned houses worth over £2million paying a tax. It was wildly unpopular: http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2015/01/09/poll-shows-labour-mps-dislike-mansion-tax_n_6442048.html  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/labour/11177527/Ed-Balls-has-just-turned-my-house-into-a-mansion.-Im-not-as-happy-about-it-as-you-might-think.html  
> Florence's chair is one of three chairs the Cameron children were given by the Obamas: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-17379345 There is a restaurant in Downing Street.  
> Catherine & Gautam were friends of Ed's at university, (C. O'Rawe & G. Mody). Liz was Liz Lloyd, Ed's first girlfriend, who he dated a couple of years after university:https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/political-poldark-how-ed-milibands-life-loves-and-university-circle-resemble-the-world-of-the-bbc-10189082.html Ed was & remains unusually uninterested/nervous of sex/romance, which got a brief mention here:https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/mar/07/ed-miliband-campaign-trail-interview-simon-hattenstone Ed's recitation is the Prime Ministers in chronological order.<  
> Enjoy, and leave me a comment if you like it! :)

_"I think they're both subconsciously obsessed with each other and I don't think that will ever go away."- Alice Oseman, speaking about characters in her novel Solitaire _

 

_""I'm not like that" she says, and Emily looks up at her, startled. "I mean, I'm not a cheater" Naomi clarifies, finds herself stupidly blushing at her own statement. "I mean, well, what happened before-it's not going to happen again, yeah? We were just drunk and, things got a little-well, I'm not saying that I don't want to be your friend, mind, I think you're quite nice , but that's as far as it goes, okay? So don't think that I'm like....Like I said, don't think it'll happen again.""-writing books through letters, majesdane (Skins fanfiction)_

 

_"Why canst thou not always be a good lass, Cathy?"_

_And she turned her face up to his, and laughed, and answered_

_"Why cannot you always be a good man, Father?" -Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte_

* * *

 

The Lisa Angel store is the sort of place that's a little pocket of warmth in the cold January air. The whiteness of the walls makes the shop seem a little bigger, David observes, and then flinches as his hand jumps a little.

"Oh, damn-" He glances up ruefully at Lisa, who gives him a grin, then at Craig, who gives him a far less pleasant one. "Can't see Nancy liking this."

"Nope" Craig points out cheerily. "Neither can I. That's the third one you've messed up."

"God knows what I'd do without you to keep track" David mutters.

Lisa leans over his shoulder. "Looks like you just sent the _N_ a little out of line-"

"We should have given her a one-letter name." David tugs his sleeves up a little, shrugs his suit off. He hadn't expected a visit to Norwich to require so much concentration.

"I'd throw it in after this one" Craig advises, giving the other employees a grin. "Lisa's the expert, she already offered twice-"

"One more go." David flashes Lisa a quick grin, turning back to his engraving. "Just-Nancy's only eleven once."

At least it means she only has one birthday party a year.

David tries not to wince, but guilt flares again in his chest. He fixes his eyes firmly on the five gold letters, trying not to let his hand shake this time.

The guilt's been jabbing away in his chest ever since the moment he scrambled out of the pool, his heart banging away in his chest, his skin far too slick with water, grabbing a towel as quickly as he could, determinedly not looking at Miliband.

He'd spent the rest of the evening trying not to look at Miliband-carefully guiding childrens' arms into sleeves, rubbing a towel too vigorously through his hair, and when the moment came when they had to speak, managing to look past Miliband's shoulder, their arms bumping together awkwardly.

It had been one of those times David wished he was still allowed to drive. Driving, watching the road stretch out underneath the wheels, always seemed to iron out whatever crease he'd been tangled in in his thoughts, his only focus being the smoothness of the steering wheel under his hands and the white flashes of arrows in the dark, pointing him ahead.

Having to settle for a driver these days, David had been relieved when Nancy asked if she could ride with him. He'd listened to her chatter, soaking in the little details that rang out in her little voice, about how much of the cake was left and where all her new books were going to go and what she could take to school tomorrow. David had slid an arm around her shoulder, pressing a kiss into her hair, breathing in the warm sweetness of his daughter.

When Nancy had fallen asleep against his shoulder, David had absorbed himself in watching her sleep, the way he used to when she was a tiny baby and her head nestled on his chest. Back then, he'd counted her breaths one by one, each one a tiny little reassurance that he held onto like a gift as he stroked her silky little cheek, almost too soft to believe, and pressed little kisses to her sweet-smelling downy little head.

He'd done much the same last night, with one important distinction. As Nancy slept, her head nestled into his shoulder, her hand had been curved around his; and David hadn't tensed every time her fingers fluttered, body rigid, eyes fixed on her hand, waiting for the sick warning to stab into his stomach, for the telltale sign of her fingers snapping open and closed, her hand jerking viciously of its' own accord-the signs he'd watched for every night of the first year of her life, until Nancy had started to burble the beginnings of words and had taken her first toddling steps, and David had finally dared to believe that no genetic trap lay in wait for her-the same way he'd watched Elwen and Florence, until finally he could watch them, and not dread a contortion of their face or a jerk of their limbs, an invisible sword falling over their little heads.

He'd been absorbed and he tried to remain so, all this morning, because every time he thinks about that guilt-

Well.

He remembers.

His fingers almost trembling against Miliband's cheek.

David doesn't know how he caught Miliband's hair between his fingers.

He isn't even sure what he said.

He remembers Miliband's voice, almost a breath. "Yeah." His eyes had been on David's mouth, and that had sent a thrill straight down to David's-

David's hand jerks again.

"Oh God-"

Craig snorts, peering over his shoulder. "Bloody hell. Nancy's going to _love_ that-"

Lisa laughs. David glares at Craig. "I could always get Graeme in here instead, you know."

"He's busy" Craig points out cheerfully. "Seeing off that idiot in the chicken costume."

"Yes, he had a subtle message-"

"Bet Miliband planted it."

Craig chuckles. David winces. _Don't say his-_

"Maybe Miliband was in the costume" he says lightly. Craig snorts again, but his eyes flicker in the briefest of warning looks- _let's rein it in in front of Lisa._

David doesn't mind. Any mention of Miliband isn't helping.

Because it was _odd._

David tries to breathe deeply, focus on the engraving, focus on the mantra he'd begun feeding himself through his mind as he rubbed a towel too rapidly over his shoulders so water still clung inside his shirt, leaving him damp and uncomfortable.

It was an accident. It was the atmosphere. It was just-

But-

Well.

How had that _happened?_ How had they got to the point where they-

Where they-

David almost laughs and tightens his hand around the tool.

Because it's so ludicrous that his mind rears away from the thought.

Because it has to be-

They just got too close. For a moment.

It's probably normal. It's probably happened to hundreds of people.

People who are-competing against each other-

But also happen to be-

Friendly.

It's probably just tension-and David had actually sat down with relief on his bed last night when that occurred to him, because of _course._

Of _course_ , that had been _it._

Or frustration.

Frustration at how-

How downright _irritating_ Miliband can be.

Yes. That.

That can cause you to move closer.

It can cause your hands to shake, your-

He's shouted at Miliband enough times before. Got _close_ to him enough times before.

It's probably just _that._ Coming out sideways.

Of course it is. David had almost felt faint with relief as he pondered it further into the night, pressing his thoughts into his pillow. Of course it is.

The thought of it being anything else, after all-

Guilt had still jabbed, though.

It had been his daughter's birthday party and the fact he'd even been-

Well, he shouldn't have. Been.

He just-shouldn't have.

It was that that had prompted him to hug Nancy even tighter this morning-her first few hours of being officially eleven years old-and exclaim over the homemade card decorated with Flo's trademark wobbly letters that had been presented to her by their younger children, while he'd dished out warm, buttery pancakes-a treat there's usually only time for on weekends. Even when Bea and Will had been standing there in the kitchen, Luke and Libbie tumbling in a few moments later, he'd still found the time to press a homemade blueberry muffin into each of the childrens' hands-"Here. Treat for birthdays"-with a kiss to each of their heads, and a ruffle to Luke's hair (who deems himself too grown up for such things), and a long hug for Nancy.

It hadn't eased the jabbing, but it had made him notice it less. And maybe that's all he can hope for for now.

But it can't hurt to keep a bit of distance from Miliband. It might even be good for them. Let them both focus. He's sure he's satisfied Lynton's wish for things to look a little less antagonistic-

(God, is that really what this all _started_ with?)

But-

Just a little distance.

That can't hurt anyone.

Even if the idea leaves David with a sudden heaviness in his chest, the thought of days without Miliband's odd little pronouncements on the world, his almost boyish geekiness lighting up his eyes when something strikes his interest, leaves him with a strange listless feeling, a drabness clinging to everything.

"David?"

David blinks. Looking up, he becomes aware that he's managed to sit in silence for several moments, the tool hanging aloft from his hands, manifestly not being used at all.

He only blinks for a moment. Then, he turns to Lisa with a smile. "I might have to call in your superior skills here-" He beams up at her. "Though, as it is-" He glances at his own, rather pathetic effort. "I don't think this is going to be her favourite present."

Lisa laughs, and then, on a whim, David asks, "I couldn't actually purchase a few, could I?"

Lisa's brow creases, but she nods, and David watches, telling himself firmly the idea that's just sprung to life in his brain doesn't go against keeping his distance from Miliband, as Lisa carefully engraves the five gold letters perfectly the right size and the right space, so he can fold his own effort into his hand and tuck it into his pocket, to examine in his own time and only as much as he wishes.

 

* * *

 

Peter's been interviewed a rather wearying number of times.

Emily Maitlis is rather refreshingly sharp, he reflects-if the setting for the interview is a _tad_ unimaginative. One would think politicians spent all their time in libraries.

But no matter. Peter has a job to do. And he's under no illusions about what little Eddie might expect from him, especially now the BBC and the public have got his precious mansion tax quivering in their sights.

Of course, Peter's under no illusions about what _Alastair_ wants. But he can handle Alastair.

"You're famously and often quoted for, um-" Emily's blonde hair hangs over her head as she glances down. Peter nods automatically, the old urge to put someone at ease rising up.

"Your comment, you're _-"intensely relaxed about the filthy rich as long as they pay their taxes.""_ Emily's dark eyes meet Peter's now. "What should those taxes now include? Should they include a mansion tax?"

Ah, here we go. Peter barely exhales, already preparing himself for the image of Alastair punching his fist through the TV screen. Though he's probably not there yet. Not at this point.

It's not as though Peter had been surprised that Ed wanted a mansion tax. It's not as though he's surprised Ed doesn't see the problems with it. He'd spent enough time during the dragging of those winter months in 2009 and early 2010, wandering over Hampstead Heath with Ed's earnest, nasal chatter filling the air next to him about all the things Ed thought would make the country better, while Peter listened to Ed talk himself closer and closer to the question, the question that had really been hovering in the air between them all along, that Ed had been skating around for years perhaps, without daring to close the circle, the word _leadership_ not daring to shape itself between his lips.

Justine had been there too, at his side, mousy hair brushing her shoulders in a rather shapeless bob, pushing a red buggy in front of them, which had bounced a little too roughly along the path. The baby, Daniel-they'd turned down, with grins, his offer of the name Peter, leaving Peter to jokingly christen him Daniel Peter, or DP (they'd chosen Ralph as a middle name, fairly predictably)-had been shoved into a little blue coat, invariably the wrong size-which, when Peter had commented on it, had led his parents to blink at the coat as though they'd never seen it before, which led Peter to speculate that it had been selected with haste rather than care.

Daniel had tended to peer out crossly from inside the hood, the coat swimming around him, eyes occasionally widening as though begging someone to rescue him. The buggy was always pushed on, however, and if Daniel was ever paid attention at all, it would only be for the moment it took for his mother to flick her scarf-Peter recalls one dreadful one, pale pink circular _splodges_ all over it, for goodness' sake-over her shoulder and peer desultorily over the hood at her son, before leaning back, shoulders almost slumping in relief, inspection complete, not looking at the baby a second longer than she had to.

Peter had watched this, watched the way Ed and Justine always stood a little apart from each other, the way their words to each other always circled around politics or law. He'd watched the way Justine's eyes flickered to Ed every time his words seemed to breathe near the question- _if I was-what I would do-,_ the way they'd widen the slightest bit.

Peter would notice it. And unease would stir in his chest.

Now, he leans forward just a little, meets Emily's eyes.

"Yes, I think we have-we don't have an efficient system of taxing property in Britain-"

As far as Ed's concerned, so far, so good.

"I don't happen to think that the mansion tax is the-is the right policy response to that."

At this point, Alastair will have punched the television.

"I think it's sort of- _crude,_ sort of short-termist-"

He watches Emily's eyes widen a little, no doubt picturing the headline. No doubt Ed's eyes will be widening for a rather different reason.

As the old saying goes, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"What we need is-as I think the Liberal Democrats are proposing-and that is the introduction of, er-the, er-bands that relate to different values of, er-poverty-"

Somewhere, Alastair will have crumpled another Coke can.

"Within the-ah-council tax system, and that's what I would like to see."

He lets his eyes flicker to the camera lens so that, momentarily, he'll hold the gaze of anyone watching. Including Alastair and Ed.

It'll look like an accident to most people.

Not to Alastair. Alastair knows better.

Alastair knows Peter rather too well.

"I mean, it'll take longer to introduce-that's true-" He's looking back at Emily, now. "But it'll be more effective and if, you know, and efficient in the longer term than simply-"

He pauses for a breath, lets the words percolate.

"Ah-clobbering people with a rather crude, short-term mansion-

"What sort of message-" Emily's already saying, but no matter. Peter's already said what he wanted.

"-do you think the mansion tax is sending out, then?"

Tread carefully, here.

"I don't think it's sending a _message-"_ Peter lets his eyes wander a little, as if he's only just letting the words come to him. "I, I just-"

He smiles just a little. "I want policy sort of _effectiveness-"_ Laughing a little. "I want sort of efficiency-ah, I think people are entitled to expect-" A little more serious now. "Ah-thought-through sophisticated responses to serious problems-"

Those words a little slower, to make the words not being said a little louder.

_Unlike Ed Miliband's mansion tax._

He wonders briefly if Ed's house would count as a mansion. He's fairly sure it would, which will crucify the policy a little more.

The last time he saw little Daniel Peter was in that house. Two, maybe three years ago. And only a glimpse of him, over a young woman's shoulder, being carried down the stairs to the basement. A flash of big blue-grey eyes, peering up at Peter with little recognition, before he was tidied swiftly away.

"You mentioned interventions-" Emily is saying, but Peter's work is done.

He can almost hear the nail being pounded through the coffin of the mansion tax. It's rather a lovely sound. The death of an ill-thought-out policy-Peter has _missed_ it.

Of course, he reflects ruefully, as he tilts his head to listen more closely to Emily's question-if Alastair has his way, the coffin the nail will be hammered into may well be Peter's own.

 

* * *

 

The flame takes a moment to catch, and then flickers into life, bending a little in the air.

Ed steps back. Justine's hand folds onto his arm and squeezes a little too tight. Ed steps back again, stands there a little awkwardly.

It is odd to try to remember someone you never knew.

Ed tries closing his eyes, hoping Justine will let him be silent for a few moments-though he's sure she will. After all, she'll want this venture to be as successful as much as he does.

Ed's stomach tightens uncomfortably because-

And this should be personal, should be just for them, and if he talks about it on LBC next week, if he's even now trying to think how best to tell this story in a dozen interviews-that doesn't make a difference. Does it?

The same conversation echoes in his mind-this one a ghost, a ghost from over a year ago, from when he'd first mentioned going to Yad Vashem, and Tom had clapped his hands and said _Great. We'll have to get Robinson along._

At his side, there's an impatient shifting and then Daniel's voice, sharp and querulous. "What's that for?"

Ed opens his eyes, not sure if he's relieved or not. "It's-um-"

Ed bites his lip, the question stirring something in his chest-a sudden memory of himself, a bit older than Daniel, staring up a photograph on a mantelpiece in a foreign living room, a man with glasses staring out, and his own too-little fingers jabbing. _Who's that?_

And it jabs again that he'll tell that story, too.

"It's a kind of remembrance, Daniel" Justine's telling Daniel, who ignores her. Ed clears his throat, trying to simplify the words a little.

"It's-um-well, it's a candle-"

Daniel looks unimpressed.

"And we-um-it'th-s to remember, th-sweetie-" Sam has already turned away and wandered over to the armchair. "Do you remember at Easter? When Mummy and I came back from our trip and told you about your great-grandfather?"

(He always feels vaguely stupid and overbright when he calls Justine _Mummy_ or _Sweetie_ , something about the words tasting too sugary, too sweet, when he tries to bend them around her.)

Daniel screws up his face a little, while Justine says "Sam-" and heading over, picks him up awkwardly under the arms, while Sam lets himself dangle, not doing anything to help her. "Yeah-"

"Well-it was for him. Because he died a long time ago, in the war. Remember?"

The little boy looks up at him, brow furrowed, before suddenly his voice, sharper than a five-year-old's should be, says "Oh, _that's_ why we got to eat upstairs."

Ed opens and closes his mouth, looking at Justine for help.

Ed won't let his mind touch it-he won't for a while, anyway-but the fact is, Daniel is right. Of course he is, even if Ed doesn't know it yet himself. Or won't let himself know it.

He might not let himself know, either, that he'd looked at his two sons, sitting across the table, and wondered quite what they were supposed to say to them. Daniel had been slumped down in his seat, his legs kicking back and forth, while Sam, perched in his higher chair, had just picked at his food, staring around the room, eyes always somewhere else when Ed tried to meet them.

He'd seized on words, pushing them out a little too loudly. _So what did you learn at school today? What did you think about it?_ and it had only been listening to Justine ask similar things, trying too hard to sound interested, to appear as if she was listening to Daniel's monosyllabic answers and Sam's silence that it was too easy to let him lapse into, that Ed had realised they were asking the same kind of questions he'd asked the children at the school he'd visited that morning. As if they were people he didn't quite know.

But Ed won't let himself know this yet and so when Daniel says "What else?", Ed misses Justine's confused look by a second with his own.

"Oh-um-" He hadn't thought through what they'd do afterwards-he'd somehow counted on the novelty of an hour upstairs with their parents being enough for Daniel and Sam.

It's Justine who says "Well, it's nearly bedtime-" with a glance at the clock, and Ed's shoulders slump in relief.

Daniel shrugs, and Ed, suddenly eager to rescue something of the evening, says "I can tell you a story, if you like." He wracks his brain frantically for a Booboo and Heehee story he hasn't told before, and wonders suddenly if he's got time to scribble out a new plan. He's got a vague presentiment that most people don't have to use plans to tell a child a story, but somehow, he's rarely entirely sure what they want in a story-what children are _supposed_ to want in a story.

Daniel shakes his head, pushing his lip out. "I want Zia to put me to bed."

Ed nearly flinches, at what feels like a small punch in the chest. And isn't sure whether or not he hates the relief that swoops a little in his stomach.

"Daniel-" Justine tries to adjust Sam on her hip, even as he leans away from her, eyes wandering around as though searching for an escape.

Ed won't be sure if it's the look on his son's face or the way Justine's holding him-too tightly, as if she's not sure what to do with him-or the fact he already knows he'll smooth over this story for next week and sculpt the moment into an anecdote, something relatable, human-but suddenly, he's remembering.

"You can come" he'd said to his mother, perched nervously on the edge of an armchair, clutching a mug of tea awkwardly between his hands. "I mean-you and Sarah haven't seen each other in years."

His mother had taken a moment to answer. "So what's happening with the boys?"

"Sorry?"

"The boys. Your boys. Daniel and Sam." Marion's dark eyes, so much like both her sons', had held his, then. "You're leaving them?"

Ed had swallowed, beginning to chatter nervously without really being sure why. "Um. Yeah. Well. It's only for three days-"

"Again." Marion had said it almost too quickly for Ed to catch, and then "And you're filming this."

"Um. Yes. By the BBC. It'll probably get some coverage."

Ed's mother had nodded, but hadn't looked away from him. Ed had swallowed, his mouth suddenly unaccountably dry.

"It'll be-I want to know where you come from" he'd said, feeling embarrassed even saying the words.

"I know that." She'd kept looking.

"And-" Ed had glanced down at his cup, suddenly finding the slight ripples fascinating. "Well. It'll give me a chance to share that. With people."

She'd taken a sip of tea. "With people who might vote for you."

 _We need the Jewish vote,_ Tom had said abruptly. _Look, we know it's sensitive, but the Jewish stuff is something we've got over Cameron._

 _We just need some memories at first._ Bob's voice, placating. _And then. Well. Obviously, it's up to you. But a trip would be..._

_We need something personal. A rebranding. Something more than fucking potato latkes._

Ed had stared at his mother. He'd opened his mouth and closed it again. "Well-"

Marion had nodded, as though he'd answered. "Would you be going-"

She'd stopped, and Ed had been about to ask; but then she'd given her head a slight shake and said, before he could speak, "So this'll be very public."

Ed had gulped. "That-that's not the way I'd-"

Marion had looked at him. Ed had fallen silent.

"Public" she'd said again, and then "I don't think so, Edward. Not this time."

Ed had bitten his lip, not sure why he was disappointed and hating himself for it. "You're-um. We'll be visiting Sarah." It had felt like a last-ditch attempt. "You could-we could visit."

Marion's eyes had been on his again. "Does Sarah know that this will be filmed?"

Ed had blinked. "Well. Yes. Yes, of course. Well-"

He'd hesitated. "I don't know if she-if she knows how many cameras will be-but she-I'm sure she'll be told-"

Marion had nodded quietly to herself.

"It'll be good" Ed had said, pressing valiantly on. "For-it'll help explain what we've been through-what-"

"What we've been through?" Marion's voice wouldn't have changed if you hadn't known her. But her eyes had flickered back to Ed's a little more sharply than usual.

Ed had swallowed. "I mean-what we've-you know, the family-"

He'd bitten his lip again, then. "It juth-st-helps, I suppose-"

"Right." Marion had nodded once, eyes not leaving his.

Ed had felt his palms, suddenly damp, wrap themselves tighter around the hot mug. "You-it is all right with you, isn't it?" he'd asked suddenly, needing her to say yes. "I mean-I am doing the right thing-"

He hadn't been sure, suddenly, if he was asking her or telling her.

Marion hadn't looked away, as they sat in armchairs across from each other. "Well. I trust you to do what you think is right, Edward."

That could be a blessing, Ed had thought.

Could be.

He shouldn't have had to tell himself it was more than _could be._

When they'd been there, walking up the steps to the kibbutz, the cameras had been clicking. Sarah, her face wreathed in welcome, had her arms out waiting, her voice cracked with joy around _Edward._ She'd stepped towards him trustingly, taking his and their word for it, on the cameras, the clicking, the personal wrapped with _Get that shot there._

 _I'm here._ He'd wrapped his arms around her carefully, pulled her into a hug, while she squeezed him tightly, as if she'd been waiting for him forever, since the last time she'd hugged him, when he was small, almost too small to remember. And the cameras had clicked away.

Ed had buried his face in her shoulder. Something cold and dark and sickening had gripped his insides, as he saw her trusting look again.

_We need the Jewish vote._

Ed's heart had twisted.

 _This is Justine_ , he'd managed to get out too quickly and then Sarah had been turning to Justine, embracing her, welcoming her, just because she was with Ed, the same way she would to every cameraman who was jostling for a photo of her to fill their headline. Because they were with Ed.

Ed had turned away, just for a moment, from Justine, who didn't seem to be having any such problems, and the cameramen, grabbing at every moment they could, and once again saw himself reflected in his mother's cousin's eyes, reflected and held in love and trust, and he'd felt sick.

Inside, he'd watched as she offered _hamantaschen-_ Ed was told later they were usually only made for Purim-around, her hospitality clearly soaking into the cameramen and when she'd insisted it was no trouble, Ed had had to look away, feeling a prickling at his eyes and a tight, hot, horrible feeling in his chest.

It had pulled again as they'd sat there, peering at a photo album, as the cameras crouched far too close, and Ed wanted to tell them to move back, but-

_Career suicide._

So he'd kept grinning, until his cheeks ached, holding himself tightly inside his jumper and kept his eyes down on the pages.

"And who's that?" Justine had said, pointing at a picture that she knew perfectly well was Ed, because Ed had showed it to her, because it was one his mother had sent to Sarah.

Sarah had looked at her delightedly and Ed had felt a sudden bolt of something-white-hot and grating, even as he'd said "I'm afraid that's me", keeping it light, keeping a smile.

"Is that _you?"_ Justine had said, sounding ridiculously surprised for looking at a photo of someone who could not have been more clearly Ed if his name had been scribbled across his forehead.

But Sarah had beamed; and the cameras had been there; and so he'd laughed, too loudly, probably, as Justine had, trying to grin, eyes darting from one camera to another, even as the sounds had pealed out of his throat, too loud, _A-ha-ha._

And the cameras had clicked away.

Now, standing in his living room, looking at the boys and Justine, Ed remembers, and strangely, remembers something else, too, the words that had latched in his head as he'd laughed too loudly on that couch in that room in front of those cameras, wishing he could take Sarah out of the kibbutz, out of her home, until it was quiet and unphotographed and hers' again, or that he could throw the cameras out, scrubbing their photos out of existence.

They'd been in his mother's voice, vaguely, and Ed had tried to hold onto them, even as they echoed amongst the laughter.

_It's all about the politics, Edward._

Now, he looks at Daniel's bottom lip sticking out, and his blue eyes, narrowed in his little face, contorted, Ed too vaguely notices, in a way no five-year-old's should be, and Justine, holding Sam awkwardly against her hip and looking at Ed but not seeing him, and Sam, under his mess of dark curls, dark eyes fixed on Ed for the first time and seeing him all too well.

"Ed?" Justine says.

_The moment this will be sculpted into._

_It's all about the politics, Edward._

Ed turns away. "All right" he says, or thinks he says, as he turns towards the doorway, but the words make almost no sound, and as Ed turns to the hallway to get Zia to take the children to bed, his chest wrapped in that hot, tight, horrible feeling again, he wonders if he really said anything to them at all.

 

* * *

 

Libbie's forehead presses against the bannisters, Nancy's hair tickling her neck. Bea crouches below them, her freckled nose pushing through the spokes, while Elwen presses his periscope to his eye.

Nancy whacks it away. "You'll drop it. "

Elwen sticks out his tongue, and Libbie turns to see Luke, several steps above them, rolling his eyes, staring at his phone. "Yeah. The periscope just _makes_ it...."

Elwen turns the tongue-sticking on him and Will reaches up for the phone. Luke swats him away and Bea turns on her brother, chestnut hair bouncing around her face. "Will you shut up?"

He sticks his tongue out at her. _"You_ shut up-"

"Shhh-" Libbie puts a hand on Bea's arm, and it's Nancy who nestles against her shoulder. Bea looks indignant, but complies with a huff, shuffling closer to the bannisters to hear. Meanwhile, Florence, scrambling about at the top of the stairs, decides the place she wants to be most in the world at this present moment is in Luke's lap, where she plonks herself. Libbie used to do the same, until Luke decided they were both too big for this and started refusing to hold her hand as they walked to school.

Libbie feels Nancy's leg press itself firmly against her own as she listens, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. If it was Dad who caught them, they probably wouldn't be told off at all-Libbie remembers whenever she and Luke were caught listening at doors when they were little, Dad sweeping her up in his arms, letting her scramble onto his shoulders. But leaving them to the birthday tea Nancy had been allowed to have Libbie, Bea, Luke and Will round for, Dad and Uncle Michael had headed downstairs with Uncle David to talk over some details, and only Uncle David has come back up so far, which the children only discovered when, bored with _Tangled_ (one of the few exceptions Florence would accept to _Frozen_ ), they'd decided to see exactly what was going on downstairs, only to realise there was a meeting going on.

And so in there with Mr Crosby and Craig are Uncle David, Auntie Sam and Auntie Sarah.

"Did you see Clegg on Marr?" The voice is an Australian drawl and Nancy nudges Bea, who's still scowling a little, in the cheek. "Mr Crosby."

"The Aussie guy?"

"Yeah."

"No, we-"

"We didn't get the chance to-" Auntie Sam's voice. "We were doing Nancy's-"

"Nancy's party."

"Well, you didn't miss much-"

"It was just more of the whole heart-and-head thing-" Craig.

"Yeah, more of an aim for the centre-ground. But he's already junked that with tuition fees. He'll probably lose more seats than-more than half-"

"Yeah, it was more of the head and heart-but he's clearly aiming for a coalition-"

The younger boys glance at each other and shrug, while Libbie, considering it her duty to inform them, remarks "The type of thing Uncle David and Nick Clegg have now. Where they work together."

"Uncle Nick" Florence declares, louder. "They're talking 'bout Uncle Nick. Uncle Nick did _bedside_ cabinet-"

 _"Shhhh-"_ They all turn to her at once, Elwen scrambling up and pushing a hand over her mouth. Flo wriggles furiously. Luke, who, as the eldest and most reluctant of the bunch, has been issued with the task of guarding Flo, shushes her, squeezing her sides gently.

"Well, Clegg's the one who's got the most to lose" Mr Crosby's saying-Libbie's met him a couple of times and wasn't overly impressed that he seemed a little too astonished that she knew some Mandarin-"And he clearly knows it, which is why he's sitting on the centre about which side he'll go for in a coalition-"

"But he could still go for Labour." That's Auntie Sam.

A snort. "Yeah, well. Hardly be a surprise." Auntie Sarah.

"Well, yeah. But it's less likely. Labour need to gain more seats than we do to have even a chance of forming the government-"

"Seats are constituencies, right?" Elwen says, in an undertone. Nancy nods impatiently, copying Libbie and hooking her hair behind her ears as though that'll improve her hearing.

"And under Miliband, that's pretty fucking unlikely."

"That's the bad word" announces Flo, who's had her ears covered a second too late.

No one has time to confirm this, as right then, a little volley of barks emanates from the landing above, and Luke spins round. "Oh, sh-Lola! Lola, _shh-"_

Libbie scrambles upright, nearly stamping her foot and only refraining by remembering the fact she'd probably kick one of her friends in the face. "Lola, down! _Down!"_

The white poodle, gambolling happily about at the end of the corridor, turns and bolts through the warren-like maze that are the upstairs flats of Downing Street.

Flo pouts, trying to twist towards the dog, but Luke holds her still, even as Libbie sits back down, suddenly remembering yesterday, in the pool.

She's seen Ed Miliband before, lots of times. But she'd noticed the way his fingers closed around hers' too tightly yesterday, and the way his eyes flickered back and forth, as though searching for a safe place to look.

She and Bea had noticed Nancy noticing too, without either of them having to say it, but then the three of them rarely have to say things.

"Anyway-" A mug's clinking on the table. "Speaking of Clegg, we need a decision."

"A decision-"

"Yeah. You know what on."

"Careful, Flo-" Will shifts suddenly, as Flo wriggles down next to him, with the result that her elbow digs sharply into Libbie's ribs.

"What if Lola eats Larry?"

"Shhh!"

"But _what if Lola eats Larry-"_

"SHHHH!" The storm of consequential shushing drowns out Mr Crosby's next few words.

"She won't" Libbie manages to hiss into Flo's ear, pulling her between her and Nancy. "Dogs don't eat cats."

"And Larry's too fast-" Nancy breaks her uncharacteristic silence to issue this comfort, before turning firmly back to the bannisters, where they catch Mr Crosby's next few words.

"-on his seat."

"Hopefully not that kind of seat-"

Luke snorts.

"It's not a joke, David-"

"I know it isn't. And I'll have an answer for you-"

"You said that three months ago-"

"Clegg is bloody spineless-" That's Auntie Sarah.

"What the heck are they talking about?" Elwen leans closer to the bannisters, his cheek wedged against Nancy's.

"Seats" Flo announces, still taking no trouble to keep her voice down. "I want _my_ seat. My seat with my name on."

With that, before anyone can quieten her, she trots off up the stairs to fetch it.

"-need a decision on this" Mr Crosby's saying.

There's a pause. Then, "I'll sleep on it."

"Why don't you sleep on the bloody election as well-"

"I'll sleep on it."

Uncle David doesn't shout, but his voice is firm and low. Next to her, Libbie feels Nancy straighten a little, and watches her eyes brighten, a look of pride touching her face.

Bea turns round, wrapping her arms around her knees. "What's he sleeping on?"

Nancy shrugs. "Something about Uncle Nick. Can you see the-"

"I can't see the door." Bea scrambles up to lean dangerously over the bannisters, peering at the door, beyond which the meeting is taking place.

"You can't see because you can't read-" mutters Will, heading into dangerous territory. "Because you're _stupid."_

 _"Bea-"_ Libbie dives too late, and Nancy spins as Bea launches herself up the stairs. Her hand fastens around her brother's leg and holds him there, even as he giggles, trying to pull away.

 _"Bea-"_ Libbie tries to pull at her friend's shoulders, but it makes no difference as Bea, mouth free and vicious, sinks her teeth into her brother's leg.

Will screams. Fortunately for the children, Elwen's next to him to muffle the sound and at the same exact moment, the kettle begins to boil loudly. Bea holds on viciously, her green eyes bright with fury, until Libbie loosens her mouth and Nancy pulls her back, hissing "Shut _up_ , William-"

_"You bit me-"_

"Serves you right, _dickhead-"_ hisses Bea, her pretty little face contorted, the way both Libbie and Nancy have seen many times in their lives.

"That's a bad word-" Elwen remarks, turning back to the bannisters as Will rubs his leg, which has been left with the imprint of teethmarks and what looks like spots of blood rising, courtesy of Bea's sharp teeth.

"That's _ableist,_ you _idiot"_ Libbie snaps at Will, while Nancy grips Bea's hand, turning it over and tracing her palm, reading her fortune, the way she does whenever the children do homework together and Bea, the only one with extra reading, is reluctant and therefore, snippy. Libbie doesn't believe in fortunes, but is happy to go along with it.

Behind them, Flo is trotting back down the stairs, dragging what looks like a small booster seat behind her. "My _seat"_ she announces triumphantly, curtailing any further fighting.

She places it on the steps above them and settles herself in it triumphantly. Libbie gets a glimpse of the name FLORENCE printed across the back.

"One of the ones Mr Obama gave us" Nancy says, off Libbie's look.

"What about the children?"

It's Auntie Sam's voice and the word _children_ pulls all their attention round. Nancy hushes her sister. Even Will stops sniffling.

"Well." There's a pause, then "Remember what we talked about?"

"No." Auntie Sam's voice is brittle, sharper in Liberty's ears. Auntie Sarah says something, too low for them to hear.

Libbie has a sudden recollection of being small, crouched on the floor, crawling with Nancy and Bea, Gita picking one or other of them up every moment or so and swinging them round, and Auntie Sam sitting on the couch, holding Ivan on one knee, supporting his head like a baby. She'd had the phone pressed to her ear, saying something about _school_ and _Ivan._ Her voice had been sharp and brittle, with Auntie Sarah and Mummy sitting on either side of her, Auntie Sarah's hand on her arm, but her finger stroked Ivan's cheek as gently as a baby's.

Now, Mr Crosby's saying "Well, we talked about you doing more media-"

"I'm happy to do that" Auntie Sam's saying. "I'm happy, as long as you understand that it'll be what I think-"

"What you think-"

"What I think that might not necessarily-necessarily always be what the party thinks, so if you're OK with-"

"What the party thinks-"

"If you're OK with that, that's fine, I'm happy to-but you do have to be OK with that."

There's a short silence. Then, Craig's voice. "Well. We can sort of-fine-tune the details later--"

Liberty grins, remembering Auntie Sam helping her sew her suffragette outfit. _This'll shut your dad up_ , she'd said amiably, which had been entirely Liberty's intention.

"What about the children?"

Nancy reaches up to stroke Flo's hand.

"What about the-"

"What about the children?" That's Uncle David and Auntie Sarah, at once.

"Miliband's are going to be filmed. In fact, he's had them filmed at conferences, a few times."

_"Conferences?"_

"Yeah, I thought that was a bit OTT myself. But, the fact remains, it's an election-"

"So what are you saying?" Auntie Sam.

"Well." A pause, then-"How much-how much do you want the kids involved, is what I'm saying-"

There's a clatter or what sounds like a clatter.

Elwen frowns. "Does that mean us-"

"They're not _being-"_

"Sam and I don't want the kids involved-" Uncle David's voice is placating, calming, and for some reason, Libbie pictures him placing a comforting hand on Auntie Sam's arm. She won't realise it now, but she's remembering another time, when she was much smaller, her feet kicking back and forth under the table, while Uncle David held forkfuls of food to her mouth.

"No" she'd said, her giggles breaking high from her mouth. "No, no, no-"

Uncle David's hand had been tickling under her chin, while Nancy waved her own spoon about next to her. "Open wide-"

"No-"

"I'll put one of them in your tummy-"

Nancy had been burbling next to her. Uncle David had been smiling over his shoulder at Ivan, who was propped on Auntie Sam's lap, tube running under his shirt, and he'd leaned back to touch his wife's arm gently. Liberty had been impressed when she was held up to him earlier, allowed to take a look at the cut in his tummy, which got Ivan's food in more quickly, Uncle David explained.

"I can't have one of those in my _tummy-"_

"You can. You can-"

Liberty had been giggling, her knees drawn up in her seat, while Ivan yawned.

"Look-" A chair screeches back. "I know you want to protect the kids. But this is a step up from last time."

"What are you suggesting, Lynton?" Auntie Sam's voice is colder now. Nancy's cheek presses into the bannisters, and Bea, seemingly forgetting her earlier annoyance, and Libbie exchange glances, before Libbie hoicks her chin into Nancy's shoulder.

There's a moment of silence, then Craig's voice. "We were thinking. One clip. At home with the kids-"

Something bangs down on the table. _"No."_

"Sam-" That's Auntie Sarah, and Libbie hears a chair screech back.

"No-we agreed this. We agreed, Dave-they won't be filmed. Not after last time-"

"You two will be totally in control of-"

"No. No _way."_

"This isn't-"

"It's not like last time-"

"So we don't need to film our kids, do we?"

"It isn't the kids' choice to be in the public eye" Uncle David says, the first time he's spoken in several minutes. "We don't want them to have their faces out there-"

"For God's sake-"

"Look, we don't have to-we can work round it-" Craig's saying, another chair screeching back. "We don't have to show the kids' faces."

"You don't have to _show them_ at all."

Auntie Sarah's voice breaks in-"What do you mean, you wouldn't show their-"

"We could just use shots of the backs of their heads. We could use pixelations-"

"Oh, fantastic." Auntie Sam's voice cuts the air in two. "They can all walk around with giant blobs in front of their faces."

Elwen collapses into giggles, clearly taken with the image, as does Will next to him. _"Blobs-"_

Liberty scrabbles to slap a hand over his mouth, but it's Nancy who says, voice lower, "Shut up, El."

"Sam-" Uncle David's voice is lower too. "Calm down-"

"Don't tell me to calm down."

There's a silence, then "I don't want the kids having to speak for us on camera." Uncle David's voice coincides with a mug being banged down on the counter and Auntie Sarah's voice, low and murmuring, too quiet to hear.

"It feels exploitative. I won't do that to them."

There's a snort. "Oh, for God's-"

"Hey." It's Craig. "Look. We can-" Another chair. "It's just a point for consideration, Sam. We don't have to decide anything, though. Not tonight."

"No." It's Auntie Sam's voice. "We don't _have_ to decide anything tonight."

Next to Libbie, Nancy frowns.

There's another silence, then Auntie Sam's voice, low, steady. "I can tell you right now if we do anything, it's only if the kids are fine with it."

"Oh, for-"

"No-" Uncle David's voice is firm. "Really. If anything is done, it isn't being done if they're not happy with it."

There's another silence. Then, "You know it'll look strange, though. If the Milibands are doing it-"

"Yeah, well. The Milibands."

Liberty suddenly remembers something, and isn't quite sure why it pops into her head. She remembers scrambling down from the dinner table, her bare feet shocked by the cool of the wooden floor and toddling her way up to Auntie Sam, who was holding Ivan. "Ivan, kissy-"

"Careful, Libbie-" Dad had been holding her suddenly, round the waist. "Ivan's ill, remember. Be gentle-"

"It's all right-" Uncle David had crouched down next to her, taking her gently from Dad. "Here, Libbie-"

Auntie Sam had moved Ivan round towards her, speaking quietly to him. "Libbie, Ivan. Libbie's come to give you a cuddle-"

Ivan's eyes had stared past her. Libbie had thought how nice they looked, big and dark, and his face soft and white around them like cream, with lovely thick dark hair, that she'd once tried to stroke before Dad had stopped her and told her she had to be gentle.

"Ive-Ive-" Nancy, who'd been at a burbling stage, had toddled up next to her, touching her brother's hand. "Ive-Ive-" and Luke, bigger, had stumbled over as well, with Dad taking him carefully round the waist. "Careful, Luke-"

Libbie had reached out very carefully. _"Ivan-"_ She'd tapped his forehead once very gently, like Uncle David had taught her, and then twice more, and waited for his eyes to move, to tell Ivan someone was there. Then, carefully, she'd pressed her mouth to Ivan's cheek. "Big kiss, Ivan" she'd said, touching his hair and delighted to find it was as soft as it looked.

Ivan didn't make a noise, but his eyes moved to her for a minute and then moved away. Dad had kissed her cheek, hard. "Good girl-"

Liberty is interrupted in this memory by the sound of footsteps heading towards the stairs.

Nancy freezes. "Come on-"

It's Luke, surprisingly, who takes the initiative to seize Florence under her arms and swing her over his shoulder. Bea, Nancy and Libbie scramble up the stairs together, legs nearly tangling in their haste, whilst Elwen manages to grab Florence's chair, tugging it clumsily behind him and nearly tripping up Will. It is in this distinctly unsubtle manner that the seven children manage to stumble down the corridor towards the den, where they are greeted by a volley of barks and promptly tumble into the room, with Florence squealing, the seat falling, and Lola barking excitedly, thrilled at this new game of racing down the corridors, tripping all of them up and making them profoundly grateful for the liberal beanbags which scatter the room, ensuring each child a safe landing.

 

* * *

 

It is odd, George muses, as he glances at Michael across the table, sometimes, not to be the three of them.

He and David alone is never a problem; and nor are David and Michael alone-in fact, they go back further than David and George do.

It's not that George doesn't regard himself and Michael as close-they are, undoubtedly, even outside of David's friendship. It's just that, through a strange combination of circumstances, when they're together, it's usually with David-they're rarely just _together._

But they both know David well as a result, as Michael is about to prove.

"David isn't going to take Clegg's seat, is he?" Michael says without preamble, unwittingly proving George's point.

George, acknowledging this with a rueful nod, glances up at Michael, who's fastidiously polishing his glasses. "No" he says bluntly, leaning back in his chair and closing his menu. "Of course he isn't. He won't tell us that, though. Yet."

Michael takes a careful sip of water. "It was always a danger, though. Him getting close to Clegg."

And other people.

"Well, taking Clegg's seat was always going to be a challenge" George muses, mainly to distract his thoughts from that worrying _other people_ tangent. "Though Labour are hitting him up there and the last thing we want is them gifted with another seat."

Michael dabs at his lips with a corner of his napkin. George watches with some amusement. "True. Though Clegg's seat's only one, isn't it?"

"Of course. We're going to be pushing for as many as we can down south." George hesitates, but Michael can be trusted. "Though Lynton reckons it's not us that'll wipe Labour out north of the border."

Michael looks up over his glasses then, his eyes glittering. "The SNP?"

George grins. "Never thought I'd be grateful for nationalism."

Michael snorts. George takes a moment to absorb the relative peace of the restaurant around them.

The restaurant is one of Downing Street's secrets that most people wouldn't believe existed, tucked away in the hidden depths of the building. It's anything but dark, the gentle lighting often doing a good job of waking George up as he waits, grumpy and a little dishevelled, for kippers in anticipation of a morning meeting.

"Danny's seat's north of the border, isn't it?"

George glances up, knowing that Michael knows this perfectly well. "Yep. Inverness."

Michael seems to be taking a long time to adjust his glasses, in a manner that could almost remind George of someone else he's just been speaking to. "So-I surmise his seat is in the same condition."

"Yep." George takes a sip of wine a little too quickly.

"That doesn't bother you?" Michael glances up at him. "That Danny'll-"

George knows better than to deny it. So he settles for merely looking Michael straight in the eye. "This is what happens" he says, sounding more immovable than perhaps he means to. "It'd be stupid to wish it didn't if that gave them a majority." There's no chance, of course, that the Lib Dems will get a majority, but that doesn't matter. Even a chance-even no chance-has to be treated as a possibility, these days.

Michael just watches him for a moment, and then "Did you speak to him?"

He doesn't mean Danny.

George allows himself the smallest of grins. "Yeah."

"George." The voice had been soft, as carefully-enunciated as ever on the other end of the phone. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"Heard you've done us rather a good turn on _Newsnight_ , Peter."

"Ah. So things haven't remained as-private-as I'd hoped."

"It seems not. Any chance you'd tell me what prompted it?"

"Well, I'm sure if you can wait for my interview, you'll see for yourself, Chancellor."

"I was thinking more of your motivation."

"Ah-" Peter is one of the few people in the world who would use _"Ah"_ non-ironically. "Was that not clear?"

"Miliband giving you too much of a break with New Labour, then?"

"I'm sure you know it's wildly against my moral code to brief against my leader."

George had almost snorted, then. Almost.

"Well" he'd said, careful himself. "Given your leader was accepting invitations from rather high places over the weekend, maybe he's not planning to break with all the traditions of New Labour after all."

There had been a moment of silence. It's not often that Peter Mandelson is prone to moments of silence. Not unintentional ones, anyway.

"And what-" The Prince of Darkness's voice murmured in his ear. "Do you mean by that?"

Now, George relays the conversation to Michael.

"Are you sure you should have told him?"

"Same way Theresa's sure she shouldn't have let Philip buy that iPad." They grin for a moment before George says, more seriously "If anything came out, it would harm Miliband as much as David. Far more, probably. Why do you think David told Blair?" George takes a bite of the bread that arrived midway through the conversation. "They've got something on us-we've got more on them."

"I'd really rather they missed out on something on us, to be honest" grumbles Michael, carefully tearing a piece of bread himself.

"Well, it'll create more ructions between Miliband and his team" George opines with some satisfaction, leaning back in his seat. "Which can only be a good thing."

Michael frowns. "Are you bothered?"

"About what?"

"Miliband coming to Chequers."

George takes a moment to answer, spreading his knife in slow, careful strokes over his bread. "I'm not bothered by him being there" he says slowly, when he can no longer pretend to find the butter fascinating. "The only way it's a problem is if-it starts impairing either of their judgement."

Michael watches him over his glasses. "You're worried."

George doesn't deny it. He picks up his piece of bread, crumbling it between his fingers. "There was this-" He sighs, wondering how best to put it into words.

"Moment" he eventually settles on, glancing up at Michael and feeling the door bang open again under his palm, the sudden assault of chlorine in his nostrils, as his eyes fell on the blue water and-

"They were-"

Michael stares at him. "Well?" he demands impatiently, when George doesn't finish.

"I don't know." George sighs, glances again at the bread, which he's resumed crumbling. "That's the thing. They weren't _doing_ anything. They were just-"

He glances up, suddenly rather desperate to make Michael understand. "Very _close_ -and-it didn't-"

Michael's watching him apprehensively, eyes seeming larger than usual behind his glasses in the soft light.

"There was just-something. They were-closer than they should be" says George, suddenly running out of steam. "That's all-it wasn't-"

Maybe he's tired of trying to make Michael understand when he doesn't even really understand himself.

"It was just-odd" he says slowly. "That's all-it was like-" He looks up again. "When something just feels-wrong. Do you know what I mean?"

Michael's brow crinkles. "I suppose so. When things just don't seem to-click-"

"The way they should do. Exactly." George looks back at the bread. "Like Frances said."

"About what?"

"About things not clicking." George takes a bite of bread. "But not about David and Ed-David and Miliband. She meant Miliband's kids."

It had been an all-too-brief moment, sitting at the table, watching the children kick their legs, stuffing sweet treats into their mouths. George's eyes had hovered on Daniel and Sam, noting the way Miliband seemed reluctant to touch them, holding their wrists instead of their hands.

He'd glanced up to see Frances, watching him watch them.

"Yeah" she'd said, exactly as if he'd spoken to her. "Weird, isn't it?"

"Them?" George had looked again, this time noting the way Daniel leaned away from his father so Miliband's hands brushed his shoulders a little too late. "Well-it doesn't seem to-"

"I know." Frances had sighed, barely audibly, glancing up at Miliband and the boys under her eyelashes. "I should have-I suppose I should have known. With Justine." A pause, then "For Justine, really."

That had made George look up. "For-"

"Yes." Frances had just shaken her head suddenly, her eyes still on the boys. "It's just-something about her doesn't fit with-"

George had frowned, seized with a sudden knowing, peripheral but strong. (Unbeknownst to him, if he ever mentioned it to Samantha, she'd have known the feeling immediately.) "You didn't go to their wedding, did you?"

"No." Frances had glanced at him briefly, then back at the boys. "Hag do, though." George had snorted. "And the afterparty. And that was weird. They-"

"What?"

Frances had taken a moment to answer. "They don't fit together. They're not like-" She'd sighed suddenly. "You know when the kids had jigsaw puzzles and they used to shove two pieces that didn't fit into each other?"

"Yeah-"

"Well, they're not like that. They're like two pieces that are just lying next to each other, with absolutely nothing between them. Flat and plain. Like wheat." Frances had shaken her head suddenly. "Do you know what they said about their honeymoon at that party? They were going to Seville because it had _political significance."_

George had almost choked on his tea. "You're joking" he'd said, once he could breathe again.

"No" Frances had said, an odd shadow touching her face. "No, no, I'm not."

There'd been a short silence, then "He came home early, too. Ed. He came home a day early. They came back separately."

George, watching Miliband sit next to his sons and not look at them once, had felt something uneasy stir in his chest.

"I thought you liked Justine" he'd burst out suddenly, a little more quickly than he'd meant to.

"I do" Frances had said quietly, watching them from under her eyelashes. "That's what makes it so-"

She'd shrugged. "Maybe I should have-"

She hadn't finished the sentence. And George had watched her watch Miliband, and watched Miliband and his sons not watch each other.

Now, he relates this exchange to Michael. "Do you know what the first thing Miliband said was?" he asks, tearing into another piece of bread. "On their wedding day?"

"No. What?"

 _""Why didn't you wave?"_ At the cameras. That was the first thing he said to her. After they were married. _"Why didn't you wave?""_

Michael's face contorts a little. "Well, let's face it. It's not as though we didn't know that the whole thing was politically motivated. Some of his strategists have as good as _admitted_ it-new definition of _marriage of convenience-"_

"Well, yeah. But something about it-" George shakes his head, unable to convey the odd feeling of unease that had twisted in his stomach, hearing those words as he watched Miliband. "Something about it. Didn't _fit-"_

"Like with David and Miliband?"

There's a moment of silence.

Then, "No" George says slowly. _"They_ fit too well."

He trails off with his eyes on Michael's face. "I suppose-"

He shakes his head. "It's just-strange."

"Well" Michael says, after a long moment. "Maybe we should just....keep an eye on things."

George glances down at the bread he's annihilating between his hands. "Yes" he says. "I suppose so."

Their eyes meet and look away, with Michael dwelling on the gap that always stretches a little too wide between Miliband and his wife, and George dwelling on that moment when the gap between David and Ed seemed a little too narrow, and both of them dwelling on their own children and David's, playing several floors above them, blissfully unaware of everything they're discussing and everything they're waiting for.

 

* * *

 

Peter has been waiting for the bang on the door.

He sighs, glancing at his watch as the buzzer rings, barely hearing the garbled voice of the security guard outside-half an hour later than he was expecting.

He sighs, turns to the microphone. "Tell him I'll be there to greet him."

He pours a mug of hot chocolate, squirts it liberally with whipped cream, heads to the hallway, waits until the banging commences again and then pulls the door open.

Alastair glowers at him, apparently unable to decide what to shout at Peter about first, which is a depressingly familiar state of events.

"Why are you in your dressing gown?" he barks, apparently lighting upon this as more irritating than the rest of the situation put together.

"Because it's quarter to twelve at night, Alastair" Peter says calmly, still holding out the hot chocolate. "And do keep your voice down. Reinaldo's trying to sleep."

Alastair looks as though he might explode, but somehow manages to contain himself until they're inside and in the kitchen with the door closed.

"What the _hell_ were you fucking-"

"Does Fiona know you're here?" Peter pushes the hot chocolate towards him and takes a sip of his own.

Alastair ignores it. "What the _hell_ were you doing? The whole fucking policy is now fucking open season to the press-"

"The only reason you're so angry is because you know I was right" says Peter lazily, taking a sip of his own hot chocolate.

For a moment, he thinks Alastair might actually explode. He takes the opportunity to gulp more of his hot chocolate.

"Are you fucking-"

"The mansion tax, while well-intentioned, is an incoherent policy" says Peter smoothly, dabbing away whipped cream from the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "And it's suicide with voters."

Alastair grinds his teeth, a sure sign that he doesn't like whatever conclusion he's coming to.

"It's anti-aspirational" Peter says, quietly pressing his advantage. "And that could do for us."

"It's Ed's policy" Alastair says, almost through gritted teeth. "It's not fucking rocket science to look loyal to your fucking _leader."_

"It's better that Ed sees the policy's nonsensical now, rather than when he's trying to run into an election with it" Peter says, ostensibly peaceably, before "He'll have enough problems to be going on with."

Alastair grinds his teeth. Peter pushes the hot chocolate towards him once again. This time, Alastair accepts it.

"It's not nonsensical" he announces defiantly, after a sip. "It's just not fucking _right_ , and Ed doesn't want to fucking _see_ that."

Peter laughs. "Well. Ed isn't exactly- _open_ , shall we say, to the idea of his proposals not working."

Alastair snorts. "Don't you think I've tried to fucking tell him that in those bloody rehearsals? It's like talking to the fucking speaking clock-"

"So-" Peter steeples his fingers over the mug. "Is there a reason I'm being tarred and feathered?"

"Oh, fuck off. You know why-you didn't bloody stick to the bloody message-that's how we've always won in the past-"

"That's how we won with New Labour" Peter reminds him. "This isn't New Labour."

Alastair's scowl says he's reminded of that more often than he'd like.

"That's still how we won" he rallies a little. "By putting out an agreed message and sticking to it."

"Because then we had an agreed message" Peter points out softly. "And coherent policies. And a weak government and a weak Prime Minister to oppose."

He pauses, carefully. "And a popular leader."

Alastair scowls. "The message helped. We'd have bloody fallen apart without it."

"Of course" Peter agrees. "But that alone wouldn't have done it. And that was then. This time, it's completely different."

Alastair makes a small scoffing sound and Peter looks up, alarm stirring faintly in his chest.

"Being united around a weak message is as bad as not being united around any message" he says very mildly, as Alastair blows moodily on the whipped cream. "You're in danger of believing your own propaganda. This isn't last time. This isn't New Labour."

Alastair scowls at him. "You helped _create_ New Labour-"

"And I'm proud of it" Peter muses agreeably. "But I also know that this isn't it. Ed wants to dismantle New Labour" he reminds him softly.

Alastair gulps his hot chocolate harder.

"You know he does."

"He's a fucking idiot" Alastair spits out loudly. "That's the ticket we ran three bloody elections on and won-"

"Maybe part of it makes sense" Peter suggests-off Alastair's look, he hastens to explain-"The country was ready for a change. Again. But Ed's problem-he's got nothing to replace it with. He only knows what he doesn't want to be."

"He wants a _Milibandism"_ Alastair sneers slightly, shaking his head as he takes another gulp of hot chocolate. "He wants to see himself as some glorious leader. And fucking undo all the work we did to make the party electable again."

"So much for not criticising our wonderful leader" Peter can't help but point out.

Alastair scowls at him. "Yeah. I'm doing it here in your bloody kitchen. Not in the fucking _Newsnight_ studio, chatting to bloody Maitlis-"

"It was in an office, actually."

For a moment, Peter wonders if Alastair's going to throw the hot chocolate at him. But instead, Alastair takes a longer, deeper breath and says "This is what did for you last time."

Peter puts his mug down very slowly. "And which time" he says, dabbing his lips with care. "Were you referring to?"

Alastair looks as though he's fighting with himself for a moment, before his head flies up. "For fuck's sake. We told you about Robertson. We told you. We _always_ told you."

Peter can't help but raise an eyebrow. _"Tony_ told me about spending time with the rich?"

Alastair's mouth twitches and for a moment, Peter thinks he's going to laugh. But then his eyes harden. "We told you before Robertson and we fucking told you after Robertson and we kept _on_ fucking telling you. And you-"

"This is nothing to do with that" Peter interrupts, carefully popping a marshmallow into the middle of his whipped cream. "This isn't me creating a problem, Alastair. This is me articulating a problem that already exists. It's _you_ who's choosing not to see it."

This time, neither of them speak for a few moments.

"You still haven't helped" Alastair says, after a long silence.

Peter shrugs. "Perhaps it was ill-advised."

Alastair snorts. _"Perhaps."_

"But we needed to do something. Ed needed to get the message that that policy needs to vanish-"

"Ed doesn't get the message about anything." Peter can't decide if it's terrifying or not that Alastair's saying this with a whipped cream moustache on his top lip.

"He thinks the centre is a betrayal." Alastair rests his head on his hand. "He's dragging us back twenty fucking years-"

Peter chews a marshmallow contemplatively. "Is there- _no_ other option?"

"Not since Alan wouldn't be persuaded." Alastair tips his head back. "We fucking _nearly_ had him."

"He doesn't want to take on a task like that at his age" Peter points out. "And even then, I had my doubts-" Peter's always been able to appreciate charm, that certain quality, in a way that Alastair is a little less willing to.

"We'd have had a damn sight better chance." Alastair kicks bitterly at the leg of his chair. "If I could go back, I'd do the whole fucking coup again-"

"Maybe we should have gone for mass resignations" Peter agrees, staring into his hot chocolate and reflecting how simple a hot drink makes life look. "It would have given the Tories a short-term tactical advantage, but-"

"Any leadership change would have done that, I know." Alastair sips his drink testily. "And he can't know-" With a sudden warning look at Peter. "He can't."

Peter manages a smile. "Eddie's confidence may take a knock?"

Alastair snorts. "You must be joking. If I thought that was what would fucking happen, I'd bloody tell him myself."

It's not often that Peter looks surprised these days, but he knows from Alastair's slight grin that this is one of those rare occasions.

"His confidence-in his fucking ideas, at least-isn't the problem. He's caught up in some bloody utopian hero-narrative where he gets to walk in and slay the fucking dragon. I'd say he was read too many fairytales as a kid, except I'd be surprised if his parents read him _any_ fucking fairytales."

Peter can't disagree there, thinking of little Daniel Peter.

Alastair shakes his head. "He's got this stupid fucking idea that the entire country will follow him away from the centre and join him in singing The Fucking Red Flag."

Peter can't resist. "To think people once said you were more Old Labour-"

Alastair glares at him. "I've got enough fucking sense to know it's not what the country want. You've got to go _to_ them-even Cameron recognised that. Ed wants them to come to him. And he thinks they will. He's one fucking step off quoting fucking _Field Of Dreams."_

Peter sighs and stirs his hot chocolate. "He's a problem. If only it was-"

"Don't say it-"

"You're thinking it."

 _"Everyone's_ thinking it. If it was David, we'd be a lot fucking closer to a majority." Alastair glares suddenly. "I'll never forgive you for not talking him out of it."

Peter sighs. "All I did was merely advise-"

"Yeah, well, your fucking _merely advising-"_

"Besides, it wasn't me who encouraged him to stand." Peter pauses, feeling his lip curl a little. "It was _her."_

Alastair's brow creases. "Ah."

There's another silence, and then "Besides. Ed isn't quite as inflexible as he might seem."

Alastair frowns. "What do you mean?"

Peter pauses, weighing the words carefully.

It's an odd feeling, giving himself and George what he knows they both want without either one of them saying it. But one Peter's oddly used to.

"Well, when he visited Cameron this weekend-"

Alastair freezes. Peter wonders briefly if he should have made him put down the hot chocolate first.

"What?"

"That's right. For Cameron's daughter's birthday, apparently. He and his kids were invited." Peter takes another sip of his own hot chocolate. "Didn't you know?"

Alastair is staring at him, cheeks bulging with hot chocolate. They hold eyes for a moment before Alastair promptly spits the hot chocolate out everywhere.

 _"Honestly."_ Peter eyes the puddle with distaste, until it occurs to him that it'll now fall to him to clean it up, at which he shudders. "This floor's just been _cleaned."_

Alastair seems to place little importance on this, instead leaping up off the chair to stare at Peter with the expression of a man whose cares are a little beyond hot chocolate. _"He went WHERE?!"_

Peter breaks off from reconciling himself to dealing with the clean-up operation to hiss disapprovingly. _"Alastair-"_

_"WHAT?!"_

Peter points upwards meaningfully. Alastair looks as though he might explode before turning round and, without a backwards glance, storms into Peter's larder and slams the door.

The next few minutes are fairly peaceful, as Peter mops up the floor, punctuated only by the sounds of ferocious banging from within the larder. There's a brief interruption in the form of Reinaldo who comes downstairs to inquire about the source of the noise.

He glances in the direction of the larder, from where it sounds rather as though someone is attempting to pull the room apart. "What's that?"

"Alastair." Peter tells him simply.

"Ah. Make sure he watches his head." Reinaldo disappears upstairs again.

With this advice ringing in his ears, Peter allows the banging to continue for a few more minutes before judging whether it's safe enough to open the door. As it happens, he doesn't have to-the door flies open of its' own accord, almost hitting him in the face.

"Have you destroyed everything in there?" he asks peaceably, approaching the larder himself to take a look.

Having assured himself that the larder has survived the assault relatively unscathed, he turns back to see Alastair fumbling with his phone.

"No." Peter grabs at it. "Give that to me-"

"Get the fuck off it-"

 _"Give it_ to me-" Peter half-twists himself over Alastair's shoulders and, by dint of much wriggling, manages to partly prize the phone free. "Don't make me tackle you-I'm far too benign these days-"

Alastair snorts, but by dint of his own strength, manages to twist away. Compared to Peter, Alastair is built like a barn door, as they both know.

"You are not phoning Ed." Peter refuses to loosen his hold. "It's past midnight. You'll sound like Tony in the dying days."

Alastair makes a snarling sound-whether because he's not being allowed to vent his spleen or because Peter's reminded him of the dying days, Peter isn't sure.

"You will sound absurd."

Alastair snarls again.

"Plus, we'll have to talk to _her."_

Alastair stills.

Peter holds on until he's sure Alastair isn't going to throw the phone to his ear anyway, then slowly releases him.

Alastair immediately throws the phone to his ear. Peter dives, but Alastair's already moved it away and holds it up so he can see-the screen is blank.

Alastair gives Peter the ghost of his usual grin, but it disappears almost instantly. "He's getting a carpeting, though."

"Well-"

"Nope. No _well._ This isn't a fucking _well_ situation. This is a fucking _carpeting_ situation."

"What for, exactly?"

Alastair swells. It's a sight to behold. "What _for-"_

"You had Tory friends" Peter says smoothly. "Have Tory friends. So do I. We had dinner with Hague and Duncan Smith and Howard-"

"It's not the fucking _same_ , Peter-"

"Why isn't it?"

Alastair sighs and tilts his head back-perhaps despairing of such ignorance, perhaps simply trying not to yell.

"Cameron is his _opponent"_ he says, as one would to a small or stupid child. "It doesn't-meals and speeches, they can't be fucking avoided. But going to-going to _parties-"_

He spits out the word _parties_ , as though it's a particularly disgusting swear word.

"And that's not all."

"What else is there?"

Alastair gives Peter an impatient, appraising sort of look. "You remember before-"

"Before-"

"When Cameron was Leader of the Opposition, doing the fucking Heir to Blair stuff. Hugging huskies and being all green-"

"Yes-"

It takes Alastair a moment to spit it out.

"Well, you remember what Ed was like. Constantly fucking defending him to Gordon. Telling Gordon to take Cameron more _seriously,_ that he wasn't _like_ other Tories _-Jesus-"_

Peter, for once, is silent.

"He _liked_ Cameron" Alastair manages, gripping the back of a chair. "He always has done. I can fucking tell by-"

"By what?"

Alastair laughs then, a little bitterly. "Because of how much _now_ he won't shut up about how he doesn't. God, I remember him doing that fucking interview- _well, it'll be easier because, I, I don't love David Cameron-_ I mean, _who_ in Christ's name brings _love_ into it?" Alastair looks as if given his own way, anyone so much as daring to _breathe_ the word _love_ in his presence would have it smacked around their heads.

"They said his relationship with _that_ David was more straightforward" he says, almost as an aside. Then, "It's the same thing he does with his brother. The same thing Tony used to do with Gordon. Just the other way round." Off Peter's look, Alastair rolls his eyes. "You know. All the TB/GB joint unit stuff-"

"I remember that." Peter looks at Alastair for a long moment over his fingers. "Though if anything came out, this wouldn't affect either of them negatively publicly-"

"It's not the public I'm concerned about."

Peter blinks. "I feel rather as though I just witnessed the apocalypse."

Alastair doesn't laugh. Peter pauses, weighing the situation carefully, before "Doing anything tonight won't make any difference. Wait until after PMQs-"

For a moment, he thinks Alastair's going to actually fly off the floor. "After _PMQ-"_

"They're going to be difficult enough this week" Peter interjects firmly. "With that article-"

Alastair almost punches the table. "Fucking _Winter._ And fucking _Baldwin_ -where the _fuck's_ the counter-briefing, he's fucking _useless,_ he was useless when he was a fucking _hack_ ringing me up, and he's fucking useless _now-"_

"And I thought you were the best of friends, once upon a time."

Alastair swells ominously.

"Two days won't make a difference" Peter says steadily. "He's not going to get overly attached to Cameron during that time."

Alastair's eyes bulge, as though he's going to blow up. "He'd better _not_ get bloody attached. If I think he's even _close_ to becoming bloody attached, I will personally bloody _go_ round there and fucking _de_ -tach him myself, in as very fucking _painful_ a manner as fucking _possible-"_

Peter lets this pass. Instead, he says mildly "When does your book tour start?"

Alastair blinks and scowls, the way he always does when cut off in mid-rant or praised. "Next few months."

Peter nods, gestures to a chair. "You're combining that with the campaign. When's your next book out?"

Alastair condescends to answer. "Next October's when we're aiming for. Volume of diaries-"

Peter nods, mentally noting that this is one of the incidents that Alastair will probably choose to neglect to include in the published version of his diaries. "And when did you last sleep?"

Alastair's eyes meet his. Peter watches him steadily for a moment before Alastair says "I'm not a fucking invalid."

"I know you're not" Peter says mildly. "Now. Finish your hot chocolate and I shall see about getting you a taxi."

He knows they're both remembering somewhere else.

_Jesus, Peter, did you know-did you see anything about him-_

_What is it? What's happened to him-_

_It's Ali, it's Ali, he's had a fucking-up in Scotland, he's at a police station-_

_What?_

_He's-he's broken, he's broken or something-he doesn't know who he-we need to get him out-we need to get him somewhere safe-_

"Not an _invalid"_ Alastair scowls again, condescending to take a sip of hot chocolate.

Peter sighs. "No" he says, taking a sip of his own. "But you will be if Fiona finds out you haven't slept."

Alastair rolls his eyes, but gulps his hot chocolate a little more quickly after that.

 

* * *

 

Ed lies still, trying to breathe slowly. It's OK. It's OK. It's OK.

The boys are asleep-long-asleep, though he didn't think to check them until he was going to bed. He'd only been squinting from the doorway, but it had looked even then as though their little foreheads were furrowed in their sleep.

Ed usually likes to stay up later. Whenever he goes to bed early, he tends to lie awake, mind working over everything he should be getting done until he doesn't even have to hold onto the words-they're just there, like a heartbeat behind his eyes, until sometimes he just gets up and does whatever he can't stop thinking about.

But tonight, Justine suggested they go to bed early, which means she thinks they should...

Ed supposes they should. It's what they're meant to do, isn't it?

They're married. The children are asleep.

He should _want_ to do it, probably.

This is, he supposes, what people do. Ed's limited knowledge of other people's sex lives-and it's not a topic many have ever discussed with him-is that they seem to make time for it. It seems to be important.

Ed lies still, waiting. Justine's getting ready. He tries to calm his breathing, to fix his mind somewhere else. To pull into his head something he can recite, something he knows-

Ed does want to do this, he tells himself.

He wants to want to do this.

His stomach tightens. He curls his fingers over and over again.

He tries to focus on something he knows. Somewhere he can make his mind disappear, when panic tightens his chest, hollowing out his stomach.

The door opens and Justine appears, dressed in a nightie, hair a little flyaway, and Ed bites his lip hard as she perches on the edge of the bed.

"Are the boys asleep?" He asks it quickly, praying she'll say no, one of them's woken up, what a shame, and he'll have to go and see to it, and by the time it's been dealt with and sent safely back to sleep again, they'll both be too tired and it'll be too late, and maybe she's too tired _now..._

"Yeah, they seem to be" Justine says, propping herself up against the pillow, leaving Ed with a horrible jolt of something worse than disappointment-his stomach dropping, as though he's a fox that's just discovered its' leg is caught in a trap. "So, we'd better..."

Ed swallows.

It's not Justine, he tells himself. (Part of that's true, but Ed won't admit it to himself for a while, yet.) But Ed's never really- _got it_ with-

 _We'll have to set you up with someone_ , Catherine had said to him in one of the Oxford bars, tossing her hair, dark eyes dancing, as if it was that easy. _You can't be the only one who's never got-_

She'd winked at him. Gautam had laughed, slapping Ed on the shoulder.

Ed had smiled weakly, hand gripping round the oddly clammy glass of warm beer, trying to nod his head, staring at the amber liquid _Oh God, oh God, make them stop, talk about something else, something else, something, oh God, please, please, please-_

It just seems so-

"Oh. Right." He turns to face Justine, his heart pounding achingly hard in his chest, his thoughts still scrabbling for something, anything else to say, to put this off, or just make it _not happen-_

He presses his mouth awkwardly to Justine's and closes his eyes, welcoming in the blackness, trying to lose his thoughts there.

Her mouth is warm. Ed drags his thoughts away, fastening them onto something, anything-

_Robert Walpole, Whig, MP for King's Lyn-_

He falls into the pattern easily, holding onto the familiar names and dates like a child with a nursery rhyme.

_1721-1742-_

Justine tugs his hand to the bottom of her nightie and then higher, past her knickers, which he can feel brushing his hand-

_Resigned after losing vote of no confidence over-_

Justine's skin is warm underneath his hands. Ed squeezes his eyes shut, tries to push away his stomach lurching.

"Here-put your head-here-" Justine manoeuvres his head carefully, so that it's sitting on her shoulder. "Here-OK-"

_Failings in the battle of Jenkin's Ear-_

Justine's kissing him. Ed barely knows what he's doing with his mouth-he can usually get through this, dragging his brain somewhere else, focusing on something-

 _Spencer Compton, Whig_ -

"Here-" Justine's tugging his shirt up over his head, busying herself with it, another task to manage, adjust around-

Ed isn't sure if that makes it better or worse.

_1742-1743-_

He's trying to force his arms up, even as they lie limp at his sides, weak with the feeling of wanting to get _out_ , out of his skin, not feeling this-

_Died in office-_

He opens his eyes, then closes them again. He's trying to smile, counting the minutes, his heart beating horribly fast, tears wanting to prick at his eyes, _please, please stop-_

_Henry Pelham, Henry Pelham-_

His shirt is over his head. There's a rush of air on his chest and then he drops his arms down, feeling stupid but dragging himself out of his body-

_Whig, 1743-1754-_

Justine's hands are warm on his chest and they're gentle, but they move learnedly, clinically, and something about the sheer routine of them sends a shiver to Ed's bones. He feels sick, and frightened, and then Justine's tugging his hands to her nightie and she's pulling them up to make her take it off-

_Died in office, died in office, died in office-_

(He remembers that day, cheeks aching with trying to grin correctly, standing there with the wind buffeting their hair and clothes, trying to meet the eyes of the cameramen or the lenses and not being sure-)

"Here-" and he has to open his eyes for another few moments, getting a snatched glimpse of Justine with her hair a little mussed, but her eyes clear, he realises-the way they are when she's going through some kind of list in her head, some routine she needs to complete-

"Here-" She takes his hand-hers' isn't shaking, but there's no look on her face-she doesn't look excited or overwhelmed or anything-just her usual look, eyes slightly too wide, freckles sprinkled darker on her forehead, pulling his hand up to-

Ed's grateful, because he can shut his eyes now. He can shut them because that's what men do, isn't it? They shut their eyes. They like it.

 _Most guys like that,_ Liz had said when she'd fastened her mouth around him, warm and wet and _too much, too much_ , and Ed had cried out, pushing her off by the shoulder and scrambling away, hating the feeling of it, sticky and wet and wrong, so jarringly wrong he felt sick with it. Liz's arms had been around his shoulders, but Ed had been trembling, sick with how wrong it felt, how-

He was pulled-apart inside, everything sliding around, and that's how it is now, and-

He's got his eyes closed and he thinks he's moving his hands up and down, he thinks, he's not sure-

 _How long's left_ , screaming inside his skull. _How long, how long does this go on for_ -because there must be a time-limit, there must be some way of knowing when it's acceptable to _stop, please, please-_ Justine's hands are on his bare back, guiding him round to face her- _make it stop, just make it be over, just make it-_

 _Can we have a kiss now, please?_ one of them had been yelling that day, Cockney accent a twang through his voice, and Ed had felt his spine grow rigid in his suit, that felt tight and awkward, even as Justine laughed a little next to him, the way she must have thought would be acceptable, her wedding dress blowing across his legs, and _please, please, don't make me-_

 _Come on, she's lovely_ and oh God, please, don't-

And then Justine had squeezed his hand ever so slightly and he'd turned to look at her and before he could stop her, she'd leaned up and simply touched their mouths against each other. Slightly longer than a peck, but not doing anything, their mouths just leaning against each other.

There'd been a chorus of awws and then _And again, please, sir-_

_And again, please-_

_Oh God, oh God, oh God-_

He'd been quicker this time, pressing their mouths together a little more so that it was like they stuck together for a moment and then were tugged wetly apart again.

He'd stood there, his cheeks aching with the smile he'd somehow kept hold of, something hot and wet prickling at his eyes, and Ed had stood there, feeling his legs shake, a horrible frightened, angry feeling gripping him from the inside, making him shiver, making him gabble out the words _Thank you very much_ almost before one of the journalists had finished her question- _Congratulations, have you had a nice day?_

 _Fantastic day_ was all he'd managed, the words feeling odd, robotic, distant in his mouth. _Fantastic day_ and to make up for it, he'd waved frantically, managing a _Hello_ at one of them he recognized, which he could hear was overbright when it left his mouth, even as one of them called out _Thank you so much for coming-_

Ed could have laughed then, because as if they were going to do anything else, when they needed the photographs, the normality of it all-

_Brilliant-_

_Let's have a wave-_

_All right, guys, is that all right, brilliant-_ and Justine had been looking up at him, and he'd known she was willing him to do something, one more kiss, something to show they were a unit, joined, different, and he'd stared steadfastly away from her at the cameras, but-

 _One more kiss?_ and Ed's stomach had turned over.

There'd been no getting away from it this time and when he'd turned to look at Justine, she'd already been tilting her head and he couldn't pull away.

This time, she'd pushed her mouth up to his and fastened it on for a moment, squeezing their lips together, before she pulled away, head darting back like a bullet.

_Can we have a wave-_

_All right-_

_Give us a wave, sir-_ and he had, one hand flying up into the air and flapping uselessly.

 _How's it going so far?_ someone had asked, even as Justine stepped back and then forward again, clearly realising her presence was still required, laughing a little. Ed wasn't sure if it was real or not.

 _Very well_ he'd said, the words fitting themselves out between his teeth before he could think about them, knowing they were meant to be there. _Very well._

They'd stood there, the wind blowing around them, with the journalists saying something, to them or to each other, Ed wasn't sure, and an emptiness had gripped his stomach suddenly, something so empty and then the thought that this was it now, that they were married legally, and they had to get on with it and the coldness, the emptiness of it gripping his stomach-

He had to say something, something to make himself feel it, and so he'd forced it out, grinning an aching grin harder as he said it, curved around the words that he knew you were meant to say, that fit themselves out awkwardly through his lips and wedged there between them all: _Happiest day of my life._

He'd seen the fingers go to the shutters and it gripped him suddenly that he might be about to be asked for one last kiss, and then another, and then another, and then the wave of _no, no, no_ had been gripping his throat and before they could say it, before it could spill out, too loud for him to pretend he hadn't heard, he'd yanked Justine's hand up to his mouth, barely pressed a kiss to the back of it, getting a fleeting impression of warm skin, and then let it drop again, shaking it a couple of times as a full stop to it all.

The _Awws_ had echoed in his ears and Ed had forced his smile bigger, praying that that would be OK, that there wouldn't be any more requests for-

 _All right, guys, thanks very much-_ one woman had been calling out then, and Ed had joined in with _Thank you very much_ , for once, grateful for Justine's quick _Thank you_ at his side as she'd turned away, tugging at his hand.

 _As you walk up_ -as they turned back to the tree-lined drive- _could you just look over your shoulder, please-_ and Ed had been so grateful there was nothing more required that he'd stepped round awkwardly to comply, his and Justine's arms extended between them, only their hands touching, a careful distance between their bodies.

_Bit more-that's lovely-_

Justine had been leaning into him a bit more and Ed's body had stiffened, his spine ramrod straight, his smile fixed, because he couldn't handle another kiss, he couldn't, and then one of them had been calling _We're going to call it the long march of Labour!_

Ed had been so relieved that it had been a little easier to force out a laugh-for once, Justine's had come out as a little stiffer than his own. Maybe she'd thought another kiss would look better, but then they'd been saying _All right-_ and that was it, they could go, it was over-

They hadn't said anything to each other as they'd walked back up the drive, Justine's hand still holding onto his, fingers a little too tight, and Ed had been grateful for the silence, trying to calm the horrible, clammy, cold feeling in his stomach, and the oddly scared, tearful feeling, shaky between his ribs.

And then they'd been shouting them again, and they'd had to turn again and stand under the trees and Justine had looked up at him, and he'd met her eyes and thought defiantly _I'm not doing it again. Don't make me do it again, I'm not-_

Perhaps it was that angry edge that had sharpened his words earlier, after they'd first walked out of Langar Hall.

He'd known he'd have to kiss her even as they stood outside the building, forcing his hand into hers', until they were given a quick signal and they had to walk slowly- _Remember to look at each other-_ down towards the cameras as if they'd just ambled out of the sodding building in a wedding dress and a suit, and happened to bump into a bunch of paparazzi.

When they'd come to a stop, Justine still clutching her bouquet of white flowers in one hand, he'd looked at her awkwardly. _Do you want to do-_ he'd asked, wondering which of them should start it.

 _Do you-_ she'd said, meeting his eyes, clearly calculating which moving first would look best.

 _Well-I don't know if-_ He'd been conscious of children laughing behind them on the lawns and had been gripped with the weird thought that one day, those children would be standing outside a hotel or a church, having just married, and he wondered if the way he was feeling then is how those children would feel on their wedding days, and if that was the way they imagined it would be now.

He'd looked at her a little pleadingly and she'd met his eyes, a little exasperated, and then put her mouth up to his quickly, just pushing them slightly together for a moment, and then pulled back before they'd both turned to the cameras, Ed wondering if that was it, that was enough, what they wanted.

 _Congratulations_ , one of them had said and Ed's head had slumped forward with relief, even as he managed _Thank you very much_ , Justine's calmer _Thank you_ next to him a little quieter.

 _All right-everyone happy-_ a woman had been saying, but even before she'd finished, Justine had said _Bye-bye-_ and was turning away, tugging his hand as she did so, so he'd had to go too.

Ed wasn't sure why anger had suddenly sharpened inside him at her tugging him away. Perhaps it was the fact that the pictures were the whole sodding reason they'd walked outside, that they were here, standing outside this building that Justine had chosen, that her parents wanted, standing there awkwardly, the whole reason he'd had to-

 _Why didn't you wave?_ had been the first words he'd jabbed out at her, that stupid smile still curving his mouth as they walked up the path, his hand loose in hers'.

Justine had stared up at him, still holding her smile, but bemusement creeping into her eyes. _I don't know-_

Ed had looked away, anger smarting higher in his chest, then looked back at her, unable to stop himself throwing one hand in the air, exasperated. _Why didn't you-for God's sake-_

Conscious of the cameras behind him, he'd fallen silent, but their hands had been looser in each other and they'd remained silent as they walked back up the path, a little further away from each other now, the distance wedging itself between them until the clicking of the shutters reached their ears and Justine, without tightening her grip or smiling, brought their shoulders closer together until they brushed, to give the cameras a better shot.

And he should have welcomed it, because this would make things work, make things better, make things look better-

Justine's hands are going lower now, across his stomach, which tautens automatically and _please, please, just be over, just be done-_

He'd had to smile when Justine had turned to him inside with that beam she's perfected for when people are watching and said, _Ed, you have been worth the wait_ , and a chorus of _Awws_ and applause had broken out, and he'd just sat there, beaming and hoping he was beaming in the right way-the same way he'd patted at her shoulder nervously as she dabbed at her eyes following his speech-hastily prepared, put off every time he'd thought about doing it because of the sharp jab of fear that gripped his stomach, phrases like _you are my rock_ and _with all my heart_ grabbed off the Internet, because this was what you were meant to say, what was supposed to be, in these things-and he hadn't even been entirely certain if her tears were just _supposed to be_ , too.

Justine's hands are at his waistband and she's tugging him towards her, so that his skin has nowhere to go but her skin, and there's nowhere else to turn-

_Oh God, oh God, stop-_

_Thomas Pelham-Holles, Thomas Pelham-Holles, Thomas Pelham-Holles-_

And it had been _supposed to be_ in that picture, too, the one that had been reprinted everywhere, of them and the boys right after the wedding, when Ed had just been relieved he'd got through the service and the boys had been squirming-Sam had been made to laugh by someone, his smile the only wide, happy one, but even he was looking away at whatever was more palatable off-camera-and Daniel had been wriggling, his arms having been pushed too roughly through the sleeves of that starched grey suit that Justine had insisted they wear, and he'd been looking away, wriggling and struggling the same way Ed felt like doing.

Justine had been holding him. Her arms wrapped too tightly, too rigidly. It must have hurt.

And she'd been smiling-tight-lipped, too hard.

_1754, 1754-1754-1756-_

Lips too tight, eyes too bright.

They've got that picture downstairs-they move it when there are photographers here, when it needs to look right-

_Replaced due to-replaced-_

Ed tells himself he likes it.

He must do.

Justine's hands are under his pyjamas. Ed's stomach is going wild, trying to crawl out of his body, his hands opening and closing, searching for something, anything to focus on-

_Replaced due to-_

Justine's fingers brush him. A whimpering sound comes out of his throat. He wants her fingers to stop, away from him, and he pulls himself back up into his head, pushing down all his feelings, pulling up into the dark and things he knows-

_Replaced-replaced due to poor performance-performance in the war-_

Justine's hand wraps around him.

It's warm and wrong and _no, no, stop, stop, stop, please-_

 _"Stop-"_ and it comes out as a little gasp into her shoulder and her skin's too much and he needs to get _away, make it-_

"Stop, stop, stop-" and he's rolling away from her, hand fumbling for her wrist, dragging her hand up and out of his pants, _no, no, no-_

"Ed-" Justine's stopped, but he's still shaking. He stays still, cheek pressed into the pillow, pushing at the nausea curling in his stomach, gasping for breath.

He doesn't even remember if they said anything to each other or not-

"Ed-" Justine's hand is on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

She sounds the way she does when she's talking about one of her cases. Controlled. Clear. Calm.

For some reason, that makes Ed feel even worse.

He fights not to cringe away from her. He manages to stay still. He takes a deep breath.

"I'm fine" he manages, in a voice that doesn't sound like his own. "I just-I'm not feeling up to-"

A part of him wants suddenly to have to answer a question. He's not sure how he'd answer or what he'd be asked, but a part-the thought of _being_ asked-

Justine doesn't ask. She just pats his shoulder warily and Ed's shoulders sink with relief, his thoughts slowing a little when she finally pulls her hand away.

 

* * *

 

Nancy's favourite place to listen when she wakes up is right against the wall outside her parents' room.

Now, having woken up very abruptly several minutes ago and crept through the hallways, she tugs her nightie down over her knees, turns her head to the side and presses her cheek to the wood.

Nancy knows her parents' routine by heart; she can hear the creak of the bed as Dad climbs in, the unscrewing of the bottle as her mother rubs lotion into her hands, the bristling of a hairbrush tugging through hair.

"We don't have to make a decision tonight-" Her father's voice is gentle, careful, the way it was earlier.

"I know we don't." Her mother's brushing her hair-Nancy can picture it swishing over her shoulders, dark and glossy-Nancy once tried to stroke it, to see if the lights that gleamed in her hair would slide between her fingers.

"It's that-" Dad had started to say something, but Mum's already speaking. "But I don't want their faces shown."

"No-"

There's the sound of the hairbrush being lain on the dressing table. "Really, Dave. That's non-negotiable."

"No, I agree." A pause, then "Last time it was different."

Nancy thinks back to the cameras, to Dad picking her up, cradling her into his chest, keeping her safe.

There's another pause. Then "The picture-"

"Not the picture." Although his voice isn't raised, Nancy tenses somehow at the sound. "Not his-"

Nancy wracks her brain for a moment before she hears "I want them protected." A creak as her mother sits on the bed. "The kids. They can't-"

"Well, we have kept them-we've kept them safe. They're not going to have to be-well, we'll be asking them first. And as long as we don't push their faces out there-"

"We asked them last time." Mum's voice is quieter, now and Nancy only catches "-didn't ask-" among the next words.

"Well, we couldn't." Dad's voice is much quieter now. "None of-we would never have let anyone-"

"I know, it's just-it doesn't feel-" Mum's voice trails off. "That we couldn't ask-"

There's a silence from inside the room. Nancy wraps her arms around her knees, her heart thudding.

After Ivan went away, Nancy had started listening at doors more often. Before that, she'd only listened when people cried and the air crumpled with wet, sad sounds, and after, she listened, curled up in her nightie, cheek lying on her knees, for the rough sounds of words crashing into each other lettered with sharp, angry sounds, and when their voices were gentle and low, rolling together like the waves in Cornwall. Either way, they were still there.

Then "I don't want the kids' faces out there. I mean, you see what it's like for Bea and Will-"

"And no one even knows-"

"No one knows what they look like. And that's the last thing-especially with Nancy going into Year 7-"

Nancy remembers, with a rueful grin, Bea's sharp blue eyes glittering as she swung round and brought her pencil case crashing into the face of a boy from the year above who'd said her dad ruined kids' lives, scrambling onto his chest and bringing the pencil case down again and again on his head, until Mr Forward and a couple of other teachers had grabbed her, prizing her off, and then Mrs Doyle had been there, taking Nancy's hand, and leading her away, even as she tried to get up to Bea to calm her down, because she knew Bea wouldn't listen to any of the teachers right then-

"True. And then you get-well-"

Nancy frowns, wriggling closer to the door.

"Ed's kids?"

Nancy listens hard. If Bea was here, she'd be elbowing her. If Libbie was here, she'd be shushing her.

"Daniel-he-" Mum's voice trips over itself. "He's angry."

Nancy will only realise later that she had already known this herself.

"Angry-"

"The way he looks-" The bed shifts a little. "Some of the things he says-it just, it makes me wonder-"

There's a pause. Then, "There are a lot of pictures of them. Not just on Christmas cards. Conferences, videos-"

"And not with their faces-"

"Nope. No identity-no pixelations. Poor things."

Mum's voice, slowly. "I mean-" The bed shifts and Nancy doesn't hear the names-except that one ends in _eee-_ but "-were a bit like that, weren't they?"

Dad snorts. "Yeah-yes, and look what-

A pause.

Then Mum, softly. "Kathryn."

Just the name. Nancy blinks, the name ringing familiar in her head, trying to grasp the girl pulling out of reach with the name.

She gets a glimpse of being small, much smaller, of a curtain of long red hair. She isn't sure if she remembers a smile darting behind the girl's hair, whether the girl was smiling at all.

Kathryn.

But Nancy doesn't have time to dwell on the memories of Kathryn, whoever she may be, because then "But her dad-I mean, her dad meant-"

"We still don't know if he meant well or not." Dad laughs, rougher than usual. "No one knows that."

A pause, then "God, I don't even know if _Miliband_ means well half the time.

"You wouldn't notice." Mum's smile is in her voice-a little, anyway.

"Why wouldn't I-"

"Well, he practically spent the weekend-

"Yes, but-you invited him." Dad's words are jerking a little more rapidly than usual.

"Would you have if you'd been-"

"I-I don't-I mean, maybe, I-" Dad clears his throat. "That doesn't mean I know whether he's particularly-"

Silence.

"Particularly what?"

"Not sure. Thinking."

Dad's voice, again. "He's hard to figure out, sometimes. He's damn near inscrutable-I don't know. Every time I've-I feel like I've got one angle-"

He trails off. Then, "He's a bloody puzzle."

"You're interested in him, Dave."

"What?" Nancy feels a little jump in the words.

"You're interested in figuring him out."

A hand closes over Nancy's shoulder.

She nearly jumps but then another's on her arm and it's Gita, raising an eyebrow at her through her mess of dark hair.

Nancy doesn't bother lying-it's pretty much pointless, anyway-so she just returns the stare steadily. Gita raps on the door and, at the summons from within, pushes it open.

Nancy, peering round, glimpses both her parents' eyes falling to her at the same moment that Gita announces drily "You have a visitor."

 

* * *

 

It's Dad who says "It's all right, I'll take her back", swinging himself out of bed with a grin. So it's Dad who asks, brushing her hair back over her forehead as he tucks her into bed, "OK?"

Nancy nods and they both glance at the lump secreted under the duvet next to her. Dad peels back the duvet slowly to reveal Florence's chubby cheek pressed into the pillow, where she has clearly ensconced herself during Nancy's absence.

Dad tucks the duvet over her carefully, brushing the strands of hair off her cheek.

He perches on the edge of her bed, his thumb stroking Nancy's cheek. "Did you have a good birthday?"

Nancy, considering this, props herself up on her elbow. "Yeah." She puts her hand up to Dad's cheek, which he lets her rub, before she pulls her hands through his hair. "Your hair's greyer than it used to be."

"Is it?" Dad laughs a little, while Nancy rubs her hands on either side of his temples. "That's not true-"

"It is true, Dad-" Nancy, in deference to Florence's slumber, keeps her voice at a very loud whisper.

"There was a poll in Cornwall that said women-women like _your mum-_ were comparing me to _Poldark-"_

Nancy sticks her finger into her throat. "Were they all blind?"

Dad tickles her under the chin.

"I mean, Poldark has a six-pack-" Nancy leans back on her pillow. "And you have-Elwen and I, saying-we thought you have, like, a one-pack when you take your shirt off-"

"Keep talking about one-packs and you won't get your birthday present."

"What present-"

"Well, it might not beat Lynton's rather thoughtful gift-" Nancy had been a little more impressed with the gift than she might have been had she known that Lynton had taken the chance to off-load another koala-"but-here."

Dad reaches into his dressing gown pocket and hands over two small parcels.

"Now, before you get excited-" Dad says warningly, as Nancy fumbles happily with the first. "It's the same present-it's just, one was made by me-"

"Made by you?" Nancy tears the two parcels open and, squinting in the dim light from the doorway, manages to make out her own name, picked out in five gold letters, on two separate little blocks of wood. One is considerably wonkier than the other.

"There you are. Take a guess which one's mine" Dad tells her, with a kiss to the cheek. "You can put them on a necklace if you want, they gave me some threads-or on your door-"

Nancy inspects both names with interest and then expresses her thanks by planting a kiss on his cheek and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Daddy."

Dad hugs her tightly and then says "What did you hear?"

Nancy debates whether or not to ask about Kathryn-thinking harder, she can remember the red hair, and something sadder too, somehow-just a sense of grown-upness about her name, something sad and important-

But then she thinks of Mr Crosby talking earlier and she says "Da-ad-"

"Ye-es-"

"You know the election?"

"Yes, I know the election-" Dad leans back against her headboard. "What about the election?"

Nancy struggles to shape words around the thoughts that have been breathing there ever since they were crouched on the stairs earlier, listening.

"Are you worried about it?"

Dad looks thoughtful and then tucks Nancy's head into his shoulder. "Well. I'm concerned about it, Nance. But that's my job."

Nancy nestles into him, breathing in his familiar smell. "To worry-"

"Well. Yes. But the thing is-" Dad presses a kiss into her hair-"the thing about being Prime Minister, Nance, is that it's not you you worry about more than anything. It's your country."

Nancy chews this over for a moment-almost literally, until Dad taps her bottom lip to stop her pulling it between her teeth. "You mean-you're worried about you-but you're worried because you think Mr Ed Miliband wouldn't be any good in charge?"

Nancy can't make out her father's expression; his face has fallen into shadow.

"Well-" He pauses, and then-"I don't think he's the best person to run the country. But it worries me-what would happen to the country if he was in charge. So I'm worried for me. But I'm more worried about the country, if you see what I mean."

Nancy can see, but-"So Mr Ed Miliband's worried, too?"

"Well. Yes. I suppose he is. We just-disagree on what to be worried about."

"But you like him?"

Dad's head jerks, as if trying to shake off a fly. "Yes."

"But you don't think he could run the country very well."

She can't see his eyes, but she can tell they're on hers', and he doesn't look away. "I don't think he could run the country at all well. I think his ideas are wrong."

Nancy nods, thinking this over. "And he thinks the same about you."

It looks as though Dad's cheek lift a little. "Oh, yes. For different reasons, but yes. He thinks I'm thoroughly unfit to lead the country."

"So you think the same thing." Nancy feels slightly less fond of Mr Ed Miliband now, if she was beforehand. "But for different things."

"Well." Dad sounds a little more confused and something else, too, that Nancy can't quite grasp. "I wouldn't say we think the same thing, Nance."

 _"No,_ neither would _I"_ she tells him, innocently despairing of her father's denseness. "But it's like-" She rubs one hand through her hair and, though she doesn't know it, her father notices the familiar gesture and smiles-"You think the same _way_ about different things."

He's silent, and then Nancy says "Mr Ed Miliband's all right-" She feels she's being charitable, there. "But-"

"But-"

Nancy tugs at her nightie, trying to put it into words. "He always thinks _he's_ right, doesn't he?"

Dad laughs, tucking an arm around her shoulders. "That's a very good description of him, yeah."

"Whenever he's on telly and things-he always thinks he's right and that anyone else is just stupid." Nancy settles her chin on her knees. "Why does he think that?"

Dad, next to her, has gone quiet.

"Well" he says slowly. "I don't know. He's very...all-or-nothing, Nance. And I suppose-"

"But you like him?"

This time, Dad is very quiet for a moment. Then he says "Yes, I like him, Nance."

But his voice is more careful than before.

Nancy tries to make out his expression in the dark. "That's strange, isn't it?" she says, examining the gold lettering her father carved for her. "That you're similar?"

A silence, then "Do you think we're similar?"

Nancy, stroking the lettering, shrugs. "Sometimes. Other times, you're really different."

Dad opens his mouth as if about to say something, but then remains silent. Nancy, for her part, is feeling tired and lies down, Flo providing a solid warmth next to her. Dad brushes the hair off her forehead as she places the two names side by side on the bedside table.

"You don't have to keep the wonky one" he tells her, with a kiss to her forehead.

Nancy, who's already closing her eyes, Flo's feet brushing hers', says "I like it."

She's curled up tight when Dad goes out, leaving the door open to let some light in, but even as Nancy reaches out and adjusts the names a little, and then lies there, watching the gold lettering shine in the dark, waiting for sleep, her thoughts curl around the name _Kathryn_ and hold it there, somewhere at the top of her mind.

 

* * *

 

Ed's lying, staring up at the ceiling and thinking hotly about Cameron when he becomes aware of how fast his heart is beating.

He hasn't been able to fall asleep-partly now that he's a little calmer and Justine's asleep, through fretting about all the work he could be getting done if Justine hadn't insisted he come to bed.

Then, his thoughts had wandered to Cameron as they often do, trying to push away that-

That-

(Cameron's skin, warm and wet and his thumb against Ed's-)

(Against Ed's-)

So he'd focused again on how _annoying_ Cameron is, how much he grates under Ed's skin, how much he-

Ed had thought so hard about Cameron that he'd found his hands gripping the bedsheets tightly, his jaw clenched, and it had just been because Cameron's so-

_Aggravating._

And _cocky,_ and-

Ed squeezes his eyes shut, bites his lip.

But thinking about that smug, cocky look on Cameron's face every week-

Ed bites his lip. His toes curl a little.

And just how _smooth_ his voice is, that curl of his lip when he knows he's _winning_ -and Ed dwells on it masochistically, because it's so _unfair_ , and he's-

His hands twist a little tighter into the sheets-and he feels something-

Ed freezes.

Oh God.

He bites his lip, trying not to think about it, but Cameron's in his head now-

He's _there_ , and he's-

He's-

Ed feels himself twitch again, that ache below his-

It sends a little ripple of a shudder through him, thinking about Cameron with that impatient look he gets sometimes and that dismissive, bored look, and that smoothness of his voice, and that-

Ed slaps a hand over his mouth. He crosses his legs tightly under the bedclothes. He wriggles, desperately trying to get himself some friction between his legs, even as he tries to ignore the sensation. He closes his eyes, biting his lip.

Oh God.

He can't.

He _can't._

He casts Justine an anxious glance and then quietly wriggles out from under the sheets, padding quietly to the bathroom.

He doesn't allow himself to feel again, until he pushes the door shut behind him. Then he bites his lip.

Lets his hand wander further down.

He's not even entirely sure what he's doing.

Because this...

This...

This doesn't...

This _can't_ be...

It's got to be frustration (Ed wouldn't appreciate the irony that, unbeknownst to him, Cameron's thoughts on this are exactly the same as his own.)

It's got to be something that...that...

It's _Cameron._ Bloody _Cameron._

It's got to be something-some kind of-

_Reaction-_

He gets a sudden jolting image of Cameron just-

By the pool. Tugging his shirt off.

Grinning.

Tugging his-

Ed's hand brushes himself, tantalisingly, once, sending a rush of sensation through him that's-

_Oh._

Ed's hand explores, darting to his waistband once, then again.

He's not done this often-he's never _needed_ to, really, and even when he _has-_

His fingers are just brushing under. Just brushing.

And even when he has, he's wanted to get it over with, just get it _done-_

His fingers brush at the-

At the-

An aching little shudder goes through Ed. He gasps, slapping one hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds.

Oh _God._

Just a few. Just a few-

He sees that crinkle of Cameron's blue eyes again and at that exact moment, somehow his hand touches just _perfectly-_

Ed groans, the sound spilling out against his fingers. He doesn't mean to-it just happens, the same way his hips jerk happily, just wriggling-

He can feel Cameron's fingers against his cheek, and the sensation tingles through him, down to his-

Ed whimpers, very differently from earlier.

He can't help it. His hand is moving. And he gasps. He can't stop himself. He can't. He's-he's-he's-

Cameron's skin-all his skin-and how it felt-

Cameron's arms wrapped around him. Their skin pushed wet and warm together. The way Cameron's breath had felt, rapid and warm against Ed's neck.

Ed's hips are wriggling and he remembers all too late that this was meant to be only a few-but he can't stop, little sounds coming out of his mouth as he teeters on the edge of something, but he-he-

He doesn't know why but he just thinks about Cameron's smile.

The way he leans over the dispatch box when they argue.

The way his mouth looks, soft and smooth-

That smug little curl of his lip around whatever he's-

Whatever-

Ed pictures it before he can stop himself.

Cameron's hand guiding his chin up and his mouth just barely whispering against-warm and soft and-

His hand strokes. He twitches as a huge shudder rolls through him, sending him rigid.

Oh God.

He hangs there for barely a second, breathless, tilting slowly over the edge.

Oh _God-_

Another ripple of pleasure rises through him and then he shudders over the edge.

A moaning sound peals out of his mouth-" _Cam-eron-"_ and his fingers tighten, muffling the sound as much as possible, before a high note of release just pulls tight through his body, his thoughts dissolving as he just lets _go_ , a wave of pleasure squeezing his eyes shut, pulling groans from his mouth as a last shudder wrings him out, his legs weak, and he falls back against the wall, his lungs taking in great, shaky gulps of air, his body pleasantly aching with relief.

For a moment, he just leans against the wall, enjoying the warmth soaking into his body. It feels like finally scratching an itch that's been driving him mad all evening.

He slumps back, revelling in the warmth of it, the utter limpness of his body, his toes still curling every few moments as a few last little shudders of pleasure go through him.

It's slowly, as he opens his eyes, coming back to himself, that he starts to realise.

Oh God.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror. His cheeks are flushed, sweat sticking his hair to his brow. There's a slight smile on his face that disappears even as he watches.

Oh God.

Oh _God-_

_What-_

Ed dives for the toilet paper and scrabbles at it, swiping at the stickiness on his hands and his-his-

Oh _God._

He tries not to panic. Focus. _Focus-_

Just get on with. Just get on with-just get _on_ with-

He gets it done somehow and then-then he sinks down onto the closed lid of the toilet and breathes hard.

What.

_What._

What was that-

Last time didn't count.

Last time was a dream.

That was a _dream_ , nothing means anything in a _dream-_

But this-

He was just thinking about Cameron and-

And somehow-

Somehow, he'd ended up-

Oh _God._

Ed pushes his face into his hands, breathing rapid, urgent in his chest.

What had he been _thinking?_ Why hadn't he just ignored it?

This has never been a problem before and-

Now-

And he's so pathetic he can't even stop-

He's so-

But why's it over _Cameron?_

Ed veers away from the thought as suddenly as if it's burnt him, because _no-_

_No._

It _can't_ be.

 _He_ can't-

He dwells on Cameron's arm round his back for a moment, stroking his shirt-

No.

_No._

Ed gives his head a firm shake.

This is ridiculous.

How-why-

He's not even-he's never been-

Ed almost laughs. Nearly laughs, because the idea that he's even _thinking_ these things about _Cameron-_

_Cameron._

They're meant to _hate_ each other.

Ed remembers Paris.

Well.

Not _hate._

Strongly dislike.

Ed remembers where he was, yesterday.

Be ambivalent towards.

Ed presses his face into his hands until he can see little lights exploding behind his eyes. Oh _God._

It's got be a-

A mistake.

Maybe-maybe he was just worked up from earlier-and those-

Those thoughts about Cameron-somehow-somehow _combined-_

And then-

Ed shakes his head, because that's what it _must_ be. Of _course._

It _must_ be. (Conveniently forgetting he wasn't worked up at all earlier, in fact, despite all his best efforts.)

He has to-

He-

Ed lifts his head slowly. clasping his hands together. OK.

He takes a deep breath. OK. It's all right. It's all right.

In the future, he just-

Needs to be more careful, that's all.

It will probably calm down when the election's over, and yes-

Ed seizes on this gratefully. Of course it will.

He just needs to not think about Cameron. That's all.

At least alone.

Or in bed.

Ed feels the colour creep to his cheeks.

It takes him a long time to leave the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

When David wakes up abruptly, he does his usual night routine.

He checks Elwen's room first, only to find him curled up on his pillow, one foot sticking out from under the duvet. David studies his face, freckles cast into faint relief by the light from the doorway, and touches his hair.

In Nancy's room, he gently pulls the duvet back from Florence's face, to see her eyelashes brushing her cheeks as she sleeps, her little hands curled into chubby fists, and then studies his eldest daughter carefully.

Nancy sleeps on her side, her dark hair tangling with her sister's comparatively lighter strands on the pillow. Her eyes are closed, her breathing slow and steady, her eyelids fluttering occasionally as she dreams.

David watches her and then glances at her bedside table. He smiles.

Her name, the lettering uneven and wonky, has been placed in pride of place, in between two family photos. In one of them, Ivan smiles out from next to Nancy, who's got her head tilted towards his, as though she's whispering him a secret.

_What happened with-_

_Kathryn._

David looks back at Nancy, fast asleep, blissfully unaware.

He stands there a while longer, one hand on his eldest daughter's cheek, watching her sleep, as safe as it's possible to be in London, and hopes that for his children, here will remain safe enough.

* * *

 

_Playlist_

_Someone Great-LCD Soundsystem-" I wish that we could talk about it/But there, that's the problem/With someone new I couldn't start it/Too late for beginnings/The little things that made me nervous/Are gone in a moment/I miss the way we used to argue/Locked in your basement...You're smaller than my wife imagined/Surprised, you were human/There shouldn't be this ring of silence/But then what are the options"-this just suits both David and Ed's moods towards each other this chapter-even though they don't interact here, they're both preoccupied with each other and have no idea how to navigate what's happening/happened between them._

_Commercial For Levi-Placebo-" You're the one who's always choking Trojan/You're the one who's always bruised and broken/Sleep may be the enemy/But so's another line....I understand the fascination/The dream that comes alive at night/But if you don't change your situation/Then you'll die, you'll die, don't die, don't die/Please don't die"-so while the lyrics might not relate much, this reminds me a little of Ed's willingness to harvest out his family history and the effect it's having on him, even if he doesn't want to face it._

_Love Lost-The Temper Trap-" Your walls are up/Too cold to touch it/Your walls are up/Too high to climb/I know it's hard/But I can still hear it beating/So if you flash your heart/I won't mistreat it/I promise"-while this works for David and Ed, it also reminds me a little of the relationship, platonically, between Alastair and Peter, on both sides._

_Waves-Mattia Cuppelli- this is an instrumental but it suits Liberty's memories of Samantha and David with Ivan, as well as the protectiveness in some of the conversation they overhear, even if they don't entirely grasp it._

_Cath-Death Cab for Cutie-" Cath, she stands with a well-intentioned man/But she can't relax/With his hand on the small of her back/And as the flashbulbs burst/She holds a smile/Like someone would hold a crying child"-this song basically sums up Ed and Justine's whole relationship to me. (Seriously, listen to it. It does.) But it's a recurring one and it completely suits Ed's thoughts on his and Justine's wedding._

_Wonder-Lauren Aquilina-" I can't control my feelings/I can't control my thoughts/I'm staring at the ceiling/Wondering how I got so caught/You're completely off limits/For more reasons than just one/But I can't stop...My mind is blind to everything but you/And I wonder if you wonder about me too"-so this one is pretty self-explanatory. David and Ed, at night, thinking about each other._

_The 1975-The 1975 -"Step into your skin? I'd rather jump in your bones/Taking up your mouth, so you breathe through your nose"-this reminds me of David's thoughts after Nancy compares him to Ed, as well as the idea of David and Ed actually in some ways being quite similar. It suits the more obvious clashes in their natures with some of their similarities. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed did return home a day early from his honeymoon alone: https://order-order.com/2011/06/02/eds-honeymoon/  
> The wedding dialogue is genuine-here:https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/labour-leader-ed-miliband-marries-justine-thornton-news-footage/693151726  
> https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/656064974  
> https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/labour-leader-ed-miliband-gets-married-england-nottingham-news-footage/656022154  
> The references to wedding speeches are genuine. The photograph mentioned is :https://goo.gl/images/1o48q5  
> David did visit Lisa Angel: http://www.edp24.co.uk/news/politics/david_cameron_makes_jewellery_for_his_daughter_s_birthday_on_visit_to_norwich_1_3922704  
> https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/growing-gap-between-the-rich-and-the-poor-england-norfolk-news-footage/647047190  
> Peter's appearance on Newsnight: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSQPSETrq3o  
> You can see Justine in the scarf here as well as Daniel, who they'd dragged on a protest: https://goo.gl/images/yfqTsp  
> All the dialogue in Ed's flashback to Israel visiting his mother's cousin Sarah is genuine-here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-26997870 The account of Ed lighting a candle at home is genuine: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/jan/27/ed-miliband-recalls-death-grandfather-holocaust  
> br />  
> Nick's appearance on Marr: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UmgAPc82XWc  
> Sam refers to the children being filmed in 2008, to illustrate new family reforms the Tories were planning. It is the only time they allowed the kids' faces to be shown on film. Only part is available: https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/david-camerons-eldest-son-ivan-dies-tx-13-3-2008-england-news-footage/664141520  
> https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/david-cameron-statement-tx-13-3-2008-england-london-int-news-footage/664148732  
> David & Samantha struggled to get Ivan a school place as the Labour government wanted children like Ivan to attend mainstream school, which would have been impossible. (He attended a special needs school.) :http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/david-cameron-the-five-lessons-i-learned-as-father-of-disabled-child-ndash-and-intend-to-put-into-1748274.html  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-11790198  
> Bea suffers from dyslexia:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-3799361/SARAH-VINE-Lorraine-Kelly-accused-body-shaming-Gemma-Arterton-desperate-offence.html  
> She did have a habit of biting when angry: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/the-summer-holidays-day-5-remind-me-when-does-the-school-term-start-again-w3kk73mlp59  
> David mentioning the tube is a joke he told children to ease them about the tube in Ivan's stomach. Tapping Ivan's forehead was a technique to warn him he was about to be touched:https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/enduring-love-the-camerons-life-with-ivan-pvbrjbgjxsw  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-11790198.  
> br />  
> Reinaldo is Reinaldo da Silva, Peter's partner. Alastair, Peter & others attempted to carry out a coup in November 2014, to persuade Alan Johnson to force Ed out & take over. The coup failed: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11220865/Labour-and-Ed-Miliband-are-going-down-together.html  
> Ed was famously fond of Cameron during Cameron's LOTO days & defended him to Brown, insisting Cameron was "a different kind of Tory." (Cameron did a photoshoot in the Arctic, hugging huskies.) His "I don't love David Cameron" line came from a 2010 Times interview: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/miliband-plots-the-daddy-of-all-fightbacks-cmcxcmvfhz2  
> References to Alastair's mental health refer to his breakdown in the late 80s, when he was a journalist reporting on a Labour Party conference & was arrested for his own safety: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/lifestyle/9664506/Alastair-Campbell-Working-out-how-and-when-I-could-have-a-drink-dominated-my-thinking.html (Baldwin is a former friend of Alastair who, as a journalist, was briefed by him:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1339702/Meet-champagne-coke-snorting-socialist-Labours-new-Alastair-Campbell.html ) br />  
> br />  
> The poll David mentions is real, as were Nancy and Elwen's remarks on the subject: https://www.totalpolitics.com/articles/interview/campaign-trail-david-cameron-does-uk-day


	23. Inspiring Interludes, A Deferral of Decisions, And The Diplomacies Of Dance Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which Lynton thinks breaks should be musical, Lady Thatcher is not a mascot, there are secret passageways that need to be explored, and David might have been a dance teacher in another life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, a little sooner this time-and shorter, but it's easier to update shorter chapters sooner! We get more chapters and we get them more often! And I PROMISE THEY'LL KISS SOON. :)  
> If you want to ask me anything about this fic, send me your Camerband ideas, ask me about my writing/fics, or just want to chat, just send me an [ask](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr! I love talking to you guys on there and I've made some good friends that way, too, so if you feel like chatting, send me an ask!

_"They were a nice agreeable pair as they glared at each other. If they had been two little street boys, they would have sprung at each other and had a rough-and-tumble fight. As it was, they did the next thing to it." -The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett_

__

_""I don't want to be your friend" Cath said as sternly as she could. "I like that we're not friends."_

_"Me too " Reagan said. "I'm sorry you ruined it by being so pathetic."" -Fangirl, Rainbow Rowell_

__

_"Things I now hate:_

_His stupid smiles he makes me work for..._

_The fact that I probably won't be mad at him in a few hours because he's so fucking shiny, he's like this star in my head and I can't get him out, and he's shining all bright and he's keeping me awake and I keep thinking about him but I don't think he's any more ready for me than I am for him, even though he probably thinks he is because he probably thinks he's all fixed up and shit, and he's not, and I'm not ready, I'm not, because I don't know how to be ready, but in a few hours I won't be mad at him anymore and that sucks. I don't know what to do with that." -Gone, Gone, Gone, Hannah Moskowitz_

* * *

 

"If we win" Lynton tells them, over his shoulder. "This is the lot you need to thank."

"I was pretty much surplus to requirements, then?" David says with a grin, while George gives him a nudge in the ribs.

But the fact Lynton's even _mentioned_ winning tells David that he must be fairly proud of the campaign-usually if the word _winning_ is so much as _breathed_ around Lynton, they're treated to a swelling of Lynton's chest and a lecture on the number of campaigns that have been destroyed by overconfidence.

"This-" Lynton says, gesturing around the basement room of Matthew Parker Street-full of faces, slowly turning towards them. The younger ones are digging elbows into chests, some pulling out phones-others are rising to their feet uncertainly.

"Is where the magic happens" Lynton finishes with a beam.

Several minutes later, David has met a lot of the people who he might, according to Lynton, owe his gratitude to in the next few months. Two of them in particular, Craig and Tom, are pulled forward by Lynton. "They're tracking the Facebook likes we get-plus, they've helped with a new type of survey-Grant helped with that, too. They're pioneers in their field. Not just them, of course-we've got eighteen working on social media monitoring-"

"There's VoteSource" Craig had said eagerly, Lynton disappearing to chat to Grant briefly. "That lets us know-basically, it's a more sophisticated version of collecting data on voters. Because these days, it's so much more complicated, with more political parties-

"Right-"

"So basically, instead of letters, we now rate voters out of 10-" Tom says, pointing to a computer screen. "And we can rate them-6/10 likely to vote Conservative, 9/10 likely to vote UKIP-that sort of thing-"

"I see-"

"So we know how best to target the voters. For example-just take someone likely to vote UKIP, for example-we'd know to give them the message that voting UKIP could put Miliband in Downing Street. And so the only way to keep that from happening is to vote Conservative-"

Something explodes, or that's what it sounds like. Sound bashes through the room, and nearly takes David's head off.

He slaps one hand to his chest and the other over his ear, ramming the other into George's shoulder.

 _"HEY, ONE MAN, ONE GOAL, ONE MISSION"_ blasts across the room. George swears-or David would guess he does, since it's too noisy to do anything else.

"What the _hell_ is that?" David manages to shout, looking around for Lynton and noticing that none of the Tory HQ workers seem as shocked as he feels.

Lynton appears to be doing something resembling a dance, as the guitars rip through the air. "Way to calm people down!" he half-bellows at David, who can't remember when he last felt less calm. "Gives them a break in the middle of the day, you know-"

"Oh, fantastic!" George yells, it being too loud for Lynton to detect the sarcasm, before he half-shouts down David's ear "Should only be about another hour before my _heart_ stops fibrillating-"

Lynton is still dancing, as are several of the workers in their seats. Being calm's all very well but, looking at George, who appears to be concerned that one of his eardrums has burst, David has to reflect that at the moment, a break wouldn't be his most pressing concern.

 

* * *

 

The Thatcher Room is warmer and David shrugs off his suit, pulling his sleeves up. Lynton offers them some fruit and David busies himself slicing an orange into four quarters. George does the same, both helping themselves to a plum.

"Must be nerve-wracking" Dave remarks, nodding up at the portrait of Lady Thatcher, staring down at them as though deciding whether or not to approve.

"What?" Lynton turns and glances up at the picture. "Oh, her. Nah, Mrs T can be a mascot-"

George's eyes widen slightly. David briefly wonders just how fortunate Lynton is that Mrs T didn't hear that statement.

"Now-" Lynton beckons them round to a computer screen. "You asked about everyone watching videos of the Scottish bloody Nationalist Party-"

George snorts. David allows himself a quick grin but says, more seriously, "You really think the SNP could be what-"

Lynton nods with a grin. "All the evidence is there. From that bloody referendum they've been drumming up support. They're appealing more and more-"

"Goes one of two ways" Grant chips in, tossing a plum from hand to hand. "Either they wipe out Labour in Scotland. Or they try and wrangle their way into power through a deal with Labour."

"What? A coalition?"

Lynton shrugs. George glances at David. "Either that, or a confidence-and-supply arrangement. Either way, it's good news for us."

"People in England mistrust the SNP" Lynton explains, off George's look. "Even if they're not entirely conscious of it, it's there. A little bit of mistrust. It was there after the referendum and it's there the more popular Sturgeon grows in Scotland. And people already don't trust Miliband-they see him as a bloody wimp. If we combine those two together-"

"Miliband's doomed" says George succinctly, only to receive a stamp of the foot from Lynton. "Oi. No saying Miliband's fucking doomed. If you start thinking like that, _we're_ fucking doomed. We've got to treat Miliband like he's a bloody serious competitor. No matter how bloody difficult it might be." Lynton glances at David. "Remember the likeliest outcome here is a hung parliament. And we need to have everything ready to convince people that Miliband would bargain the UK away with the SNP if that was the case."

Lynton turns to the laptop which is facing away from them. "And so we've got to hammer the message through people's heads. So we've got a preview here of a poster we'll be unveiling on Friday. Need to just get your approval on it-"

David nods. "Fire away."

Lynton claps his hands with a grin. He spins the laptop round to face them.

George bursts out laughing. David, staring at the screen, is caught between the hysterical amusement that rises immediately in his chest and the small jabbing that pricks him at the same time. Something like guilt.

The poster is great. David can tell that much. On the left, a photo of Ed beams out from outside Number 10.

His teeth are sticking out. He's beaming. It's Ed at his goofiest.

David tries not to wince.

To the right, Alex Salmond beams smugly from outside Downing Street, but his arm's shoved around Ed's shoulders. Ed's returning the gesture, nervous smile in place, his arm positioned slightly awkwardly, in a way that's somehow been caught perfectly by whoever Photoshopped the pictures.

Emblazoned over their heads is the simple slogan:

_Your worst nightmare.....just got worse._

It's effective. There's no doubt about that.

It's also-

David bites his lip.

Of course it's cutting. It has to be.

And Miliband wouldn't hesitate to do this to him.

It's really this that decides David, though he isn't aware of it. He nods, forcing down any guilt, focusing his eyes on that sneer that curls Miliband's mouth across the dispatch box every week.

"Yep. You can sign off on that." He inspects the poster more closely, waiting for the usual thrill, the jab of triumph of getting one over on Miliband.

"It's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant." He makes his voice a little more vehement this time, and George casts him a curious look.

Lynton grins. "Thought you'd like it. Now, if you go hard at him on PMQs-make sure you mention that article. That, combined with this-" Lynton grins. "It's an image in people's minds. Weak. Defenceless. And with what they think of Miliband already, it won't be too hard."

He claps his hands and leans over, folding them over the top of the laptop screen "Speaking of hard. Decision time."

David glances up, conscious again of George's gaze. Lynton's watching him, making no attempt to disguise the look. "Clegg's seat."

David focuses very carefully on biting into his orange. "Yes."

"Did you?"

"What?"

"Reach a decision?" Lynton can't disguise the bite of impatience in his voice.

David stares at the orange quarter for a moment. "Yes I did."

"And?"

David can feel George's gaze, sharp, watchful. He raises his eyes slowly to meet Lynton's gaze.

David tells him his decision. George's eyes don't leave his face the whole time.

 

* * *

 

"So, the _Times_ have been on again-"

"What for this time?" Michael's steps are quick at his side as they head through the carpeted corridors, surrounded by advisers, towards the Chamber.

"Nancy's secondary placement. As if we needed that on the same day bloody Chilcot's delayed-"

Michael grimaces. "Fuck. Are you sure the ones earlier-"

"I don't know-" David shoves the Plastic Fantastic further under his arm. "I mean, we were pretty certain she'd get Grey Coat-we just put Lady Margaret first because they basically shove you off the list if you don't put them first-blasted cheek-"

"And for some reason, you wanted her to go there."

"Brilliant school" David points out. "Even if you do practically have to know the Queen to get in." He snorts. "In our case, literally. But we wanted that and Grey Coat about equally, so we just put Lady Margaret down first. Grey Coat takes you if you put them second."

"So do you suppose it's true, then? That she's got Grey Coat Hospital?" Michael looks at him over his glasses.

David sighs. "I'm not sure. God knows why the council would tell the school before us-"

"When you'd be the ones arranging the security and everything-"

"Yes. I mean-" David shakes his head. "I don't know. I'm glad Nancy hasn't seen it." He shoots Michael a quick glance. "Could you make sure Bea doesn't mention it to her?"

Michael snorts. "Bea and Will are grounded at the moment. Not much danger in either of them mentioning anything-not currently-"

David frowns, but at that point, they turn towards the Commons and the rumble of noise coming from the room ahead that tells them PMQs is approaching.

 

* * *

 

"Mr Speaker-" David feels something go through him at that nasal twang in Miliband's voice, and he immediately busies himself looking at his notes. It's just a reaction.

Because he was-

_Do not think about that fucking pool._

"Mr Speaker, let me start by saying, first of all on the Iraq inquiry, for my part-"

Miliband's got one finger pointing and he's got that perturbed little crease between his eyebrows. He looks so thin in that suit. The navy goes well with the olive of his skin, though, and-

"That it was published six years ago-"

God, Miliband's voice is so nasal. Why doesn't he deal with that?

(David would quite like to like it less.)

"And I agree with the Prime Minister it should be published as soon as possible-"

And now it's psychosomatic because of _course_ David's now focusing on every cadence in Miliband's voice. It's ridiculous.

"Now-now on the economy, as the election approaches-" The jeers are already rising behind David, so that Ed has to raise his voice to be heard.

"Can the Prime Minister confirm that we now know that this will be the first government since the 1920s-"

David shouldn't be noticing how Miliband's lingered on the word _first_ , trying to avoid his lisp.

"To leave office with living standards lower at the end of the parliament than they were at the beginning?"

Miliband gives him that wide-eyed look as he sits down _. Th-see?_ David can practically hear him thinking.

He really shouldn't know Miliband's voice so well.

"First of all-" he says, leaning against the dispatch box, in the way that always makes Miliband watch him-

(-and since when did he notice _that?)_

"Let me _agree_ with the Leader of the Opposition that we want to see this Iraq inquiry published properly, but let me make _this_ point-"

 _Can't hurt to remind everyone of Iraq,_ Dan had said. _One of Labour's greatest hits, along with fucking up the economy._

"If everyone in this House, including members opposite, had voted to set up the Iraq Inquiry when we proposed, it would have been published years ago-"

The tidal wave of noise is rising around him again.

"So perhaps-perhaps he could _start_ by recognizing his _own_ regret at voting against the establishment of the Inquiry."

 

* * *

 

Ed launches into his sentence too quickly.

(Because his mind's dwelling on the way Cameron says the word _properly_ and that, plus the way his voice is curled, with that accent he has around the words _years ago,_ has left Ed feeling oddly uncomfortable and a little too warm in his suit.)

"Mr-Speaker-Mr Speaker-" He tries to lean on the dispatch box, looking unaffected, the same way Cameron does.

"The Inquiry-" He winces at the noise from the Tory benches. "The Inquiry was established six-" His lisp's rearing up again.

"The Inquiry was established six years ago, after our combat operations had ended-"

 _You've got to distance yourself from Iraq_ , Bob had said (out of Alastair's hearing, naturally.) _It's still a pretty big bone to pick for voters._

"And frankly, my views on the Iraq war are well-known, and I want this Inquiry published."

He glances down, only to see a list of questions about living standards staring back up at him.

"Now, I notice he didn't-" He looks up, a sudden excitement seizing him, because Cameron _never_ -"I notice he didn't answer on the economy-"

He stares at Cameron, waiting for a reaction. Something. Anything, to show he's got _through,_ that he's dented that-that smooth-

Smooth-

Cameron just gives him a disinterested look-a casual glance, his eyes flicking up and down as though Ed is a fly, or some other small creature of no importance-which just makes Ed raise his voice all the louder.

"He didn't answer on the economy-" The lisp's rearing again. "Families are £1600 a year worse off-he said in his 2010 manifeth-sto living standards would rise-can we therefore agree that Tory manifeth-sto promises on living standards aren't worth the paper they're written on?"

He sits down too quickly, because he's been looking at Cameron for too long and he's starting to notice the different shades of brown in his hair, the greying at his temples.

"Well-well, first of all-let's be clear-he voted again and again and again-" Cameron brings his finger down with each repetition. "Against establishing the Inquiry, but as ever-"

Ed shakes his head with a look he hopes is pitying. (Of course he had to vote against establishing the bloody Inquiry-it was practically expected of Labour.)

"Absolutely no apology. Now, let me deal very directly with living standards and what is happening in the economy of our country-"

 _Look at me_ , Ed thinks with a jab of annoyance.

"The news out today shows a record number of people in work-"

Harriet's shouting something. Cameron's still not looking at him.

"A record number of _women_ in work-" Another wave of cheers. "We are seeing wages growing ahead of inflation, and we're also seeing disposable income now higher than any year it was under the last Labour government-"

Ed grits his teeth. Jeers are rising louder from the opposite bench. Next to him, he can sense Balls seething silently.

"As for his figure of £1600-" Cameron pauses just slightly, but long enough for dread to sink into Ed's chest.

"It doesn't include any of the tax reductions that we have put in place again and again under this government-"

Oddly enough, the first thing that strikes Ed then is that Cameron's still not looking at him.

"That is the truth-and the fact of the matter is, Mr Speaker-" Cameron's voice is rising higher now, smugly certain. "He told us there'd be no growth-we had growth. He told us there'd be no jobs-we've had jobs-"

_Look at me._

"He told us there'd be a cost-of-living crisis-we've got inflation at 0.5%-" Cameron leans over the box. He's still not looking at him. "He's _wrong about everything."_

Ed seethes, almost scrambling up at the sneer curling in Cameron's voice. His heart's rapid. His eyes search for Cameron's across the dispatch box.

"Mr Th-Speaker-he's _raised_ taxes on ordinary families, he's _raised_ VAT, he's _cut_ tax credits-"

He's aware of Balls nodding furiously behind him, of the shouts rising, louder and louder from the Tories, but his eyes go again and again to Cameron, burning into his forehead.

_Look at me. You smug-you-you-_

_Look at me._

"The reality is that people are worth-s off on wages and they're worse off on taxes under this Prime Minister-"

But.

But.

Cameron's scuppered the £1600 figure-

And it's not bloody _fair-_

"Now, he thinks everything is hunky-dory-"

Cameron bursts out laughing, Crabb snorting at his side, and he's still not even looking at him.

"Did he even notice this week the report that came out that said half of all families where one person is in full-time work-" He's almost forgotten the tide of voices around them. Or not quite forgotten. He knows they're there, can hear them, glancing off his skin, but his eyes are trained now on Cameron. _Look at me. Look at me._

Nothing gets _through-_

"Can't make ends meet at the end of the month. You can work hard, play by the rules, but in Cameron's Britain, you still can't pay the bills, that's the reality-"

Bitterness twists the words a little because-

He doesn't care, Ed tells himself furiously as he throws himself down again. He doesn't care.

He's not sure if he wants to believe it or not.

 _Wants_ to believe it?

It's _true!_

"I-I studied every report that came out-"

Cameron sounds unruffled. Frustration gnarls into a tight knot in Ed's stomach.

"He's referring, of course, to the Rowentree Report-" Cameron's sliding his glasses off smoothly, glancing over them. "And the Rowentree Report says this-"

He's quoting it. Bastard.

_"The risk of falling below a socially acceptable living standard decreases as the amount of work in a household increases-"_

_"Ahh-"_

Ed stares at him, something snarling tight in his chest. _You-you-_

"And under this government-" Cameron's even clutching his glasses cockily.

Is it even possible to do that cockily?

Ed doesn't care. Cameron can, he's decided, and does.

"We've got over 30 million more people in work. We've got the lowest rate of young people claiming unemployment benefits since the 1970s-"

"Only because you'll starve them out" Harriet mutters.

Ed can't smile. He's too busy staring at Cameron.

"Long-term unemployment is down, womens' unemployment is down-we're getting the country back to work-and in terms of living standards, we've raised to £10,000 the amount of money people can earn before they start paying taxes, and people who are in work are seeing their pay go up by 4%-"

Cameron looks at him for the first time, briefly.

"But if we'd _listened_ to the Right Honourable Gentleman, _none_ of these things would have happened."

Ed shakes his head. He's got no idea what expression he's wearing-all he knows is that Cameron's bloody _analysed_ that report, exactly the way he was meant to, and Ed bloody hates him for it.

"If we listened to them, it would be more borrowing, more spending, more debt- _all_ the things that got us in a mess in the first place."

Cameron sits down. He doesn't look at Ed once.

That just makes it worse, somehow.

 

* * *

 

"M-th-Mr Th-Speaker-" Miliband's lisp is breaking through more now-a sure sign he's getting more het up. David wonders if he should know Miliband's voice so well.

"He ith-s the perth-son who has failed on the deficit-"

David could cringe for him. Most of his backbenchers don't share the feeling-a great wave of mirth breaks out and the laughter reaches almost hysterical levels.

"And thith-s Prime Minister-and this Prime Minister-and thith Prime Minith-ster said-this Prime Minith-ster-"

David keeps his head down, but he doesn't have to look to know the expression Miliband's wearing-the one that makes him look like an angry schoolboy.

"Order-" Bercow's calling out, but David keeps his head down. It's easier that way.

"Never had it so good-and he's totally wrong-now he doesn't notice-he doesn't notice what's going on, because life's good for those at the top-"

"He sounds like he's about to break" mutters William. David snorts. "He looks like a Jack-In-The-Box."

"Can he confirm that while everyday people are worse off-"

"And you're one of those everyday people, are you?" George mutters.

"Executive earnings have gone up 21% in the last year alone?"

David almost snorts with laughter.

"What's _that_ got to do with anything?" exclaims Stephen, summing it up, as David gets to his feet.

"He criticises me on the deficit-"

Miliband really makes it too easy, sometimes.

"He's the man who couldn't even _remember_ the deficit!"

Miliband shakes his head, but his lips press tightly together. David meets his eyes briefly, before he glances away again.

(Something about that big-eyed look on Miliband is always a little too raw.)

"And also, he's now had four questions-and not a _single word_ _of welcome_ for the unemployment figures out today-"

He keeps his gaze carefully away from Miliband.

"Behind every single one of those statistics is a family that-with someone who can go out to work-who can earn a wage-who can help give that family security-"

His heart is rapid, his fist clenched, hammering the words out, wanting them to sink into Miliband's skin.

"We're the party who are putting the country back to work-" His voice is rougher now. _"Labour_ are the party who would put it all at risk."

"Ed Miliband-"

Miliband lives up to his Jack-In-The-Box name.

"Total complath-cency about one month's figures-"

_Oh God, put your finger down._

"When he's had five years of failure under this government-"

David snorts.

"What does that even mean?" mutters Nick, speaking for the first time.

David shrugs, already focusing on what he knows he's going to bring up next-what he knows will pretty much win the argument.

(And which will bring that wide-eyed, shocked look to Miliband's face again.)

The Tories are all laughing now.

"Now under him, we're a country of food banks and bank bonuses-"

"So New Labour then" William manages, before promptly collapsing in laughter.

"A country of tax cuts for millionaires, while millions are paying more-" Miliband's finger seems to have come alive.

"Isn't his biggest broken promise of all that we're _all in it together?"_

"Prime Minister-"

David gets up slowly, knowing it'll rile Miliband all the more.

"Oh, dearie me-" He leans on the dispatch box for the same reason. "You can _see_ the problem that Labour have got-"

He doesn't look at Miliband.

"They can't talk about the deficit because it's coming down-they can't talk about unemployment 'cos it's going up-they can't talk about the economy because the IMF, the President of the United States-"

He pushes away the jab of guilt.

"All say the British economy is performing well-so what _are_ they left with?"

_Don't look at him._

He steels himself.

"Well, I'll tell you, Mr Speaker-they've got an energy policy to keep prices _high_ -"

Laughter.

"They've got a minimum wage policy that would _cut_ _the minimum wage-"_

More laughter.

"And they've got a _homes tax_ that has done the impossible to unite the Honourable Member for Hackney with Peter Mandelson!"

Laughter roars louder than ever around him.

"So to be fair-to be _fair_ to the Right Honourable Gentleman-"

Something in him jabs. He doesn't know why. And he swings round to meet Miliband's gaze.

Miliband's watching him, with big, dark eyes. They're far too wide.

Wide. And dark. And-

His lip trembles a little.

David yanks his gaze away.

Something squeezes tightly in his chest.

"We-we learnt at the weekend-we learnt at the weekend what he can achieve in one week in Doncaster-"

He doesn't look. He forces his voice louder. The words sharper. Crueller.

"Where he couldn't open the _door,_ he was bullied by _small children-"_

Laughter crackles and twists around them, growing every second.

"And he set the _carpet_ on fire-" David leans against the dispatch box, keeping his eyes away from Miliband. "Just _imagine_ what a _shambles_ he'd make of running the country!"

The cheers rise up as he sits down, loud and deafening. William's chuckling to himself, George is laughing. Stephen squeezes his arm.

David doesn't look at Miliband once.

 

* * *

 

"Where he couldn't open the _door,_ he was bullied by _small children_ and he set the _carpet_ on fire-just _imagine_ what a _shambles_ he'd make of running the country!"

Ed manages to keep his face straight, even as the hysteria rises from the government benches. Something trembles in his chest.

Something scared and hurt and-

Ed hates Cameron.

He _hates_ him.

And it's stupid because Cameron _warned_ him-

"Mr. Speaker-" The noise is drowning him out. "Mr. Speaker-this is a Prime Minister-denying-"

"O-o-order-o-order-"

Ed sits down and the majority of faces turn towards Bercow with the look of rebellious schoolchildren facing a headmaster. Ed catches Osborne's lips mouthing something that looks and sounds suspiciously like "Poison dwarf."

"It may well be the session will take a bit longer, but the questions and answers-"

Bercow's drowned out by the wave of cheers that surges up from behind Cameron-most of them aimed across the chamber at Ed.

Cameron doesn't look at him once.

"It's fine-that's fine by me-" Bercow's smirking, while the backebnchers continue expressing their feelings for a few more moments, then fall silent, apparently satisfied they've made their point.

"However long it takes-the questions and the answers will be heard. Ed Miliband?"

"I've got to say to the Prime Minister, if he's so confident about leadership, why's he _chickening_ out of the TV election debates?"

It's a weak point and he knows it and he knows Cameron knows it, too.

Cameron's laughing, his face flushed and creased, shoving his glasses back in his pocket. That and the sharp-edged laughter from the Tory benches makes something coil, hot and furious, in Ed's stomach.

"This is-this is the Prime Minister who will go down in history as the worst on living standards for working people-" He hates the sound of his own voice, more high-pitched with each second. "He tells people they're better off-they know they're worth-se off-"

And the lisp's back.

"Working families know they can't afford another five years of this government."

He throws himself down into his seat, fuming at everything, and more than anything at Cameron's grin.

(And those words, prickling in Ed's chest every time he tries to push them away.)

 

* * *

 

"Why don't we leave the last word, Mr Speaker, to the head of the IMF-"

David keeps his eyes on Bercow. On his own benches.

Away from Miliband.

"Often quoted by the Shadow Chancellor, who today seems to be having a quiet day, and I can see why-"

He manages to spare Balls a quick flicker of a glance from under his eyelashes.

"Because our economy is growing, people are getting back to work-she said this- _"The UK-where clearly growth is improving, the deficit has been reduced, unemployment is coming down-certainly, from a global perspective-"_

The slightest emphasis, there.

_"This is exactly the sort of result we'd like to see-more growth, less unemployment-a growth that is more inclusive, that is better shared-"_

There's a small jibe of noise at each one.

_"A growth that is sustainable and balanced-"_

He looks up. "That is the truth-every day this country is getting stronger and more secure-"

_Ram it home, stay on message._

"And every day, we see a Labour Party weaker and more divided, and more unfit for office!"

He sits down, the cheers rising hysterically around him. He doesn't trust himself to look at Miliband.

(He doesn't like to think about that.)

The cheers are there in his ears. A storm of noise. He's won that one.

He's won, and he shouldn't have to remind himself of that.

(He shouldn't be remembering Miliband's big, sad, dark eyes, locked on his own.)

 

* * *

 

Ed's fuming. He's fuming and angry and-

He's not _hurt._

He-of course he isn't _hurt._

He shakes his head furiously, wrapping his arms around himself as he walks. Balls isn't looking at him.

That's always a bad sign.

He hates Cameron.

He _hates_ him.

Then there's a tap on his shoulder.

Ed looks up grumpily to see Chris. "The Prime Minister would like to see you."

Ed snorts before he can stop himself.

At the look on Chris's face, he catches himself. "Well-" Ed pulls himself together, or likes to think he does. "Tell him-could you tell him-"

He swallows, throat suddenly embarrassingly swollen with something. "That I don't think that-that I think-that'th-s a good idea."

Ed will never forgive himself if his voice quavers right now.

Chris's voice is far too kind. "I understand. But I don't think-I think the Prime Minister would really like to see you."

_Well, tough fucking titties._

"Well-" Ed's voice falters. Tom's heading towards him, an unlikely figure of salvation.

"I-I underth-stand it might be dith-ditha-"

He can't get out the word _disappointing_. He doesn't trust himself to.

The angry, sad, shaking feelings are congealing into something miserable and sore in his chest.

"I-"

Christ's hand touches his arm then-touches, and then gives a gentle squeeze.

Ed keeps his gaze down. Tries not to blink too hard.

"He's got a present for you."

Ed looks up then, confusion rising in his chest. "W-what-"

"A present." Chris's hand is still on his arm. "For you."

Ed hates this, because now he's even more confused, and typical _Cameron._

Chris watches him. "It's up to you."

Ed bites his lip.

 

* * *

 

David hadn't known, admittedly, before PMQs, that he was going to ask to see Miliband.

But then Miliband hadn't met his gaze for the rest of the session, no matter how often David tried to find his eyes, and something about that-

He hadn't broken the bargain. He _had_ told Miliband he'd use it.

So. He'd stuck to it.

Of course.

He _wouldn't_ have broken it.

But maybe he'd been a bit....harsh.

And then he'd remembered those presents-the ones that had somehow found a home in his desk at Downing Street, when he'd needed a place to stow them quickly before the start of yesterday's Cabinet meeting, and had felt oddly nervous calling Miliband and just _telling_ him he had something for him.

And now he sees Chris walking towards him-his heart sinks, seeing no one beside him-and then he sees Miliband, following behind.

David isn't prepared for the way relief suddenly punches into his chest, the way he feels almost weak with it.

Chris delivers Miliband to his side. David grins, hoping to hide the sudden helplessness of relief in his chest. "Are you my present, then?"

Miliband scowls, but says nothing. Chris simply touches both their arms and walks off again, leaving them both standing there, trying not to look at each other.

"Well" David says, a little uncertain for once, and not entirely liking it. "Do you want to-um-"

Miliband is silent.

"I'd like to-ah-I've got something for you." David clears his throat. "Would you-ah-"

Miliband doesn't say anything.

"Would you come with me?" David guesses Miliband can't ignore a direct question.

There's a moment of silence. David wonders if Miliband will prove him wrong.

"Where?" Miliband grinds it out between his teeth.

"Downing Street. My office. I've got a present for you."

Miliband's brow furrows. David feels a strange, leaping triumph at the sight, the knowledge that he's got through somehow, after all.

He turns and, grinning to himself, heads off, knowing that Miliband will follow and determined not to be the first one to try to break the silence.

"Why?" Miliband almost spits out the word. David mentally congratulates himself.

"Why what?"

"Why did you get me a present?" Miliband sounds as though he's speaking through gritted teeth.

"Because-" David gives him a sunny look over his shoulder. "I wanted to."

Miliband blushes, but doesn't say another word until, a few corridors later, they're deeper in the House of Commons and David's leading him down a set of stone stairs. "Where are we going?"

David gives him another, sunnier look. "Downing Street."

"But thith isn't the way-"

"Well, no-" David concedes as he leads Ed round another corner. "But then I thought it might rather spoil your reputation to be seen driving out of Parliament with that evil Tory Prime Minister."

Miliband scowls fiercely. David grins all the more, and leads on.

It's when they get to the door David's been looking for that Miliband speaks again. "What?"

He turns to frown at David. David shakes his head. "Trust me."

The snort Miliband gives in return, David has to admit, is rather warranted.

"Look" David sighs. "I'll go in first. If you don't lock me in."

Miliband makes an impatient _"tuh"_ sound, but David, security ahead of him, makes his way into the passage carefully, feeling for the steps with his feet.

He's used the passage several times before, but he's always stuck by the way it seems to harken back to a different time-a time when bombs fell overhead and the floors shook with what could be the end of the world.

Miliband steps in a moment later, nose creasing sweetly,

_(Sweetly?)_

his eyes darting around. David can see them glitter in the faint light from the hallway.

He knows Miliband's curiosity and has a fair idea of his willpower, so he isn't too surprised when-after gingerly picking his way down the steps-Miliband spits out "What is thith-s place?"

"Passageway." David indicates the arches overhead, the stone steps they've just descended, courteously waiting for Miliband to reach his side. "It's between Parliament and Downing Street. It's what Churchill used to travel between them in the Second World War."

Ed looks up, interested, and then clearly remembers himself. He snaps his mouth shut, redoubling his scowl, and David grins.

They're silent for several more minutes, making their way along. With security far ahead and behind, they could be alone. The only sound is the echo of their shoes on the concrete, along with the rawer, warmer sound of their breathing. It could be years ago. There could be bombs falling overhead. The passage, brick laid and echoing with journeys made by too many people to count, stretches out ahead of them.

There's a sudden exclamation, and Miliband stumbles.

David's hand fumbles out, grabbing his arm. "Careful-"

Miliband jumps, his own hand fastening onto David's arm. "Ah-thank-th-"

"All right-" David steadies him carefully, and Miliband's hand is suddenly warm on his own. "Ah-have to be careful-"

He can't see Miliband's face-it's cast into shadow.

"You can get lost in here" he says, for some reason, and his voice is suddenly lower, quieter. "You know-it can be-it can be difficult to see-"

"Yeth-s." Miliband's voice is lower, too. For a moment, they stand there, lost somewhere under the buildings of the British Parliament and the streets of London, Ed's hand on David's.

Then David says "Shall we-" and Miliband remembers he's angry, and his hand falls away. And they carry on through the tunnel, both of them all-too-aware that their cheeks are a little warmer, and that their arms brush a little more often than they need to.

 

* * *

 

Ed keeps glancing down as he always does when they walk into Downing Street, down the corridors that could be his home in a few months. David tries not to meet his eyes. Once they reach his office, Ed looks up again, quickly, around the arched windows, taking in the red couch, the doors leading in and out to other rooms, the desk and the big-screen TV hanging on one wall, though he's been in here several times before, until they get into the next room, with the white fireplace, the chairs dotted around, which David moves out of the way automatically.

"Thinking of commandeering this already?"

Ed scowls, apparently not quite ready to forget yet.

David sighs. "All right." He leans against his desk, tilting his head back. "Listen, things got rather heated today."

Ed snorts.

"Look-" David hesitates, because-"I did warn you."

Ed looks up sharply.

"The deal" David says, a little too quickly. Ed's big dark eyes aren't helping. "I told you that I'd use it."

Ed's head gives an odd jerk, as if shaking off an irritable fly. "I know you did."

"Oh. So-"

David, for once, finds himself at a loss as to how to proceed.

"I-ah-"

Ed gives him a long look. "I'm not meant to like you, you know."

There's a flinch in his voice. David swallows.

"And I'm not meant to like you" he manages.

They watch each other. Then,

"Sometimes, I forget."

Ed's eyes are bigger and darker when David meets them.

"Do you like reminding me?" His own voice sounds a little too nervous.

Ed looks up sharply, then. Their eyes meet.

David can't stand it for some reason, so he turns quickly back to his desk, rooting around in a drawer, with unnecessary noise. "I bought you something."

Ed doesn't jump, but he can't hide his curious frown. David grins, handing the parcel over.

For a moment, he thinks Ed isn't going to open it, and his heart seems to squeeze very suddenly.

"It's-ah-it's all-"

Ed's eyes seem to be watching him, but when David looks, Ed drops his gaze quickly, fingers scrabbling at the wrapping paper.

For some reason, something swoops in David's chest, and he feels his smile spring back.

"Careful-" His hand darts out and somehow closes around Ed's. "Careful-there's three in there-"

"Oh-" Ed's hands slow a little.

"There-"

Ed leans against the desk next to David as he finally discards the wrapping paper.

Three nameplates lie in his hands.

Daniel. Sam. And Samuel.

"I was at a jewellery store last week" David finds himself beginning to explain, the words a little too rapid. "And I was getting something for the kids-and I thought-well-"

He feels far too nervous all of a sudden.

"I got Sam and Samuel because I wasn't sure which he'd prefer" he says, too quickly.

Miliband just stares at the nameplates.

"I-ah-it was just a quick-"

David clears his throat. "Well-"

Miliband turns away very quickly, clutching the nameplates tightly, blinking hard.

 

* * *

 

Ed stares down at the names. He swallows, his throat suddenly tight with something.

"These-" He has to clear his throat. "These are-"

He takes one breath. Then another.

"These are-" He swallows. "Lovely."

He traces the letters of Daniel's name and suddenly feels a horrifying prickling at his eyes.

"Thank you" he manages, his voice almost a whisper. "Cameron."

He can't speak for a few moments, squeezing his eyes shut.

There's another silence, then Cameron's voice, a little uncharacteristically uncertain-"I-ah-I really did think I'd managed to stick to it. The bargain, I mean. I did honestly think-"

Ed keeps his eyes shut. "Why?" he murmurs, almost without meaning to.

"Why what?"

Ed opens his eyes, turns around slowly. "Why do you-" He clears his throat. "Confuse me?"

Cameron's forehead creases. "Confuse-"

"We do that, and then we do _thith."_ Ed can't meet his eyes. "It's not-"

"Not what?"

Ed bites his lip, hating the feeling of mingled annoyance and guilt, niggling in his chest.

"Eath-easy" he insists, glancing up at Cameron's face. "It'th th-so easy for you. You know that-that-"

Cameron's still frowning. "But I-"

"I _know-"_ Ed doesn't mean to sound so exasperated. "It'th-juth-st-"

_You don't know what it's like. How could you know what it's like?_

"It'th easy for you with something like that-"

"What?"

"What-that _article."_ Ed snaps his mouth shut. "Well. You wouldn't-"

_You were never like that._

Cameron's watching him, head on one side. He speaks slowly. "I didn't mean to upset you. Or how you-how you-"

Ed shrugs and looks away-God, how stupid to _tell_ Cameron that-as though Cameron would _care_ , or-

"You were never like that."

Ed winces the moment the words are out of his mouth.

Cameron doesn't deny it. "No" he says slowly. "No, I wasn't."

Ed snorts, with little vehemence. He traces the letters of his sons' names.

"I suppose you think that was all trained out of us beastly posh kids" Cameron says, chortling a little.

Ed rolls his eyes, snatches a quick glimpse of Cameron, then looks away.

"Not juth-st that" he mutters, and under Cameron's curious gaze, looks away again.

It's just-

He and Cameron are just-

Cameron just-

"Though" Cameron says, with a laugh, as though it's only just occurred. "They did teach us ballroom dancing."

Ed sits silently for a moment, having somehow perched himself on the edge of the desk, before glancing up. _"You_ do ballroom dancing?"

Cameron nudges him. " _Did._ Cheek."

Ed resists the urge to nudge him back. "What doeth-s ballroom dancing have to do with it?"

"Oh, it was to do with etiquette. The art of society, and that sort of thing." David leans back against his desk, pulling himself up. "We had dancing lessons from when we were about seven, I think." He winks. "Tania didn't like it. She was a tomboy. Wanted to grow up to be a jockey."

Ed snorts. "I wanted to be a buth-s conductor."

Cameron laughs, but gently, higher with surprise. "Public service?"

Ed frowns. "No. I liked the ticket machines."

Cameron laughs harder. Ed glares."Juth-st because we didn't have danth-cing-"

Cameron laughs. "Can you not dance?"

Ed gives him an indignant look. (He can't.) (Cameron never needs to know that.)

"It'th-s not really relevant, ith-is it?"

Cameron smirks. "That means no."

Ed scowls furiously. And then Cameron's hand is on his arm, tugging gently, and he slides off the desk.

"Cameron!"

"Come on-"

And David's tugging Ed into his chest.

For a moment, Ed's head spins. Cameron smells good-his soap is far too familiar these days. His hands fumble for balance, and somehow end up on Cameron's shoulders.

"C-Cameron-" Ed moves to step away, but Cameron's hands are locked over his back.

"Now, now, Miliband." Cameron's voice is teasing. "If the worst should happen in May, imagine if you were to be completely humiliated when you had to dance with Clinton next year."

"You don't know that Clinton will-"

"Oh, of course she will. Who else is there?" David brushes this off easily. "Imagine if the worst should happen and you get in and the two of you have to try to live up to Thatcher and Reagan-"

"Truth-st you trying to idolise Thatcher-"

"Trust _you_ to think you have a chance of getting in."

"Doth proteth-st too much-"

Ed doesn't get any further because Cameron's suddenly got hold of his hand, pulling the other further onto his shoulder.

"Here. Step like this-"

"Thith is ridiculouth-s-" Ed should disengage himself. He should. "I'm not doing thith-"

"And-step again, that's right-here-" Cameron tugs Ed's hand further onto his shoulder, and then-

His arm's round Ed's waist.

His arm's round-

_"C-Cameron!"_

"Here-and step-step back-"

"Thith-thith-s is ridiculouth-I don't need-"

"And forward-"

Ed's feet are falling over each other. And Cameron's.

"Would you-what on earth are you-"

"I'm teaching you to dance-" Cameron's blue eyes are far too close. "Come on. It's an important life skill. Labour's all about them-"

"Th-since when are we all about-"

"Are you saying Labour don't value life skills-here, move your foot back-"

"I th-said nothing of the-"

"I believe you did, actually, Miliband, and-"

"Cameron." Ed says his name quietly, almost before he realises he's going to.

Cameron's eyes find his. Ed's becoming aware of something; a half-painful pressing in his chest-almost a longing, a needing. It feels painfully sweet.

"And-right foot forward-" Cameron's voice is tickling his neck now. "And left foot back-and just keep your hands on my shoulders-"

Their feet bump into each other. Cameron just adjusts him slightly, and Ed's suddenly very, very conscious of Cameron's hand at his waist. It's warm, and he can feel it through his suit, through his shirt-as though the heat's tickling his skin, sending waves of warmth rippling out, tingling through Ed's whole body.

"I'll have to put your feet on top of mine at this rate" Cameron breathes, his voice a little unsteady, breathy. "Like two kids."

Ed's thoughts are disappearing. His heart is beating so fast it hurts, adding to the breathless pressing longing in his chest. His stomach is swooping, as though he's flying or falling.

"Oh, shut up" is all he manages. His voice is almost a whisper.

Cameron's eyes find his, and the light in them makes Ed's breath catch. His hands seem to be sliding over Cameron's shoulders. He can feel them, strong through his suit, and he remembers them suddenly, bare, shining with drops of water-

"You're dancing." The tickle of Cameron's voice sends the hairs on the back of Ed's neck standing up, a warm shiver through his whole body.

Cameron lifts his hand, then, their fingers intertwined. "Here, turn-"

Ed has no idea why he does as Cameron says-he tries to hold onto everything he said in PMQs, even as Cameron turns him awkwardly-this is _Cameron_ , Cameron, who's complacent and doesn't care and-

"There-" Cameron almost pulls him back into his chest. For a moment, they're pressed together, a heat spreading through Ed's body from every place they touch. He can feel Cameron's heart beating hard against his own.

"You're dancing."

Ed nods. "R-right."

His hands have somehow ended up behind Cameron's collar.

"Here-" Cameron reaches out, fumbles for something on the desk.

A song starts playing-faintly at first, then louder as Cameron fiddles with the volume. The chords are slow, steady, dreamy.

_I haven't slept at all in days, it's been so long since we have talked-_

"I used to listen to this when it first came out" Cameron tells him, his voice almost a whisper.

"Who is it?" Ed's surprised to hear his own voice.

"The Corrs." Cameron's voice is soft. "Samantha used to have them on the radio a lot when we were first married. But this song was everywhere back in the '90s. I used to sing it to the kids as babies, too."

_What can I do to make you love me, what can I do to make you care-_

That subdued, pressing, almost painful feeling in his chest is making Ed's heart flutter and beat hard. "It'th nith-ce." For once, he barely notices the lisp.

"Yeah." Cameron steers him back and forth a little more. They've still got their arms around each other's shoulders, swaying slightly to the music.

Ed's heart's beating so fast.

Cameron's thumb brushes Ed's neck. Tingles rush out from the spot where he's touched. The music's filling Ed's ears, the gentle, fairytale sound of the song lulling him into Cameron's arms, into his chest.

"Cameron." He thinks he says his name. He thinks. He-

Cameron's looking at him with that smile that makes Ed exasperated and argumentative and something else, something irritatingly pleasant, all at once. His hand is pressing deeper into Ed's waist, almost rubbing circles there.

Cameron's looking at him and there's that light in his eyes that makes it hard to breathe. Ed can't look away from him. Cameron's forehead tilts towards his own. Ed's leaning up, very slowly, their skin almost brushing, his heart beating hard, something like light filling his body. Cameron's mouth is coming closer, warmer-

_What can I say to make you feel this, what can I do to get you there..._

The door opens.

"Sorry, Prime Minister-just urgent call about Chilcot, asking you to clarify-"

Craig's voice stops dead.

Ed's already moving, tearing himself back, out of Cameron's arms-

_(Oh God, no, no, no)_

-and Cameron's stepping back, too. "Craig-"

He's smiling, but his voice is a little too loud. It shakes a little. His hand scrambles for the control and the volume soars crazily for a moment, before cutting off abruptly, leaving a deafening silence in the room.

"I-" Craig's looking from one to the other.

Ed doesn't know where to look. Ed can't look.

"I was just-I can get a car for you, Miliband-"and Ed looks up at Cameron's voice.

Cameron's looking slightly past him, his eyes not meeting Ed's own. "To go back to Norman Shaw-"

"Norman Shaw Th-South-" Ed clears his throat. "Yeth. Ah. Yeth. That would be-"

_What was that? What was that?_

"Appreciated." Ed has no idea how he gets the word out. He's no idea how he's still standing, as Cameron reaches for the phone. His face is burning.

He and Cameron are looking at each other again. Craig's looking at them look at each other-

_Oh God. Oh God. Oh God._

"I'll wait-out-"

"Yeah-" Cameron's eyes dart. "Yeah-I suppose-"

Ed's already moving.

(He can't keep looking at Cameron. He can't.)

He gets the door and only then turns and manages to mumble something in Cameron's direction. "Thank you. Bye." Garbled. Mumbled.

He manages to nod at Craig and then he's out, half-running down the corridors of the place he could be living in in a few months time.

Oh God. Oh God.

Ed doesn't stop moving until he reaches the back entrance where a car's waiting and only there does he stop, icy air slapping him in the face, and press his hands to his too-warm cheeks and think _What what what-_

The car rumbles up, black and sleek and inviting in its' normality.

_Cameron-_

_What's happening to me?_

 

* * *

 

_Playlist_

_One Nation-Queen- while maybe not technically part of the playlist, this is what Lynton plays to make everyone take a break at CCHQ. (And is what he used in real life.)_

_That's What You Get-Paramore-" Pain, make your way to me (to me)/And I'll always just be so inviting/If I ever start to think straight/This heart will start a riot in me/Why do we like to hurt so much?/Oh, why do we like to hurt so much?/That's what you get when you let your heart win/I can't trust myself with anything but this/That's what you get when you let your heart win"-this just suits David and Ed perfectly, particularly in that PMQs when David manages to hurt Ed's feelings precisely because they've become so close._

_Guilt (Hold Down)-Fingertight-" I went to sleep last night wondering how I'd feel/If I woke up tomorrow and you were almost healed/If you could use your hands what would you use them for?/Would it be to strangle me?/Because you just can't...I'll rest my head tonight, thoughts I can't reveal/The shame inside of me, the fate they've tried to seal/If you could use your hands, what would you use them for?/Would it be to strangle me, or just try to ignore?...Hold down, why don't you just be the wave that washes over me?/Hold down, why can't I just be the one that carries all of you?"-this suits their exchange in PMQs pretty well, particularly from David's point of view-he's got a mingled feeling of animosity and protectiveness towards Ed simultaneously._

_Face Like Thunder- The Japanese House-"Say sorry for what, for what, for what?/You know I didn't mean it/I said something terrible and I tried to redeem it/I can be so cruel but now I don't seem it"-again, this suits PMQs, but also both David and Ed in their whole relationship at this stage. Their relationship is caught up in the insults they throw at each other, but also in their liking for each other, and it's complicated._

_Daydream-Youth Lagoon-" As I walk through the wooded park by the lake/I can't turn the switch off causing my headache/So I'll daydream about you and I'll think happy thoughts/Before somebody sees me/Oh, please, help me God"-this reminds me of why Ed goes with David to his office despite being annoyed with him-they're both upset, so they give into the inclination to spend time with each other._

_What Can I Do?-The Corrs-" I haven't slept at all in days/It's been so long since we have talked/And I have been here many times/I just don't know what I'm doing wrong/What can I do to make you love me?/What can I do to make you care?/What can I do to make you feel this?/What can I do to get you there?"-this is the song playing while David and Ed are dancing. While it's quite obviously a love song, it also suits the sort of pining and longing between them at this stage, even if they're not quite sure that's what it is._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed that! Leave a comment if you did! And remember to send me an [ask](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) if you want to ask me anything!  
> Notes:  
> Lynton did indeed used to randomly play "One Vision" by Queen at top volume in the middle of working sessions to get people to take a break. Conservative Campaign Headquarters were in Matthew Parker House-the Thatcher Room, named for the portrait of Lady Thatcher, was one of the debriefing rooms, where fruit would be served. VoteSource was one of the key versions the Tories used to collect data on voters, which allowed them to target their campaign far more effectively than Labour. Craig and Tom here are Craig Elder and Tom Edmonds, two of the digital pioneers on Cameron's campaign. All the methods mentioned here were used in the Conservative campaign, as you can read here: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/11609570/Secrets-of-the-Tories-election-war-room.html  
> http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/general-election-2015-it-was-lynton-crosby-that-won-it-for-the-tories-in-classic-style-a6698336.html  
>  The poster Lynton shows to David is a genuine one that was used in the Conservative campaign and can be seen here: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/jan/23/photoshop-nightmare-tory-poster-snp-labour  
> The Chilcot Inquiry is the inquiry into the Iraq War, that was famously repeatedly delayed.   
> Grey Coat Hospital is the all-girls Church of England secondary school Nancy and Beatrice attend: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/10674662/Michael-Goves-daughter-wins-place-at-state-school.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2573444/SARAH-VINE-Why-Ive-chosen-send-daughter-state-school.html  
>  In January 2015, her parents would have been waiting to hear her secondary school placement:https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/oct/24/cameron-secondary-school-admissions-deadline-daughter-state  
>  Her first choice was Lady Margaret School, another all-girls Church of England school, which is virtually impossible to get into-she got Grey Coat Hospital, which was her second choice: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/cameron-girl-denied-first-choice-school-z29dqwbfzfr  
> A story appeared in the Times in January 2015 claiming the school had already decided Nancy had a place, when David and Samantha had not yet been told: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/state-school-grey-coat-hospital-offers-place-to-camerons-daughter-7vjcmlk0bbt  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/camerons-daughter-beats-a-thousand-to-top-state-school-xbv8fs88n6r  
>  Nancy did have a place, but her parents didn't know for certain until March, the time when, in the UK, parents are told which secondary school their child will attend: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11456423/David-Camerons-daughter-Nancy-to-attend-state-secondary-school.html  
> That week's PMQs, depicted here, can be seen here:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDft0CeL9-8  
> The articles David makes reference to (talking about Ed's misadventures, including setting fire to himself) are linked to in a previous chapter: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2914888/My-nine-half-weeks-Calamity-Ed-Political-kingmaker-reveals-aghast-bumbling-oddball-agreed-turn-MP-book-rock-Labour.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2924955/Ed-Miliband-s-masterstroke-beat-floods-Let-s-call-fleet-oil-lorries-vacuum-water.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2924842/Help-cried-Ed-m-locked-stuck-garden-ll-late-Gordon-excruciating-misadventures-Calamity-Ed-blistering-memoir-s-got-Labour-squirming.html  
> New Labour was known for its' fondness for the rich, particularly spending time with rich donors, which became part of its' legacy. (Food banks also began under New Labour.) Ed was desperate to distance himself from New Labour: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/labour/8026708/Ed-Miliband-New-Labour-is-dead.html  
> Some of the Tories did nickname Bercow "Poison Dwarf": http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/8159142/David-Cameron-makes-John-Bercow-dwarf-joke.html  
> There is indeed a passageway between the House of Commons and Downing Street, that is still used-it was used in the Second World War by MPs in air raids. The description of David's office is accurate-it can be seen at 10:27, here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9hqE5HVVQk  
> David was given ballroom dancing lessons as a child-his sister Tania was a tomboy who loved riding. Ed did want to be a bus conductor because he liked the ticket machines:http://www.itv.com/news/2015-04-27/ed-miliband-i-wanted-to-be-a-bus-conductor/  
>  The Thatcher-Reagan dance David refers to is a reference to when Thatcher danced with Reagan at his inaugural ball.


	24. Discerning Descents, Rueful Recollections And Curriculum Catastrophes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which everyone thinks something and has no idea how to say it, Alastair crumples more Coke cans, dumbwaiters and tarantulas are perils of Downing Street, and calls from your kid's school are rarely good news."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the next chapter! Once again, THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVELY COMMENTS AND KUDOS. Keep them coming! Also, if you want to chat to me or ask me anything about the fic, you can do so on my [Tumblr ](http://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) ! Some of you already have and you're the sweetest, so if you want to ask me anything, you can! (Also, if you want to access any of the links and can't, just send me an ask!:)) Enjoy the chapter!  
> (And they WILL KISS SOON, I promise! :))
> 
> QUICK NOTE: About schools-since some of you live abroad, a quick run-down here: in the UK, kids start school at the age of 4 (the September after their 4th birthday), sometimes attending nursery beforehand. (The school year goes from September to July in the UK.)The first school year is called Reception (the children are aged 4 turning 5) and primary school (elementary school) leads up to Year 6 (when the children are 10 turning 11.) So even though Daniel is in Year 1 here, it's actually his second year of school. At this point in the story-January 2015-Nancy is in Year 6, Elwen is in Year 4, Florence is in Reception, Daniel is in Year 1 and Sam is in nursery. At the age of 11 (the September after their 11th birthday), the children start secondary school-the first year is Year 7-which goes all the way through from 11-turning-12 (Year 7) to 15-turning 16 (Year 11.) (Kids can then stay on and study until 18 if they wish-Years 12 and 13 are referred to collectively as sixth form.) So since Nancy is here in Year 6, she is in her last year of primary school (she started secondary school in September of 2015.) Here, Luke, Liberty, and Beatrice are all in secondary school-Luke is in Year 9 and Liberty and Beatrice are both in Year 7 (though at separate schools.) William is in Year 5.  
> Daniel and Sam's school is unusual in that they address teachers by their first names and don't have school uniform-it's the norm in the UK for schools to have school uniforms and address their teachers as "Mr/Mrs/Ms", etc.  
> Also, in the UK, private schools (fee-paying schools) are often referred to as public schools (I understand that's different abroad.) Non-fee-paying schools are referred to as state schools. Cameron's, Miliband's, Gove's, Clegg's and Balls' kids all attend state schools (non-fee-paying)-Osborne's children attend private (fee-paying) schools.  
> Hope that's cleared some things up!

_How could I explain to Rosie what those visits meant to me? That they weren't just for Suzanne's benefit, but mine too? And that somehow Suzanne knew that because she knew me?-Beautiful Broken Things, Sara Barnard_

_In the gold light of the fire she looks demonic._

_"Why are you like this?" I ask her._

_"I want.." She has a drink in her hand; where did that come from? This isn't really happening. This didn't really happen. "I just want somebody to listen to me."_

_I don't remember when she left or anything else she said, apart from two minutes later when she stood up and said "Nobody listens to me." -Radio Silence, Alice Oseman_

__

_from its' effects_

_on others._

_I can only infer_

_that love exists_

_ -A Softer World _

* * *

 

David reflects that the thud the door makes as Craig slams it shut is really far too ominous.

"What was that?" Craig's arms are folded. He's staring at David, shoulders tensed, as if he's about to run.

David tries to laugh. The sound dredges up drily-almost scratchily-from the back of his throat. "What was what-"

Craig shakes his head. "David-"

Oh God.

David isn't sure why the words send such a thrill of foreboding through him.

"What?"

Craig meets his eyes, then. "What's going on?"

David's mouth is suddenly very dry.

He tries for a laugh. "What do you-if you mean, how did I just flatten him at PMQs, well, that isn't exactly a ch-"

"Stop it, David" Craig says, so quietly that David trails off in the middle of his sentence.

Craig doesn't say anything for another moment, and then "What's going on?"

David isn't sure why his stomach plunges, the same way it did when he was eight years old, crouched with Simon in the gardens of Heatherdown, an adult's voice dropping through the air like a brick, mouth smeared sticky with strawberry juice, and his heart beating to _OhGodohGodohGod._

He clears his throat, meets Craig's eyes. "What do you mean?" His voice is a little quieter. His heart is thudding.

"He's your opponent-"

"I think he's aware of that." David tries to speak too quickly, too lightly. "Didn't you see PMQs?"

"I'm more interested in what I just saw _here."_

David stares at him. Craig stares back.

"What do you-"

"You had your arms around each other." Craig's voice is quiet. But very certain.

David hears himself laugh. Or he thinks he hears himself laugh. "You-you've got to be joking."

Craig's eyes look anything but humorous. "David-"

"I was showing him how to _dance."_ The last word bursts out of David's mouth a little too loudly. "That's all-we were talking about Thatcher and Reagan and I don't know-the conversation circled-circled around to how he can't bloody dance, and I was showing him-"

"What was he even doing up here?" Craig's voice is still quiet, but it just makes David even louder.

"I don't know. I invited him-"

He sees the flicker pass across Craig's face and rolls his eyes.

"David-"

"I'm not a child." David's voice is firmer, now. "I think I'm a little past the stage of needing someone to check who I want to have visit my office-"

"But why?"

"Why what? There's a process called _ageing-"_

"No" Craig says, more quietly still. "Why did you want him here?"

The question is deceptively easy.

David swallows. "It had been a harsh PMQs" he says, a little too quickly, needing his tone to be light. Needing _this_ to be light. "I wanted to check-it hadn't hit too hard-"

Craig's voice, when it comes, is a little slower. "Like in Paris?"

David feels the heat rise slowly to his cheeks.

"I've explained about this" he says, slowly, carefully. "It was ill-advised. It was an accident. We've forgotten about it."

"We've?" Craig raises an eyebrow.

David stares back at him, refusing to look away. "Everyone."

Craig watches him-and then suddenly, sighs, unfolds his arms, drops them to his sides and folds them again. "David-"

"What?"

"Is there something going on?"

David's heart seems to stop. His hands go cold, so he puts them in his pockets, not too quickly. He keeps very still.

The silence stretches out longer than it should.

"Why-" David tries for a laugh. It seems to stick in his throat. "Why the hell would you ask me that?"

He holds Craig's gaze- _Don't look away. Don't look away._

Craig looks. Blinks. And then looks away.

"Yeah, I-" He shakes his head. "Look, I don't know what I meant by that, forget it-"

Relief punches in David's chest.

"But-it's just-" Craig meets his eyes. "You know how it looks if-"

"Well, it's not going to _look"_ David says, too quickly, heart pounding a drumbeat over his words. "Because no one knows. And nothing's-" He clears his throat. "Nothing's going to happen that people would know. Or would matter. At all. OK?" He looks straight at Craig, silently daring him to question it. "I was just showing him how to dance."

Craig looks back. The silence stretches, thick and taut and trembling.

Then Craig says "OK."

His voice is far too quiet.

"Just-"

David swallows.

"Be careful." Craig doesn't look away. "That it doesn't affect either of you. At all-"

"Affect?"

Craig takes a deep breath.

David forces out a laugh. It wavers a little, sounding vaguely unreal, as if it's not a sound either of them made.

"Well-" His voice is only a little too bright. "You saw PMQs. I don't think it's affecting my performance there."

He manages to smile. "I don't speak for his. Though the country probably will."

Craig laughs. A little too late. And a little too quickly. But he laughs. "Yes, well-"

Another silence, short and yet too long.

"Let's just keep it that way" Craig says finally.

David nods. In spite of his earlier denials, which they both choose not to notice.

David tries not to wonder if Miliband's being asked the same thing.

 

* * *

 

 _"What_ were you _FUCKING_ thinking?"

A half-crumpled can flies across the room. Ed would duck, but it hasn't come from Alastair's hands, but from Peter's, who's seized it from Alastair and flung it across the room, eyeing Alastair's hands and the already present array of crumpled cans.

"Alastair-" Peter's voice is soft. Alastair ignores him, his eyes on Ed.

"Just running off to his fucking office?" Alastair slumps onto the edge of his desk. "Like he's your best-" His head sinks into his hands. "What the _fuck_ does that look like?"

"He wanted to have a discussion. And it was Chris who came and told-"

"Chris-"

"Chris Martin. So if I get a meth-sage from the Prime Minith-ster's Private Th-Secretary, I'm th-supposed to ignore it?"

Ed isn't entirely sure where the words come from. But that feeling-tight and taut and something nearly furious-that's been there since he half-ran out of Cameron's office is still there, and the words snap out.

Alastair blinks. Ed stares back at him, feeling oddly reckless and liking the feeling.

It's Peter who says, too smoothly "Of course not. Under usual circumstances. But that's not what we're concerned about."

Alastair's eyes flicker to Peter's. Peter gives him an almost imperceptible warning look.

"Then what-"

Ed tries not to thread his fingers together. "Why would you be conth-cerned-"

 _"Because-"_ and Alastair's head shoots up, then. "You went to Cameron's fucking daughter's birthday party, _that's_ why."

There's a ringing silence in the room. Peter closes his eyes very briefly, the thinnest sigh escaping him.

When Ed says it, it surprises all of them-"Don't talk about her like that."

There's another shorter silence, during which Ed notices something that he won't remember noticing until later on, and even then he won't really understand it. But Peter watches him, just for a moment, out of the corner of his eye, and his gaze is bright with something knowing.

Then Alastair says _"What?"_ and Ed forgets about the moment until later.

He looks at Alastair, trying to keep his gaze steady, his heart pounding. "Don't th-speak about her like that" he says, more quietly, through his teeth. "Nancy. She-Cameron's children are nothing to do with thith-s."

Alastair blinks at him. "You are fucking _joking."_

"Alastair-" Peter puts a hand on Alastair's arm.

"It's nothing to do with Cameron's _kids"_ Alastair spits out, shaking Peter's hand off. "You went to fucking _Chequers_ for a kid's birthday party. _His_ kid's party. How does that fucking look?"

"Because Tony never threw his kids parties at Chequers."

Ed isn't even sure he's said it at first.

Peter's eyebrow arches silently, before Alastair says "What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

Peter sighs, eyeing the exchange with interest. Alastair just eyeballs Ed, who tries to look calm, even as his heart thumps.

"It just gives them a better reason to call you a champagne fucking socialist, for God's sake-"

"The-" Ed swallows. "The kids were invited. They wanted to go-"

"Was Justine there?" Alastair asks suddenly.

Ed shoves his hands under his legs. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"So she wasn't."

Peter leans forward very slightly, eyes flickering between them.

Ed looks away sharply.

"What does that have to do with anything-"

"Ed." It's Peter who speaks this time. "The fact is, it looks odd."

"What? Going to a _birthday party?"_ Ed's voice breaks out a little too loudly.

Alastair makes a furious, inarticulate sound and half-leaps off the desk, pacing the room. It's Peter who leans forward, eyes fixed on Ed's now.

"It's not just a birthday party, though." Peter's tone doesn't change at all. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

Ed's insides clench.

"What are you-" He swallows, eyes falling to the floor. "What-"

"You're _fond_ of him." Alastair whirls around, spitting out the word _fond_ as though it's some disgusting swear word. "And it's distracting you."

The words hang in the air, jagged and sharp.

Ed takes a deep breath, folds his hands together. "He's not distracting me."

Alastair makes an explosive sound.

"It'th not-"

"Maybe _distract_ is the wrong word." Peter's voice is quieter. "But it means-well. You're not-"

_"What?"_

Ed's not sure why he snaps the word out, when he doesn't want to hear the answer.

"Inclined to him" Peter says quietly.

Ed becomes aware his shirt is sticking to his back.

"If-" He laughs. The sound's a little hoarse. "I don't think like him. I don't-th-see things the way-"

It boils up suddenly. "I'm not _like_ him."

Alastair turns round. Ed becomes aware he's standing up, his fists clenching.

"Just because-because I th-spend time with him-" Ed tries to breathe through his voice. "Doeth-sn't mean I fucking _agree_ with him."

His voice is shaking.

"No. Not that you _agree-"_ Peter's holding his hands up.

"But you find it fucking harder to disagree." Alastair almost spits the words out.

Ed blinks. "No" he says, and then again, louder, as he realises how true the words are. "No, I don't." That's one thing he doesn't have a problem with.

Alastair looks like he might strangle him. "For fuck's _sake-"_

"Alastair-"

"It's hardly the fucking _point-"_ Alastair makes a throttling gesture at the air. "You're not meant to be Cameron's fucking best _friend._ It's not fucking good for either of you."

Ed laughs, then. He's not sure why, but he's saying it. "I'm not a child." His voice cracks.

"He's fucking _using_ you-"

It feels like a slap.

"You don't have to tell me who's _good_ for me." Ed's fists are clenched. "I'm not a bloody _child._ You're hardly my-"

He trails off, the words hanging in the air.

But then, what would-

What would he-

Alastair snorts. "Thank God."

That stings, which maybe quickens Ed's voice. "I'm perfectly capable of keeping my dith-stance-"

Alastair turns away, the words tumbling furiously out of his mouth. "Well, maybe your dear old dad wouldn't fucking love it-"

 _"Alastair-"_ The name rips out of Peter's mouth.

Ed feels his throat swell. Absolutely swell. He stares at Alastair.

Alastair looks a tad shamefaced, but he stands still, gripping the back of a chair.

"It'th-s nothing to do with my father-" Ed's voice is quieter now. "Nothing. I'm not-"

For some reason, the words quaver, and throb in his chest.

"I'm not like him" he says and then he turns around and heads for the door. "And Cameron'th-s got nothing to do with it."

He thinks he hears Alastair's voice, angry and rough around _Ed_ , but by then he's gone, the door slamming shut behind him, his eyes prickling.

 

* * *

 

"You didn't have to say that" Peter observes quietly, after the ringing silence that follows Ed's slamming of the door.

Alastair just fumes silently, looking at the desk as if he might like to kick it.

"About his father. You know how that-" Peter examines his nails. "Affects him."

Alastair rolls his eyes. "Yes, I know how it bloody _affects_ him." He does kick the desk this time. "He stormed out of his own office, for God's sake."

Peter waits a moment before risking it. "Always knew you were more Old Labour-"

Alastair spins round then, as Peter knew he would. "I don't agree with his fucking dad. His dad was a fucking Communist-"

"Marxist" Peter can't help pointing out.

Alastair leaves this aside. "But this is the same fucking _thing._ He can't see New Labour is what won three bloody elections. Or that he looks exactly the same as Cameron, hanging out at fucking Chequers _parties_ with him-"

"Working-class boy" Peter murmurs.

He knows he's made a mistake when Alastair shoots him a furious look. "Yeah. And I'm fucking proud of it-"

Peter holds up a hand. "I never said you shouldn't be."

"Cameron's probably bloody using him." Alastair almost springs off the desk, marching back and forth. "Trying to fucking distract him-"

"That's a little paranoid."

Alastair snorts then, whirling round. "You're calling _me_ paranoid? After you over Tony-"

"That was nearly twenty years ago." Peter's voice is carefully, delicately precise-a warning tone.

Alastair snorts, and then Peter says "And I seem to remember _you_ being friendly with Cameron from time to time."

Alastair nearly throws his arms up in the air. "That was before he was leading the fucking _Tories-"_

"Before he forced Gordon out, you mean."

Alastair snorts. "It's not the same for you."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Alastair shoots him a contemptuous look. "You're not the bloody _same._ Neither was Tony. It doesn't impact you the-neither of you have ever fucking _struggled-"_

"A _-ha."_ Peter lets the silence stretch, thin and delicate, like a web. "Ed hasn't, either."

"You think I don't fucking know that?" Alastair, having apparently tired of pacing, throws himself down on the couch next to Peter. "And everyone else does, as well. That's the fucking _point."_

Peter hesitates, then says "I thought you didn't have anything against Cameron's children."

"Of course I don't have anything against his fucking kids." Alastair lifts his head to glare. "I like his kids. And his wife. It's just Ed's getting fucking-" Alastair waves a hand. "Close to them. More than he is to his own" he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Peter lets that hang, but adds quietly "You were outraged about that article-the Monroe thing-"

"Well, of fucking- _anyone_ fucking would be." Alastair glares at him. "Don't tell me _you_ bloody weren't."

"You know I was."

Alastair wraps his hands together. "Cherie was fucking devastated" he mutters. "She adored Ivan."

There's another silence, the question pressing in Peter's chest, and then "But you said-in the campaign-"

He'd wondered if Alastair would remember, but Alastair snaps it out almost immediately. "Yes, I know what I fucking said in the fucking _campaign."_ His eyes glitter dangerously. "And I fucking _apologised_ for it. I didn't say it to the fucking _press."_

"But Gordon had-"

"Yeah, and I apologised to _him."_ Alastair's jaw is tense. "We were losing. I was half out of my mind. I barely fucking remember saying it."

"You wouldn't have stood for just an apology, though." Peter hesitates, then "If it was about Ell-"

Alastair's hand fastens in his collar. His eyes are wild. He holds Peter firmly, almost dragging him up.

"Do not-" Alastair's voice is low, shaking. His knuckles are white. "Say a fucking word about Ellie."

Peter stays very still. He nods once, his eyes fixed on Alastair.

Alastair's hands twist, gripping him tighter for a moment, then let go. He almost throws himself away, leans forward, chest rising and falling rapidly-

Peter's voice, when it comes, is hoarse. "I'm sorry-"

Alastair's breathing through his nose.

"Alastair. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

Alastair, if it had been anyone else, would, in all probability, have thrown them from the room. But it's Peter.

He doesn't look at him. But he raises his head slowly, breathing gradually calming, and when Peter lays a hand on his arm, Alastair doesn't pull away.

 

* * *

 

Nancy waits until she and Elwen are in one of the upstairs rooms before she says "Have you ever heard of someone called Kathryn?"

Elwen, who's trying to climb up a cupboard, drops down again. "No. Why?" he says with characteristic directness, before, in silent agreement, the two children head out of the room and dart down the maze of corridors.

"Larry-" Nancy sees the cat's tail whisk out of sight round the corner ahead of them.

Elwen's staring up at a portrait, one of the ones that's come to serve as an indicator round the warren-like twists and turns of the upper floors of Downing Street. "Anyway, who's Kathryn?"

"Someone Dad mentioned." Nancy shrugs, yanking her ponytail loose out of its' school-required tightness, and shakes it free, yanking the few pins out with distaste. "Anyway, want to get the dumbwaiter?"

Exploring Downing Street is one of Nancy and Elwen's favourite activities-Florence's too, when she joins them. A part of the childrens' fascination probably stems from the fact that when they'd first moved in, they'd been told over and over again to be careful where they wandered, being only six and four at the time and therefore liable to get lost or become trapped in some small space. While both children had, as children do, dismissed these warnings as grown-ups' logic, both had managed to go some way towards confirming the need for them. Elwen had proved the point at the age of five, by managing to, upon their first discovery of the dumbwaiter, get himself stuck, leading to a crisis meeting of Cabinet and Shadow Cabinet members-a meeting between both having been fortuitously arranged downstairs-resulting in Uncle Nick and Andy managing, with some help from Yvette, to extricate the crying child, with his mother eventually almost scrambling down the rope of the dumbwaiter herself and tilting it gently, with the result that Elwen tumbled out onto the landing, sending several would-be helpers-including Mr Ed Balls-over like dominoes, and landing on-it was still speculated with bitterness in some quarters, deliberately-their father's foot.

Nancy had managed to do her bit to prove it when Gavin had raised the alarm with a shout that his treasured tarantula was missing, and the building had been put into lockdown, civil servants in every room scrambling onto tables, yanking legs up onto chairs and, in one memorable effort, preparing an elastic band and a pen to be used as a weapon-until Nancy had been located by her father, crouched on the floor of the Cabinet Room, having lain a careful trail of mint sweets from the table across the carpet, calling quietly to the creature in question, which had taken bewildered refuge against the wall, hiding so wonderfully that their father still insists that he lost at least a decade off his life the moment he caught sight of it, and their mother to opine that his voice may well have reached a pitch previously untouched by humankind.

Incidents such as these have left claims that nothing will go wrong when the children explore rather hollow, to say the least.

But now, they race for the dumbwaiter, which they've become considerably more skilled at navigating, and as Elwen tugs at the rope, Nancy takes the opportunity once again to wonder about the name Kathryn.

If Nancy had been a more usual sort of child, she could probably have found out the answer to her question in a very few moments. But Nancy doesn't have a phone, and her iPod touch is only allowed music. Liberty's at after-school drama club and Bea is grounded (Sarah had seen the bite-marks on Will's leg, Beatrice had been obliged to explain how they had got there, and both had been confined to the house for an unspecified but likely lengthy period of time.)

She could have used the family computer or iPad. But Dad probably checks the history and though of course she can't know for sure, Nancy feels, just from the way the girl's name was spoken, that it's something private, something they're not supposed to know.

She's still mulling it over when Elwen finally manages to pull the dumbwaiter back up and both scramble on, Nancy's hands gripping the rope tightly enough to almost burn.

"El-" She tugs the rope, almost tilting it dangerously. "If Dad-"

If Dad loses, they'll leave.

Nancy can remember their old house, more than Elwen can, though he remembers a little. But Flo's always been here and, apart from driving past, she hasn't seen their old house at all.

Nancy has known in the back of her mind for a while that the election is a few months away, but until recently, a few months away seemed long enough away not to think about it, ensconced in the future, too far away to be reached.

Now though, months doesn't seem so long. It doesn't feel quite real that they could be gone from here in just a few months, but of course, Nancy knows that it must be.

Before she can express any of this, however, Elwen lets the rope go and Nancy's stomach swoops, as they both clatter down the vertical passageway, their laughter shrieking back off the walls at them.

When the light of the bright, silver Downing Street kitchen crashes into their eyes at the bottom, and they sit back for a moment, aching with laughter, before pulling themselves shakily out, into the scolding hands of the cooks, they thunder back up the stairs, Nancy's hair loose and tangled, until they almost smack into Uncle Jeremy, making his way out of the Cabinet Room. Both children fall back-they'd been rather hoping to find the place empty, so they would be free to scavenge the room again for sweets.

After setting them both upright, as he's done countless times to countless children-Mr. Heywood, as the children were originally instructed to call him, but which lasted less than a day, worked in Downing Street before they arrived and in the childrens' minds, will never leave-he enquires as to where they've been.

"Dumbwaiter" Nancy explains succinctly.

"Be careful." Uncle Jeremy ruffles Elwen's hair. "We'd hate to stop you going in them, but if you go too fast, you could get hurt."

"Like Kathryn?"

It's on a hunch that Nancy says it. She says it because knowledge she's wriggled out of conversations over the years tells her that adults are more likely to tell her something if they already think she knows it, and they give knowing something away if she catches them off-guard.

She gets the desired reaction-Uncle Jeremy's eyes widen the slightest bit. "Kathryn-"

"Kathryn" says Nancy, innocently.

Elwen looks between them both, bewildered.

Uncle Jeremy looks at her for a long moment. Then, slowly "No" he says, shaking his head. "No, not like Kathryn."

Nancy stares at him. Uncle Jeremy just looks at her and then touches her hair.

Nancy watches him walk back into the Cabinet Room, still feeling the touch on her hair, and the odd way he'd looked at her, then-with something tender, but almost as though it hurt.

Elwen looks at her. "What was that about?"

Nancy can only shrug in response. But Kathryn's name has just become more firmly fixed in her mind than ever.

 

* * *

 

Craig's knock on the door is drowned out by the whirring of a sewing machine and a muffled yelling of "Oh, _fuck."_

Craig blinks.

A moment later, the door opens and Samantha appears, in her dressing gown, with her dark hair slightly rumpled, her face clean of make-up and somehow younger, more innocent.

"Ah. Hi, Craig." She leans against the door frame. "Sorry about that" she says, tilting her head back towards the flat. "Just trying to learn to sew."

Craig manages a smile. "Would have thought you already knew that."

Sam laughs, pushing her hair back. "You and everyone else. Come in. Come in-"

"Where are the kids?" Craig asks, once they're both at the table with a glass of wine.

"In bed." Samantha takes a sip from her own glass. "Only time I can do this. Just learning dressmaking. Figured I should-" She circles a finger. "Add it to the list, you know."

She glances up at Craig. "Where's Dave?"

"Oh. Down in his office. Just finishing up a meeting." Craig gives her a grin. "He came up to put the kids to bed earlier, right?"

Samantha grins, wincing at the sight of the marks on her hands, where the sewing machine needle has run riot.

"Yeah. He was-" She pushes her hair behind her ears. "He was doing the voices and Florence got to sleep quite quickly, actually-"

"I've seen him do the voices."

Sam remembers something then; they'd been married for about a year when they'd gone to Morocco. David had chosen it on a whim, remembering his own trip to the Soviet with his friends during his gap year.

They'd been young and married; and so the whole trip had seemed more exciting for it. They'd still been young enough that even booking the hotel had been a novelty, and the freedom of being there alone, without family or the others, pulling them back into more familiar roles, had meant that when they'd discovered how cheap the alcohol was, something in Samantha had felt freer, as though she was someone a little new.

The cheapness of the alcohol and the weird freedom of not being the eldest of all the kids, a label you never stopped being completely free of, even when the youngest was able to look after themselves, had meant she swallowed the drinks faster than usual, enjoying the burn in her throat.

The room had been spinning pleasantly when David had caught her up in his arms, spinning her round and carrying her into the street, the cold air slapping them both in the face, Sam's head dropping back as David carried her, his laughter vibrating through both their bodies.

She'd kissed him, pressing her mouth into his over and over again, their kisses hot and open in the icy air, her hands pressing into his cheeks. Everything had felt open and possible, stretched out before them, then.

The next morning, she'd been violently sick, gripping the toilet so tightly it hurt, her mouth sour with vomit. Her head had throbbed, a dull pounding so heavy she could barely lift it to look at David, who was in a similar condition at the sink.

She'd squinted at him through the haze of pain, her eyes raw, yesterday's make-up clinging to her lashes, and David, gasping for breath, wiping his mouth, had winked.

"Tourist attraction" he'd said with a grin, flickering his finger between them. "How sick you could get two people with one bottle of vodka. We'd make them millions."

Sam had stared at him, and then her laughter had cracked out, thin and rusty. She'd clapped her hands to her head, as the sound ricocheted inside her skull, but she'd laughed, even through the nausea that twisted every time she moved and the dull pounding pain in her head. David had made her laugh.

Now she glances at Craig, cradling and examining the memory between her fingers, when he says "Does Dave-listen, Sam, I just wanted to ask-does Dave seem all right to you?"

Sam frowns. Craig backtracks, hastily.

"I mean-Miliband was at Nancy's party-do he and Dave-" Craig shakes his head. "Well-does Dave seem all right around him?"

"Well-" Sam takes a sip of her wine, the question stirring something at the back of her mind. "If he hadn't been-I don't think he'd have been so relaxed ab-"

"No, no, maybe I'm not-saying this right-" Craig presses his hands to his temples and leans forward, his cheeks puffing out as he exhales.

Sam lays a hand on his arm. "Craig?"

Craig looks up suddenly. "Does he seem-" His jaw is working furiously, as though trying to grind the words out. _"Too_ all right with Miliband?"

Sam stares at him and Craig shakes his head before she can even answer. "Forget it. It's a stupid question-"

"No, no, it's-"

"I was just-" Craig waves a hand, searching for the words. "I don't want him to get distracted, that's all." He shakes his head. "Sometimes-ah-it would be easier if Dave could just hate Miliband a little more."

Sam takes a slow sip of wine. "David doesn't hate many people" she says quietly.

"No."

"He-" Sam stares down into her wine, thinking. "He can find something to like-about most people. It's-"

She swirls the wine around in the glass, watching the light glimmer in the golden depths. "He-would find it hard-" she says suddenly. "To pretend to dislike someone. But-he might do a better job than he realises."

She cups the wine glass between her palms, the glass not quite cool enough against her skin.

"Than he realises-"

"Except to himself-" she says, quietly and Craig stops talking abruptly, as though she's shouted it.

"It's stupid, really" he says, a little too quickly. "I just wanted to check."

Sam nods, then shakes her head. "No, it's fine" she says. "He's-fine."

Craig nods. "Good-."

"He won't let himself get distracted" she says slowly, teasing her fingers through her hair as she does so. "He's-Dave. He might not be able to pretend to dislike him-but-"

The words falter out. "I don't think-he could pretend to fail, either."

There's a silence, then-"Well. Nobody wants to fail." Craig takes another sip of his wine.

Sam, looking at him, has a sudden, sharp jolt. Deja-vu nudges her whole body and for a second, she's somewhere where she's felt this odd, pressing, almost-knowledge at the edges of her mind before. She can feel the oak under her thighs through the slippery fabric of her dress, Emily's tiny fists curled around the bannisters next to her, and voices jolting too, seeming to vibrate through the wooden stairs.

She remembers being small, very small, not being able to see over the bannisters, and so straining to. She remembers catching glimpses of her father's face in stripes through the spirals of the bannisters. She can hear, even though she can't hear the words, the way her father's voice rose and fell, against her mother's, and Samantha hadn't known if he was arguing or pleading, though whether she would have known either word at the time is doubtful. And Emily's head, heavy and dark, resting against her shoulder.

That almost-pressing knowledge. Like tilting on the edge of a cliff, but not quite falling.

Sam felt it then. She's feeling it, like a ghost or an echo, now.

"Sam?"

Sam looks up, coming back sharply to the brightly-lit kitchen, the wine glasses, Craig-

"All right?" Craig touches her arm.

Sam shakes her head. "Yes. Yeah. I'm fine."She clinks her glass to his and catches a glimpse once again of the almost-hole in her finger, where the needle had slipped and jabbed viciously, as she tried to guide it through two rougher pieces of material, the cotton pulling tight so they overlapped and leaving her marked, but the clothes stitched and knotted, pulled tight and bowed off, sewn successfully together.

 

* * *

 

"Everyone ready to go-" Jen touches Theo and Ines gently on the shoulders, guiding them to the door. "Right, let's everyone make sure we've got our worksheets-so now our mummies and daddies have finished talking about what we're going to be learning, we can do a worksheet with them and say hello, with some juice and biscuits-"

Daniel sits with his chin in his hands while Alexa and Roxanne skip out of the classroom, trying to dance each other out the door.

"Daniel?" Jen holds out a hand. "Come on. Mum or Dad'll be waiting."

Daniel doesn't say anything. He gets up and picks up his worksheet, and walks as slowly as he can to follow everyone else down the corridor.

Daniel starts to say the _Octonauts_ names over and over again in his head as they go into the big hall. He tells himself that by the time he gets to Tunip, he'll have seen someone he knows.

_Captain Barnacles, Kwazii, Peso and Pinto..._

He looks around for Aaron, but Aaron's already run ahead to his mum. Daniel watches her wrap her arms around him tightly. He tries to remember what it felt like when Auntie Sam hugged him, nice and warm.

He looks around.

_Professor Inkling, Dr Shellington..._

There's no one there when Daniel looks. He tries to peer up at the faces, the ones with dark hair, but none of them's Dad. He tries to look at the ladies, but none of them's Zia or Mum.

Daniel doesn't need to finish. He wanders over to the wall and sinks down with his back against it, cross-legged. He sits quietly and watches everyone else be hugged, while he wraps his arms tightly around his knees and tries to pretend there's someone there hugging him, too.

_Tweak. Dashi. Tunip._

He got to Tunip.

After a while, Daniel gets up and walks slowly back into the hallway, towards the stairs. You're not supposed to go up the stairs or in the classroom without a teacher, but no one sees Daniel anyway, so it doesn't matter.

He drums his fingers along the black plastic rail as he takes the stairs slowly, listening to the slapping of his shoes in the stairwell, and feels the cross, scrunched-up feeling in his stomach get tighter. When he gets back into the classroom, he sits at his desk and looks at his half-filled in worksheet, which he's still holding. His is now the only one on a desk. Everyone else has taken theirs' to do with their mums or dads.

Daniel looks at his worksheet which he was filling in to show Dad, and then shoves it away so it falls on the floor. He sits there, leaning his elbows on the desk, and looking at everyone else's empty tables. He can see Alexa's pencil case sitting on her table that her mum bought her specially, though they don't need pencil cases yet, and Daniel thinks about how her mum ran to pick her up when she saw her, like she was the best present in the world, like Auntie Sam looks at Florence.

Daniel sits there, feeling something cold and sad and empty pulling all his insides down, _down_ , so he feels sick. He kicks the leg of the table, which makes his foot hurt. He shoves his table hard and gets up, shoving the chair back too so it screeches across the floor.

He stands there, feeling like he might start to cry and like he wants to hit something. But there's nothing to hit and he looks at Alexa's pencil case.

He smacks it with his hand and the pencil case falls off the desk. Pencils and pens spill out everywhere. Daniel kicks them hard.

He kicks his chair again and flings himself down in his seat. He buries his face in his arms and closes his eyes, his cheek pressing into the hardness of the table, and tries to disappear into it, into somewhere warm and happy, where there's Octonauts and grown-ups who pick you up, and everyone likes him.

 

* * *

 

"Mr Miliband?"

Ed squeezes his eyes shut in confusion for a moment, trying to place the voice. "Yes?"

"It's Jen. From Brookfield. Daniel's teacher?"

Ed winces. "Oh. Oh-yeth. Yeth-of course-"

He sits up. "It-it wasn't a parenth-s evening, was it-"

There's a short silence.

Then, "No" Jen says slowly. "No, it wasn't. There was a curriculum meeting this morning, though. For parents in Daniel's class."

Even Ed, who is often perplexed when trying to distinguish emotions from voices or looks, can sense the disapproval. "I-I thought I'd-Zia-I thought Zia-the kids' nanny-I thought she was going-"

"Well, the school weren't aware of that." Jen's voice is quieter now. "There was no one here for Daniel. For the second time in a row."

Ed closes his eyes. "I'm th-sorry-"

"That's not why I'm calling you. The fact is-we need you to come down and pick Daniel up."

Ed glances at the clock. There's an hour until lunchtime. "Is he-ill or-"

Jen sighs. "There's been an incident. We'd really like to talk to at least one of Daniel's parents, and then we think it might be best if you take him home for the rest of the day."

Ed blinks. "But-you want me to come and get him _now?"_

"Yes. And we'll need to have a discussion first-your wife hasn't been able to be reached, though we've tried contacting her several times-"

Ed winces. "But-Zia could-"

"Mr Miliband." Jen's voice is suddenly very firm. "We would really prefer to speak to at least one of Daniel's parents."

Ed swallows hard, mind already grating with anxiety at the amount of time this will mean away from work. But it sounds as though there's little choice.

"All-all right."

 

* * *

 

Ed has never entirely enjoyed school functions. On the rare occasions he's attended, it always reminds him a little too much of his own school days.

Now, sat uncomfortably on a plastic chair that's too small for him, Daniel's teacher sitting on the other side of the desk, Ed has the uncomfortable inkling that he's in trouble.

"Basically-" Jen-at Daniel's school, they're keen that the children feel comfortable addressing the teachers by their first names-"We have a few concerns about Daniel's behaviour at the moment."

Ed folds his hands together, suddenly aware they feel oddly cold. "Right" he manages, his voice sounding a little too loud.

Jen inclines her head. "Right, well-usually, these would have been raised at the parents' evening in December, but obviously-" She holds out a hand. "We were told you couldn't attend-"

"Zia attended" says Ed, feeling more uncomfortable. "She gave us a report-"

"But we did say we would like to arrange a meeting with at least one of you-" Jen says, arranging a pile of worksheets. "Which so far, hasn't proved possible."

Ed bites his lip. If he's honest, he hasn't thought about the parents' evening since Zia told them about it. A part of him had presumed Justine had done something about it, but it hadn't occurred to him to find out.

"Well, we're not concerned about his-about Daniel's abilities or his schoolwork-" Jen says, tucking her shoulder-length hair behind her ears. "He's meeting all the appropriate levels on those. But we have noticed a few things that stand-stand out in his behaviour."

Ed frowns. "His _behaviour-?"_

Jen folds her hands together, leans forward a little. "How would you say Daniel's been behaving at home recently?"

Ed swallows. There's suddenly too much saliva in his mouth. He feels a little sick. "Um. At home-well. He's-"

He tries to remember the last time he saw Daniel at home.

"Well. Well. He was-"

Monday. It was Monday.

"A few days ago, he was--he was a little difficult-difficult, but-"

"But since then?" Jen presses, eyes wider.

Ed swallows. "Well-ah. Th-since then-" He threads his fingers together. "Um. I think th-so. I mean-well. Zia hasn't th-said-" He bites his lip. "I think th-so."

Jen raises an eyebrow. "You _think_ so?"

Ed bites his lip harder. "Well. Well, I haven't heard-heard otherwise-"

Jen just looks at him. Ed looks down at his knees.

"I've-work's been-" He meets her eyes. "You know my job-"

Jen brushes her hair back. "How much time have you and his mum been spending with Daniel, recently?"

"Oh. Um." Ed looks down at his hands, folded tightly together in his lap. "A little-a little leth-ss than usual-" He tries to remember what the _usual_ is. "Maybe."

Jen blinks, and then puts a hand to her cheek. "It's just that we've noticed Daniel acting out a little in class recently. It started before Christmas, but it's definitely-it's definitely increased, since we came back to school. Now, it's quite common when a child wants attention-"

"Acting-th-sorry, acting, acting out?"

"Talking a lot. Messing about. But those things aren't a problem in themselves-they're fairly usual with children. Daniel's doing them rather more than we'd expect, which is part of the issue. But then today, things escalated a little-"

"Right. Yeah. Today-"

Jen sighs. "Well. Daniel left the hall, where the children were taking part in an exercise, without permission-he didn't ask anyone or tell anyone where he was going. He came back to the classroom on his own, before the session was over."

"Oh-"

"Obviously, because we'd counted everyone in, there was a bit of a worry when we tried to go-when we were ready to go back to class, and obviously he wasn't there, which held things up quite a bit, and that wasn't fair on the other children."

"No. No, I th-see that-"

"Luckily, he was-he was all right, when we found him. When we came back to the classroom, he was there, but he'd dropped-he'd thrown one of the other children's possessions on the floor."

Ed blinks. "Thrown-"

"Alexa's pencil case. She'd brought it in from home to show the class-it was a present. Obviously, she was upset-nothing was broken, luckily, but she was still upset, and that took a bit of calming down from Tanya, our assistant. We did ask Daniel what had happened, but he refused to lift his head from the desk or engage with us."

Ed frowns.

"And obviously that took more time away from the other children" Jen continues. "So we started the lesson while Tanya and then our Phase Leader, Polly, tried to persuade Daniel to lift his head and engage. Now, from January, we'll be implementing something like a traffic lights system for bad behaviour, but for now, we're on warnings. We gave Daniel several warnings, but he refused to lift up his head or engage in any dialogue with us." Jen sighs. "Eventually, we had to remove him from the lesson. Usually, if he'd been disrupting the class, he'd have been sent to another classroom-or even for the actions with the pencil case- but because we-well, we know Daniel and that's not his usual behaviour and he wasn't being actively disruptive, we decided it would be more constructive for him to sit outside with Polly, while she tried to get to the bottom of things. She's sitting with him now, but unfortunately, he's still not engaging."

Ed winces. "Oh. God-no. No-no, you're right-that'th-s-that's not-not acth-ceptable-"

"The thing is-" Jen folds her hands on the table. "The children were in the hall to see their parents after the curriculum meeting this morning-"

Ed swallows. "Oh. Oh. Um-"

Jen nods. "We wondered if that might have been a trigger." She lowers her voice a little. "Daniel-Daniel was the only one without anyone there."

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it again.

"I-I thought Juth-stine had probably arranged th-something-" is what eventually crawls out of his mouth, weak even to his ears.

Jen just looks at him.

"Well, as you know, Justine is one of our governors" she says finally. "So she would have known it was today."

Ed can only nod.

"We have tried to reach her" Jen says, pulling a worksheet from the pile at her side. "But we haven't been able to."

Ed thinks bitterly, before he can stop himself, that that's wonderfully ironic.

"Now, usually, sending home would be an exclusion" Jen says, leaning forward. "And that's not the appropriate level of punishment for Daniel's behaviour today-"

"Do you want uth-us to pay for-for the little girl's penth-cil cath-se-" Ed manages, his lisp coming thicker the faster he speaks. "I mean-if anything'th-s broken-"

"Nothing's broken" Jen says. "As I was saying. Usually, it would be an exclusion, but that's not what I'm asking today. We've had a talk and we think it would be best for you to take Daniel home for the rest of the day and you have a talk with him, and see if you can get to the bottom of things. He might open up more if he's at home with you, in a more familiar environment."

Ed doubts it.

"We've already made sure Daniel's aware that this isn't a punishment, but a chance to talk things over with you, to try and help everyone decide what they want to learn from this. And when he comes back on Monday, we'd like him to have filled in a worksheet-I'll get you a copy in a minute-which is about respecting rights, which is what the children fill in when they've had to be warned in class. It might be best if you fill it in with him-in school, he'd have filled it in with me-" Jen's rooting through the pile. "It's important for an adult to help the child understand how to change their behaviour."

Ed manages a nod, and Jen says, giving him a quick glance from under her dark fringe, "Perhaps it would be an idea to set aside just a certain amount of time a day for Daniel? If things are hectic at the moment? If he knows that's his time, just him and you, even an hour, it could make a world of difference."

_A whole hour._

Ed nods, not bothering to explain that he can hardly afford an hour at the moment. "Um. Yeth-we'll-we'll talk about it."

Jen smiles. "Great. And here-" and she hands him a worksheet. "This is Daniel's, from today."

Ed stares at it, an odd, swollen, sad feeling in his throat. The first few sentences are filled in in Daniel's painstaking, shakily-formed letters.

Ed glances at the paper, then at the others. "He hasn't finished it" he says suddenly. "Everyone-everyone else's looks-"

Jen meets his eyes quietly. Ed stares back, suddenly desperate to say something, to explain, but not having a clue how to find his way to the words. He traces the paper unconsciously, finger lingering on the words his son's hand scrawled.

"Everyone else" says Jen, still quietly, her eyes not leaving his, "had a parent to finish it with them."

 

* * *

 

Ed hasn't said anything to Daniel by the time they get home.

Daniel hasn't said anything, either. Ed, every so often, when they reach traffic lights, risks a glance back at him in the mirror.

But Daniel's never looking at him and Ed's relieved to look away each time. It takes him a while to realise that he's relieved, not just that he doesn't have to make conversation, but that he doesn't have to look his son in the eye.

Once they're in the house, Daniel just walks into the living room and sits down in front of the TV. Ed stands there helplessly, knowing that this is the moment where he's supposed to wield some parental authority, but unsure how to do it.

"No" he says eventually, when Daniel reaches for the remote control. "No telly." He didn't even know Daniel knew how to use the remote control.

He expects Daniel to argue, but instead Daniel just holds the control out of reach. "Give that to me."

Daniel doesn't say anything, but turns away, holding the control further out of reach.

"Daniel-"

The TV flickers into life behind Ed-Daniel must have pressed a button.

"No-" Ed bends down and turns the TV off. "No. You're -you're going to do this-" he looks down at the Rights and Responsibilities worksheet, half-crumpled in his hand. "You need to sit down with me and fill in this sheet-"

"Don't _want_ to-" Daniel shouts this, now climbing onto the couch. "Don't _want_ to-"

"Well, tough-" Ed's own voice is rising, the feeling of fury and frustration and not being able to understand climbing higher and higher in his chest. "You got sent home from school, for God's sake-"

The TV flickers on again. Ed, foreseeing a battle of buttons, resorts to simply standing in front of the TV.

Daniel looks at Ed, and then lifts his arm, and throws the remote across the room at him.

It doesn't hit Ed; it doesn't come near. Instead, it clatters against the fireplace, hitting the corner of the photo frame-the wedding picture-and then smacks onto the fender, the back flying off, leaving the batteries nestled inside, open and exposed.

Ed feels a prickle of a thought, as he looks at the picture, only knocked an inch closer to the edge. _Pity._

It's really that thought that makes something suddenly flash bright and furious through Ed's chest, though Ed doesn't know it. He looks at Daniel and the way Daniel stares back at him, something grips tightly inside.

He doesn't know he's across the room until his hand closes around Daniel's arm. His other hand snatches him, yanking him off the couch. Daniel struggles, and Ed's hands tighten on his arms.

"I got bloody called out of bloody _work!"_ He's shouting the words, holding Daniel like a parcel.

Daniel's foot catches his shin.

It only sends a dull ache through him, but something bright and furious bolts through his body. His hands knot again, and he pulls Daniel up. "For God's _sake-"_

Daniel's little arms and legs keep moving, one hand hitting Ed in the chest, his feet lashing out. Ed half-drags him towards the table. "Just do the bloody sheet!"

 _"I hate you!"_ Daniel's voice is sharp, his hands hitting at Ed's chest, sharp nail catching his chin.

Ed wrenches him away. "What's _wrong_ with you?" The words are shouted full-force in Daniel's face, hands knotting tightly. "Do you think this is what we bloody need-"

"Not _we-"_ Daniel shrieks the word. _"Not we-"_

The door crashes open and then Zia's there crouching and she's pulling Daniel away from him. She doesn't say anything to him. She merely pulls Daniel away and holds him gently, crouching down, murmuring to him.

Ed stands there, chest rising and falling, as he watches Zia wrap her arms around Daniel, hugging him like a mother.

"Fine" he almost spits out, his voice a little fainter than he means. "Fine. You-you do the-"

He can't be in here. He can't.

Ed spins around and heads for the door. He barely notices where he's going until he's scrambling into the driver's seat and then his forehead's pressing into his hands.

His eyes are prickling. He lifts his head, his eyes settling on Daniel's worksheet, the one he'd only partly completed. He stares through the faint blur at his son's carefully-formed letters. At the top of the page, in big black font, reads _WHO WILL FILL IN THIS SHEET WITH YOU?_

Underneath, Daniel's written, in shaky and laborious letters, _MY DAD._

Ed blinks. Something hot and wet spills out of his eyes.

Slowly, he leans his head forward and rests his forehead on the hard rim of the steering wheel, his heart pounding too hard, until the stab of Daniel's words have faded, and the only sound in the car is the sharp rasp of his breath and the slight crumpling of the paper, as he squeezes Daniel's words between his fingers, until later on when he's ready, he'll barely be able to read them at all.

* * *

 

_Playlist_

_Burn-Parade Of Lights-" Tell me what you want to know/Never do what you've been told...And if you go up in flames/I think you know you're to blame/I know that you'll never change/You're like fire, fire, oh/You're like fire, fire, oh/..Let's burn/let's burn"-this actually reflects the way other people are seeing the relationship between David and Ed. Because David and Ed are reluctant to see it themselves at this point, it's left to the people around them to see that the natural chemistry between them, and how their natural stubbornness isn't letting them see what could happen._

_Matchbox Car-Candy Hearts-" I can't say your name like it's a curse/And I'll jinx something...Sometimes I think you're really sweet and I'm confused/Sometimes we kiss, sometimes we don't/Sometimes we take off our clothes/and I'm not sure what I should/Because sometimes I think I might like you...You think that I'm afraid of everything/When I know that that's not true/It's really just you"-this sums up David and Ed generally at this point, but it also sums up Ed's feelings pretty strongly, especially when Alastair and Peter are trying to dissuade him from them._

_Wake Up-Arcade Fire-" Somethin' filled up my heart with nothin'/Someone told me not to cry...If the children don't grow up/our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up/We're just a million little gods causin' rain storms/turnin' every good thing to rust"-so this sums up the scenes between Ed and Daniel at the end and also, in a different way, Nancy and Elwen exploring Downing Street, and acknowledging how things might change for them. _

_Divide-Tigers' Jaw-" There are a lot of things we try to hide/But you are drowning, it's in your eyes...I've come to find we are consumed by what we try to hide"-this is another recurring song in the playlist, but here it perfectly suits the end of the chapter, especially from Ed's point of view-not just the things he's hiding about how he feels, but his feelings about his family._

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick notes:  
> David did used to steal strawberries during his time at Heatherdown: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1253749/Camerons-prep-school-report-reveals-class.html Simon is Simon Andrae, one of David's best friends at Heatherdown, now a TV executive-his twin brother is Giles Andrae, another of David's close friends, and the creator of Purple Ronnie:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3102957/What-happened-Dave-s-Eton-chums-juice-bar-tycoon-scuba-instructor-Prime-Minister-pals-different-futures.html  
> Blair famously threw his kids elaborate parties at Chequers & other places, to the point he tried to charge kids in his son Leo's class money to attend: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2005804/Tony-Blair-charges-children-10-attend-sons-party-6m-country-mansion.html  
> Alastair did despair of Peter & Tony's natural sympathies with the rich, private schools, etc.-Alastair coming from a far more working-class background. The "Monroe thing" refers to an incident in November 2014 in which food author Jack Monroe caused an outcry by accusing David Cameron on Twitter of "using misty-eyed stories about his dead son" to justify privatising the NHS, which was both inaccurate & highly offensive, & drew condemnation from both the Tories and Labour: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2847731/Sainsbury-s-disowns-anti-austerity-cook-used-face-supermarket-stands-claim-Cameron-uses-dead-son-sell-NHS.html Monroe later stated they were "ashamed" of the tweet, didn't stand by it, deleted it, and wrote a two-page letter of apology to Samantha Cameron: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/the-transformation-of-jack-monroe-tglnc393nw5  
> https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/nov/28/katie-hopkins-mail-online-jack-monroe  
> Cherie Blair was very close to Ivan:https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/on-the-road-with-my-cousin-the-prime-minister-nhrmzrd03pk  
>  Gordon Brown was devastated when Ivan died, being found sobbing in his office by his aides before he famously suspended PMQs and instead, led tributes to Ivan: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/4807617/Westminster-mourns-the-death-of-David-Camerons-disabled-son.html  
> http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x8hn8t  
> He had the House suspended for half an hour in Ivan's honour-the only time that has ever been done for a child. Brown himself also lost a child-his daughter, baby Jennifer, passed away when she was ten days old in January 2002, due to complications following a premature birth: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/1380699/Jennifer-dies-in-their-arms.html  
> Gavin is Cameron's private press secretary does own a pet tarantula, which he kept in his office at Downing Street.https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2016/nov/23/the-tarantula-stays-tory-chief-whip-wont-remove-pet-spider-from-office-gavin-Williamson  
>  Jeremy Heywood is the Cabinet Office Secretary-a non-partisan civil servant, who's worked in Downing Street throughout Blair, Brown, Cameron and now May's time in office: https://www.ft.com/content/a4d942ce-ce40-11e2-a13e-00144feab7de  
> David Cameron doesn't allow his children to own mobile phones-Nancy owned an iPod touch, but was only allowed music on it, and they were only allowed to use the family iPad: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/05/04/david-cameron-bans-his-three-children-from-playing-with-electron/  
> Samantha did practice sewing in Downing Street when the children were in bed-she also enlisted in dressmaking courses, and has stated herself that she struggled with sewing (unlike Nancy, who loves it): https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/samantha-cameron-unspun-khdqnq50k  
> http://www.canberratimes.com.au/good-weekend/samantha-cameron-i-worried-people-thought-i-was-a-stepford-wife-20170926-gyp16l.html  
> David mentioned his children exploring Downing Street: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/8469292/David-Cameron-interview-I-wanted-to-berate-him-but-Dave-won-me-over.html  
> br />  
> David and Samantha went on holiday in Morocco early in their marriage, which is a story Sam likes to tell at parties:https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/news/144130/pm-at-coke-party/ David visited the Soviet Union in his gap year (and nearly got picked up by what some think was a KGB agent and some think was a guy flirting with him.) http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11772363/KGB-spies-who-tried-to-recruit-David-Cameron-were-just-a-gay-pick-up.html Samantha's father, Reginald Sheffield, leaving the family when she was five is one of her earliest memories (he'd been having an affair with her mother's best friend.): https://www.standard.co.uk/news/cameron-why-id-always-put-my-family-before-politics-6900249.html  
> Traffic lights is a system implemented in schools to provide kids with warnings about their behaviour. Ed stated where his went to school: http://archive.camdennewjournal.com/milistar  
> 


	25. Constituency Calculations, Remembrance Ruminations And An Invitation Of Incongruity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which David deals with prank calls, remembrance ceremonies make it hard not to remember, and invitations to Oxfordshire can be issued when one is crying in a bathroom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry this took so long, guys! (There's been a lot going on, both in the world and with me, so it's been a lil busy!) But here's the next chapter!  
> Thank you SO MUCH for all the comments/kudos! If you want to chat about the fic, talk about my other fics, or ask me anything at all, you can send me an [ask](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr! I love hearing from you guys and made some great friends that way, so you can do that any time!  
> ALSO, FAN-ART: I've had some really lovely fanart of this fic in the past, like [this pic](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/post/147243977304/baepper-hallowgirl-baepper-mm) from @fallen-pine on Tumblr ([slytherintbh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherintbh/pseuds/slytherintbh) on AO3) and also [@pennyforthebutchukoy](http://pennyforthebutchukoy.tumblr.com/)has done some great fanart of my other fics if you look through the #camerband tag on her Tumblr. So if you've created any fanart, I'd love to see it!  
> QUICK NOTE: All the excerpts from the speeches at the Holocaust Memorial are genuine. Alan Milburn was the Health Secretary when Labour was in government, who criticised Ed's campaign on the 27th January 2015, the same day Ed gave a speech on the NHS. You can read some of his criticisms here: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/jan/27/labour-pale-imitation-1992-election-campaign-nhs-milburn  
> Ed's flashbacks to his comments on Cameron on the NHS are from a speech he himself had given earlier that day from a hospital in Trafford where the NHS was launched: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-30994930 <  
> Anyway, just a quick trigger warning: there are mentions of the Holocaust in this chapter, if that triggers anyone.  
> Leave a comment if you enjoy it! :) Thank you for reading! :)

_There's a short circuit between my brain and my tongue, thus "Leave me the fuck alone" comes out as "Well, maybe. Sure. I guess I can see your point." -A Friend In The Ghetto, David Sedaris_

 

_""You just say whatever you want, don't you?"_

_"Only to you." I shook my head. "Sorry, that sounded creepy.""- Radio Silence, Alice Oseman_

 

_No-one's the same as they used to be/Much as we try to pretend/No-one's as innocent as could be/We all fall short, we all sin_

_-"Fast In My Car", Paramore_

* * *

 

 

 

On Tuesday morning, Nick Robinson glances idly at the TV screen and promptly yells "Oh, for _fuck's sake."_

Will, sitting at the kitchen table, nearly jumps out of his skin, almost upsetting his tea at the same moment. "Jesus, Dad, this is my fucking A-Level work!"

"Language" Nick manages to warn him, still with his eyes on the screen, though he doesn't manage to miss Will raising an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Nick rolls his eyes, managing to squeeze Harry's shoulder, as he wanders past half in, half out of his school uniform. "Honest to God" he mutters.

"What?" Pippa's following their son, tapping him on the head with his neglected textbook and ruffling Will's hair, to his annoyance.

Nick sighs and points to the TV screen. "Well, which bright spark came up with that idea?"

All of them, even Will, follow his gaze. Across the TV screen, decorated in various colours, is a bright countdown graphic, sporting two little words: _100 Days._

"Oh, bloody hell" mutters Will, returning to his work. "Don't tell me they're going to have a bloody election countdown-"

Nick doesn't even bother to reprove him for the language. He's already thinking much the same thing.

"Jesus" he manages, letting his head sink into his hands. "That's-"

"Fourteen weeks and two days" Harry supplies helpfully.

Nick groans. "Wake me up when it's over."

"Well, we'll do that" says Pippa, fairly unsympathetically, sending the screen black with one swoop of the remote control, to an indignant squawk from Harry. "Just so long as you know you'll probably wake up on air."

Nick groans again. He gets a crust of his son's toast thrown at him for his trouble, with the result that he spends half of his morning at work bemoaning his already bad throat and the other half expounding on the many and varied grievances of an unsympathetic family.

And the annoyance of those two words _100 Days_ , nestled on the screen, not letting anyone quite forget.

 

* * *

 

 

"Have they figured out who it was yet?" George asks, with a snigger.

"Who what was-oh-" David grins, spinning round, whilst Graeme fiddles with the wire. "Who the caller was? Yeah-"

"You're not going to-"

"No, course not. It was hilarious" David snorts, turning back to the table. "He nearly got Florence yelling down the phone." Off George's look, David shrugs. "She was sitting on my shoulders at the time. We were out walking when the call came through."

"How long did it last-"

"Only about two minutes." David laughs, leaning forward in his seat. "Better than Michael's bloody watch going off last week. I told Sarah to just get him a simple bloody Swatch watch-"

"Is Michael actually _familiar_ with the concept of a Swatch watch-let alone the bloody Apple one she got him-"

"I don't give a fuck" comes an Australian drawl from over their shoulders. "Whether Michael's listening to Beyonce, Taylor Swift, or that fucking Lady and Lord girl-"

"Lorde girl-" David and George correct automatically, not being able to make that mistake with preteen daughters.

"Whatever. I want you focused on these fucking interviews. And they're going to try and nail you on the fucking debates, whether you're live from the fucking Cabinet Room or not. So I want you prepped."

David leans back in his chair. Lynton eyes him.

"Don't want them to disrupt the campaigns, want all the minor parties involved, isn't fair unless everyone gets a chance-"

Lynton puffs out his cheeks. "Thank Christ for that."

George gives David a wink. "Just remember to say you want a coalition with Miliband, don't forget that-"

"Shut up." Lynton cuffs him on the shoulder.

George sniggers, and Lynton holds up a warning finger. "And remember-debate rehearsal afterwards. Got to get you working on how to crush the little oik."

David manages to hold a smile. He runs the words through his mind again, like a necklace through a child's fingers: _campaign, minor parties, fairness-_

_Where he couldn't open the door, he was bullied by small children, and he set the carpet on fire-_

He tries to make himself picture Miliband's big, dark eyes across from him, that smug, sanctimonious, reproachful look-

He sees them suddenly across the Chamber last week. Big and dark and-

_Just imagine what a shambles he'd make of running the country!_

That lip trembling.

David feels something waver horribly in his chest.

He reaches quickly for the headphones in front of him, pulling them too roughly over his ears, but there's that wavering in his chest again, and he's moving too quickly for George not to notice.

* * *

 

 

Ed's shirt is damp under his arms. He shifts uncomfortably on the chair, too aware of the crackle of the material, the way he always is.

"It's-er-70 years since my grandfather died in one of the-er-camps-"

He looks away suddenly, not wanting to meet Nick's eyes anymore. "And I marked that-er-about ten days ago-"

He isn't sure, and the thought prickles that that's wonderfully suitable that he isn't sure.

"You know, it's really hard, this, because I've talked to my mum about this-and it's not the kind of thing we talk-"

He catches himself.

"You talk about very much when you're growing up in a household affected by this-er-affected by-these things-"

"We lit the candle" he'd told her that weekend, folding and unfolding his hands. "For-"

_Your dad._

His mother had looked at him, sharp and steely-eyed, and then said "I see."

Ed had cleared his throat. "For-you know. My-"

_Grandfather._

Marion had just looked at him. Ed had swallowed, taking a too-hurried gulp of tea, his throat too dry.

"Th-so" he'd said too loudly, his heartbeat a little too audible. "I might-talk about it this week, you know, with it being the-the memorial-"

Marion had looked at him. Then, almost quickly enough for him to pretend he hadn't heard, she'd said "First time."

"Th-sorry?"

"The first time. I think." She'd met his eyes then, unflinching. "That you've lit the candle."

Ed had swallowed. He suddenly hadn't been quite sure what to do with his hands.

"Well." He'd cleared his throat, suddenly wishing Sam would interrupt, would come toddling over. But his dark curls were all Ed could see, curled up in a corner of the couch, facing too firmly away from him.

"Well. Yeth. Juth-just because-"

His voice had sounded too quavering. Too thin. _Please. Please._

"Because-because now we _know_ -about what happened-and-and everything-"

Ed's stomach had squirmed unpleasantly.

Marion had just watched him, long and hard, for another moment, and then said quietly, "I see."

Ed had swallowed. Somehow, the words had seemed too loud in the quiet room, not even drowned by the rattled chatter of Sam's Peppa Pig cartoon.

"Well-" and Marion had looked away, then. "It's up to you what you choose to speak about. As long as you're sure."

Ed had nodded. Swallowed.

It should have been what he'd wanted to hear.

So he'd squeezed his hands together. Tried to fumble the words out of his mouth.

_Yes. I am-_

Tried to meet his mother's gaze.

Tried. Hadn't.

It's a few minutes later that Nick says "How did you mark it, ten days ago?"

Ed's stomach turns over.

"I-it's a Jewish thing, you know, you light a candle-" he begins to explain, Tom's words in the back of his head. _Make sure you remind them of Yad Vashem. You need to let them know you get it, you understand-because right now they think you don't-_

"Actually-er-"

He tries to laugh, feels his stomach squeeze tightly. "I know this sounds almoth-st unbelievable, but it's only actually six months ago that we discovered the full circumstances of what happened to my grandfather-"

He remembers looking up at the wall of pictures-so many, they blurred into each other, faces and voices and stories all tangling together, all to be nailed to a wall in a frame. Justine had been next to him, peering up because he was, and something about that had made Ed look away from her, something sick and tight pulling in his stomach.

"So where-where was he-"

"He-he was in the-he was in Germany, in a, er-he ended up in Germany-in a, in a labour camp." He rushes the words out. "Which is where he eventually died, according to the records-"

The documents had felt strange in his hand-too many papers and too few at once. He'd felt his hands shaking a little as he took them, Robinson standing off to the side, miming to the cameras to lower themselves until they said, and it had seemed too _bizarre_ that what had happened was written in these pages. He'd swallowed, thanking them again and again, stuttered words of thanks putting off the moment he'd have to read them a little longer.

Justine had blinked hard at his side and he'd known he was supposed to do something, put a hand on her arm, an arm around her. It'd be a good photo.

Ed had felt sick.

He'd told himself that was why he hadn't done it, that he'd known the tears were real.

"I went to Yad Vashem-you know, which is the place in Israel where they have records on-the Holocaust-and-and-er-that's where I-"

He catches himself. _United team,_ Douglas had told him, before his interview with Robinson. _Makes you look like a Prime Minister-in-waiting. Cameron was always doing it with his wife-_

Cameron hadn't had to go to Yad Vashem.

"Where we discovered more information about what had happened to him-"

He'd lain the wreath carefully, feeling vaguely stupid as he did so-walking slowly, trying not to trip over his own feet. It can never feel natural, because it isn't-

That thought had stung, because it's not natural. That's why the cameras were there.

 _A personal trip,_ Tom had said. _A deeply personal trip. That's what we want this out as. You and your wife trying to work out where you come from._

Him and his wife. And Douglas. And 30 other aides. And Robinson. And several camera crews.

A deeply personal trip.

The cameras had flashed, all capturing the moment, as he laid the wreath on the floor. Justine's head had been bowed, her hands folded, the way they were supposed to be.

(Everyone had touched his arms after, murmured words of comfort, the way they were supposed to. Justine had taken his hand.)

(Ed had taken a deep breath and hadn't pulled it away.)

He'd stared at the wreath, as he'd stepped back solemnly, folding his hands together. Justine had stepped closer to him, and his vision had wavered a little, the way it was supposed to.

It would make a great photograph. A personal one.

The cameras flashed.

"And you know we-we lit a candle, and I-I-"

"And was that very so-" Nicky lifts his hands. "You know, I-I don't _believe_ you're an incredibly religious man, but was that in itself a very spiritual experience-"

"Well, I-it was a s-sort of-you know, it's a kind of-way of remember s-it's a Jewish thing to remember, and I talked about it with a friend of mine who-and we sort of agreed that it was the right thing to do-"

Bob. Bob had recommended it.

_Help you connect. Understand the Jewish ways of doing things, helping you appeal to the Jewish._

Ed had never done it before, but the argument had been there, sculpted and crafted and reasonable.

"And, you know, I lit the candle, and my kids-one of them-my eldest son, Daniel-"

_He hates me. He really hates me. He didn't speak to me all weekend. I didn't even take him to school this morning. Or yesterday._

It had been left to Justine to make Daniel do the worksheet. She'd made her voice slow and patient, her eyes overly-wide.

Something about it had left something creeping at Ed's skin, and he'd turned away, hugging himself tight with his arms suddenly cold.

Daniel had shoved the pencil away from him over and over again. Ed had disappeared upstairs eventually, and he still isn't sure whether Daniel completed the sheet or not.

A part of him had thought, childishly, that maybe it was Justine's problem.

"He said to me, er-" He laughs, tries to, a little. ""What's that for?" and, er-"

 _Where were you?_ he'd said, voice seeming to bounce off the walls, though it was only a whisper. _We couldn't bloody find you._

_I was in a meeting-for God's sake, BP will take this back to court, I couldn't just tell them I've got to go because my son's thrown a fit at school-_

_How come we didn't know about the curriculum meeting?_

_They'll email us the sheets-_

_But that'th-s-_ Ed had stared at her, feeling as though he was just grasping at something he couldn't quite understand. _That'th not the point._

Justine's eyes had narrowed. _Well, I didn't see you remembering._

_But it'th-_

Not my job.

Justine's eyes had narrowed.

_Well, we couldn't fucking reach you!_

_Because I was in a meeting-_

It had gone on, their voices and words round and round in circles, neither of them quite touching the word _important._

Important. What was-

"You know, it's hard to-he's five, so it's hard to-to explain-"

Suddenly, he remembers something else. Last April, in Israel, standing next to a soft play area, the childrens' shouts echoing off the corrugated metal roof overhead. Justine was standing there, her dark blue shirt crinkling a little, her too-wide eyes glancing away from the bright primary colours behind them to fix on Nick Robinson.

_Well, I-I think it's brought it home for me-I-_

She'd glanced at Ed, as though for confirmation. _We've got a three and a four-year-old at home-who play -but they don't have to play here-_

She'd nodded a little, as if reassuring herself of this.

_They've got a choice about whether to go outside, so I was quite struck by that-_

Ed had looked at her and then had to smile, because suddenly something had seized, biting and sarcastic in his chest. _Oh, well done. That's what registered with you._

He'd pushed it away a moment later, the same way he'd pushed down her standing by the play area for a shot, the cameraman yelling directions to her. _Let's get a look at the kids, this'll be a good shot._

Justine had stared at the children, her eyes wider, and for a moment, she'd looked caught. Lost.

Ed had felt a twinge of something, then-something like affection, but not quite. Like pity, or something that wished it could be affection.

He'd wondered what to do, half-putting out a hand to help her, though not sure how to himself.

But then the cameras had clicked. The light had come on.

And Justine had smiled at the children she'd been staring at, a little lost, a few moments before. _I'd quite like to do that._

(It had been so _quick.)_

Ed had turned away, that crawling feeling clamping tight in his chest and not quite sure why.

And now, he looks at Nick across the recording booth.

"But I explained it was for my grandfather who I didn't meet-and er-and er-and who died at a very youn-you know-young age-but it's-you know-"

"What is it like having somebody in your own family that, that-that, that-" Nick raises his hands. "That-that died-so a lot of us cannot relate to that-I mean-" He jerks his thumb. "Our-our-our very own Adrian Goldberg is over there-he does have a-that experience-but what does it _feel_ like-to-to-to know that your own flesh and blood was-was part of the-the-the slaughtered?"

Ed's stomach clenches. "It's-it's awful, and it-and it-"

The cameras are whirring.

"Makes me feel incredibly lucky-and you know-"

_We need a good line._

"There's horror and there's hope-because it's also the case that, er-many members of my family were r-were _saved_ because they were Jews who were hidden by decent people."

_That'll be the line._

He hears Bob's voice in his head.

_That'll echo. Decencies, principles-that's what we want to get across. And this gives it a more personal edge._

Ed's fingers curl.

_Good shot._

He feels sick.

 

* * *

 

"The truth is that Ed Miliband would walk into Downing Street hand-in-hand with Nicola Sturgeon if he thought it would gain him a _sliver_ of power-"

"Hang on." Lynton holds up a hand. "Stop, stop, stop."

David's already spreading his own hands. "It can't be the bloody stance again, I've straightened up five times now-"

"It's not the fucking stance. The stance is fine." Lynton shakes his head. "I just want to go over the minor parties thing-"

"Oh, fuck, not that again." George slumps over their makeshift podium (actually a rather tired old chair that David keeps intending to get rid of and failing to replace.) "I've had to do Miliband's-" He adopts an overly nasal tone that sounds as though someone's stamped on his nose. _"Thith Prime Minithter ith chickening_ out three times, my nose will break from having my voice shoved through it-"

"And we solve the mystery of Miliband's crooked nose" Craig declares, leaning on his own chair.

"I couldn't give a fuck whether Miliband's nose is crooked or straight as a die-shut up, George" says Lynton, without even turning round to glare at George who's now enacting a pantomime of Miliband biting into a sandwich and then thrusting a fist and a series of rapid V signs.

"I believed it up until then" David remarks, referring to the silent tableau before him.

"Not Miliband enough-"

A snort. "I doubt Miliband knows what a V-sign is-"

"Right." Lynton spins to face them. "Miliband's weakness. Do it once, quickly, before we go-"

This part, they've all been waiting for David to sink his teeth into.

David clears his throat. He turns to look at the small portrait on the wall that they've decided represents the camera.

"Any deal with the SNP would be a disaster for this country" he says slowly. "But a deal between these two would be one of the worst decisions this country has ever seen."

David turns round and gestures. "Nicola Sturgeon-that invisible one over there-"

Lynton gives him a look that would shrivel Rasputin.

"OK, OK." David turns back. "Nicola Sturgeon has made it clear that her priority is breaking up the UK. But she's also made it clear that she's happy to put Ed Miliband into Downing Street to make that happen." David raises a finger. "Think about that. Why is Nicola Sturgeon so keen to put Ed Miliband into Downing Street? And the reason is that she knows Ed Miliband is the person who will let that happen. Because she knows that Ed Miliband will do anything to be in Downing Street and she knows that Ed Miliband will not be able to stand up to her. This is a man who relies on other people to further his own career. He's relied on the votes of the unions. He's relied on Len Mcluskey. He's relied on more debt and more borrowing, and now he's relying on Nicola Sturgeon to crawl into power."

George is making aggrieved faces, pretending to stagger, and then squeezes his throat until Lynton shoots him a furious look.

"That's the person Ed Miliband _is."_ David leans forward. "He is a man who knows he cannot get into power without clawing for the support of others."

He turns to look at George and something _happens._

Maybe George just manages to produce an expression remarkably similar to Miliband's for a moment or maybe David just _sees_ Ed there very suddenly, very sharply, but something wavers in his chest.

"Ed-" His voice falters, so the name sounds more like a question than anything else.

Lynton slaps the back of his own chair. _"David-"_

David shakes his head. "Sorry-"

He fastens tight around the wavering feeling, shoves it down hard. He has vague memories suddenly of standing, waiting in line, clutching a cricket bat too big for his hands, the grounds of Heatherdown stretching out far too wide around him, the sun too hot on his head, and a sudden wave of homesickness assaulting his chest, which he'd gripped tight and wrestled down.

"This is the same man who ducked away from Labour's responsibility for the borrowing-" His voice is growing stronger. "The same man who failed to stand up to the unions. The same man who wriggled out of helping the children of Syria for his own cheap political gain."

He keeps looking at George. Just George.

"He's done all these things, in an attempt to crawl his way into power, and that is because, above everything else, this man is _weak-"_

The word cracks in the air.

"If you care about the future of this country, do _not_ let that man crawl into Downing Street-" He looks down the imaginary camera. _"He_ is the biggest mistake this country can make."

His throat's sore. He stops and takes a sip of water. As the sweet coolness tickles his tongue, he hears the clapping.

Lynton's slapping his hands together. _"Finally._ Thank _God."_

David tries to smile. _Thank Christ._

"Now-we still need to fine-tune bits-maybe go for _scrabbling_ , not _clawing_ , sounds less aggressive, makes him look weaker-but that's the basic message we need to get fixed in voters' heads-" Lynton's turning to the rest of the room now. "Miliband is _weaker-"_

David doesn't hear his next few words. Instead, he's looking at George, who's clapping too, but his head is tilted, taking David in curiously.

George. Not Ed.

David takes a deep breath, holding onto the words. Not Ed.

Not Miliband.

(Miliband's big dark eyes.)

That sharp feeling wavers uncontrollably in his chest again. David clamps it down.

 

* * *

 

"For years, our Holocaust survivors have seen this as their duty to us." Cameron looks up from the podium, his eyes moving slowly around the room. "Now, we must do our duty to them-"

Ed tries to listen as Cameron rehearses, folding his hands tightly in his lap. He can still hear Tom's words in his head, grabbing his spine in rigid tension. _Fucking Milburn. Get fucking Alastair onto him._

But it's tight in his chest, leaving him feeling sick, and his heart's a drumbeat that starts to ache when Cameron's eyes move to him.

He can hear his own voice from that morning.

_We will hold him responsible for what has happened. The British people will hold him responsible for what has happened._

"That is why today, with the full support of the Deputy Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition-"

Ed looks up, feeling rather than seeing Nick next to him give a small smile. Cameron's looking at him, head tilted to one side, and when Ed's eyes meet his, he receives a small, quick grin.

Ed has no idea what expression is on his own face. It's for less than a second that their eyes meet, but Cameron smiles.

_You know David Cameron can't be trusted with our NHS._

Ed's chest squeezes tight.

He hears Harriet's voice again: _Ivan..._

"I am accepting the recommendations of the Holocaust Commission-" Cameron glances back at his notes.

Ed looks down, the words stabbing him gently. He can sense them, sitting close by, even though they're not there yet.

That's where they'll be. The survivors, listening quietly, their faces turned towards the Prime Minister.

(Would he have looked like that?)

(Would his grandfather?)

Ed can't look.

(Cameron just smiled.)

(It looked-)

Ed bows his head.

(Don't smile like that.)

(Don't be nice to me.)

"Britain will have a proper National Memorial to the Holocaust in central London. We will have a world-class Learning Centre that teaches every generation to fight hatred, prejudice and discrimination in all its' forms-"

Ed keeps his eyes on his knees.

Cameron's still speaking. "Today, we stand together-whatever our faith, whatever our creed, whatever our politics-we stand in remembrance of those who were murdered in the darkest hour of human history-"

Nick's hand touches Ed's arm, just for a moment. Ed can't look at him.

(Please don't be nice.)

He sees Sara's face.

The cameras flashing.

Something swells in his throat.

"We stand in admiration of what our Holocaust survivors have given to our country-" Cameron looks around, the same way he will in an hour or so. "And we stand united in our resolve to fight prejudice and discrimination in all its' forms-"

Ed keeps his eyes on his knees.

He can see Sara's face.

 _Edward..._ Her voice raised in welcome, her arms out trustingly.

Tears prickle at his eyes. His chest is stabbing sharply. He keeps his eyes on his knees.

_This'd make a great picture._

Ed thinks he's going to vomit.

 

* * *

 

Standing there with the survivors, Ed isn't sure what to say.

The words are too small. It feels as though they're garbled into his chest, too tight and knotted to reach.

Some of them don't mention what happened, the survivors. Ed can't decide if that's better or worse.

They smile and laugh, and some of them touch his and Cameron and Clegg's arms when they talk to them. They're about his mother's age, a lot of them. It makes something swell in Ed's throat.

He wonders suddenly if Sara's ever been to an event like this.

Maybe he should have offered to take her.

He wonders if any of them have ever had camera crews in their homes.

If it was them who invited them.

(Does he want to talk about it? Does he not?)

(Is this what it was like for his grandfather? What it was like for them-)

A part of him wants to ask, sick and clawing at his chest.

Another part doesn't want to touch it. Doesn't want to reach out, thinking about it, about-

Cameron's asking one lady about her son. Cameron's been to Auschwitz.

Ed could ask him.

Ed should ask him.

Should he-

Does he want-

What does he-

_There's horror and there's hope._

Ed feels ill.

The lady turns to him and puts a hand on his arm. "Are you all right, dear?"

Something prickles at Ed's eyes. Cameron's looking at him, gaze narrowed.

"Ed?" he thinks he says, but he's not sure.

The old lady touches his arm. She looks so kind.

_That'll be the line._

Ed's stomach turns over.

"Excuse me a moment-" he says to her, with a gentle hand on the arm. "Excuse me-juth-"

Cameron's hand gently replaces his own, and then Ed's walking away swiftly, the room lurching slightly around him, and once he gets through the door, out into the corridor, he breaks into a run.

 

* * *

 

A few minutes before Ed had arrived, preparing, David had glanced at Nick, who'd murmured "Tell Nancy congratulations."

"Sorry?"

"Grey Coat."

"Oh." David had shifted uncomfortably. "We don't know yet. It was just a rumour."

"Oh."

"The _Times_ had some story about it, but we haven't heard anything-" David had sighed. "But we're hoping for there. Or Lady Margaret."

"All-girls?"

"Preferably. Holland Park's still in the mix, though-that's her third choice." David had glanced at him. "What about Alberto? Is he hoping for the Oratory or-"

"Yeah, that's our first choice." Nick had flipped over the leaflet, examining it. "We're pretty hopeful too, because Antonio's already there-"

"Sibling policy-"

"Yeah." Nick had nodded. "But that's his first choice.

"Not risking being pilloried for going private, then?"

Nick had laughed, then, in an undertone, "We would if he didn't get first or second choice. I mean, we looked for Antonio, but to be honest, the Catholic thing was the main priority for Miriam. And the Oratory did better than most of the private ones, anyway."

_And it wasn't worth the hassle._

"What about you?"

David had shrugged. "We thought about Latymer Upper School. But honestly, it doesn't offer much that Grey Coat doesn't. And Sam really wants her to go to a state school." He'd flipped through the leaflet himself. "Liberty's at St Paul's Girls-but it's pretty far away and then they don't have a uniform, and we weren't particularly-particularly keen on that-"

"No, Miriam wouldn't be-"

"We looked at St Maryleborne, too-they're the three nearest us, state girls schools-Grey Coat, Lady Margaret, Maryleborne-but there'd been that bullying thing, earlier this year-"

"The suicide-"

"Yeah." David had shaken his head. "Sam wasn't keen. And she'd know someone at Grey Coat-Bea's there-we did look at Westminster Academy, too, but-"

"We thought about it. And Holland Park, but-"

They'd both shaken their heads.

"Good school. Just....doesn't really suit Nancy."

"No. Nor Alberto."

They'd lapsed into silence.

_Talk to me._

But then, David's thoughts had prickled, _why would he?_

Lynton's eyes on his own.

_Clegg's seat._

David had sighed.

And now he's standing, watching Miliband disappear.

He turns back to the lady with a smile.

"Excuse me-" he says, with a gentle hand on the arm. "Let me just go and check on him-"

Nick takes over immediately with a big smile, and David quietly slips out the door, only to be caught by Craig's hand on his arm.

David sighs again.

"I'm just _checking_ on him" he reassures carefully. "It'll hardly look _good_ if I let him run out on his own-"

Craig lets go, but eyes him slowly. "Just be careful" he says slowly. "Remember. He's not your problem."

David wishes, rather bitterly, that he could remind himself of that a little more often.

It doesn't take too long to check everywhere Miliband could be. David's familiar with him, and if Miliband was going to cry, then he'd want to dart out of sight somewhere, quickly.

God, what's he _thinking_ , being _familiar_ with _Miliband-_

He ducks around a few corners and after coming across several empty rooms, he heads for the bathrooms.

He knows he's found the right place when he hears the slightly ragged, wet gasping from inside one of the cubicles.

David lets the door fall shut behind him, leans back against it.

"Miliband?"

The ragged breathing stops immediately.

David sighs. "Miliband. Open the door."

There's a faint retching sound.

David frowns, then simply strides across and hammers on the door.

"Miliband. You're ill. Open the door."

Miliband takes a shuddering breath. "I'm fine. I-"

"Miliband-" David falters, his mind racing. "You-ah-"

He should just turn away.

Miliband isn't his problem.

Or at least, he shouldn't be.

But he's _sick._

God, why does he-

David takes a deep breath.

"Miliband. You're ill. I'm not-I'm not _leaving_ you."

There's a pause. Then Miliband's voice, quavering. "W-why not?"

David gulps, something pressing at his chest. Some worried, longing ache that makes him lean against the door, press his hand against it.

"I don't know." It comes out almost too quietly to hear.

Miliband's breath catches in something that sounds like a sob. "What?"

David shakes himself.

"Because-" He steels his voice. "Because otherwise, I'll have to get someone. It sounds like you're ill and I can't leave you in here on your own."

There's a muffled explosion of annoyance. "Oh, for God'th-"

"Mili-Ed, _please."_

David doesn't expect the word to crack like that.

He stands there, wrapping his arms around himself, as though that can pull the word back. He only vaguely notices that there's a sudden silence.

Then slowly, the lock's pulled back.

The cubicle door opens slowly to reveal Miliband's face peering through the crack, flushed and scowling and pouting, eyes large and dark and a little tear-stained.

 

* * *

 

Cameron's standing there, watching him. His eyes narrow, taking Ed in.

Ed takes one deep breath, then another. Then he flushes the toilet and half-pushes past Cameron towards the sink. He should never have opened the door.

"Miliband-" Cameron's hand touches his arm. Ed pulls it away.

"I'm fine." He manages it with his eyes on the sink.

"You don't look fine."

Ed grips the sink tightly, knuckles white and aching. "Well, I-"

Milburn's words echo in his head.

_You've got a pale imitation, actually, of the 1992 general election campaign-maybe it will have the same outcome._

And his own voice from that morning.

_This is a total betrayal of what David Cameron promised._

Cameron's hand hovers near his arm.

_David Cameron can't be trusted with our NHS._

Cameron's done this. He tries to tell himself that over and over.

Cameron's done these things, and he doesn't care, and-

Cameron's a-

He can't bear it.

He can't think, and he can't look at Cameron, because he has to remember-

He has to remember what Cameron-

Cameron's hand touches his arm. It's too warm. Too gentle, too-

Ed pulls away so violently that he almost falls over.

"I'm _fine._ " He almost spits the word out, his mouth still sour. "Honeth-stly-"

"Well, you hardly look it." Cameron's voice is harder now.

"Well, it-it'th not your _concern_ , is it-" Ed can hear his own voice wavering. "I mean-"

He can't notice.

Notice how Cameron's so near to him.

"It'th not as though you-not as though you _care-"_

"Where does that _come_ from?" and Cameron's closer now, but his eyes are looking for Ed's in the mirror. Ed's dart up, then away. "Why do you always fall back on the idea that I don't _care?"_

Cameron's eyes meet Ed's, blue and sharp in the mirror. Ed stares back, then looks away like a flinch.

He tries to laugh, his voice quavering a little. "Becauthe-because-you _don't-"_

Cameron steps closer to him, and Ed's body turns somehow, so they're facing each other. "How can you tell me that I don't care?" he asks calmly. Too calmly.

Ed opens and closes his mouth. "You-you-"

Cameron just _looks_ at him.

Ed wants him to argue.

That's the thing. If Cameron _argues_ , Ed can argue back.

They can argue and he can know that Cameron's wrong, even when Cameron makes everyone _laugh-_

And he _knows_ arguing with Cameron.

He _likes-_

Ed glares at him. "Because you _don't."_

He almost spits it out.

He turns away furiously, and that's when Cameron says "You know, you're just as bad as them."

Ed blinks, then pulls himself up and round to face Cameron. "What?"

Cameron doesn't look perturbed. He's just watching Ed calmly. His face is smooth, self-assured. Ed wants to shake him.

(He wants to make Cameron _see-)_

But Cameron's eyes are bright. And sharp.

The way they are when he argues. When he argues with Ed.

Ed pushes down the spark, like a shiver under his skin. Clamps it away, almost out of sight.

"You talk about how your party is a party for _everyone_ , not the _few-"_ Cameron puts the slightest stress on the words. "But you can't understand anyone who disagrees with you. You can't understand them, and so you just shove them away, so they're in some-some nice little category in your head where they're just-just bad-or stupid or wrong. Because you can't fathom that anyone could disagree with you and be right. Or just entitled to their opinion."

Ed's mouth opens and closes furiously again.

"That'th not true-" He tilts his chin up, his fists clenching at his sides, because he-he-

Cameron just looks at him. The look grates angrily in Ed's chest, the same way it does across the chamber in PMQs, but worse somehow.

"I don't think anyone who dith-s-agrees is _bad-"_ he tells Cameron, his chin jutting up and out. "I juth-st think that-"

He scrabbles for what he _does_ think.

It's just that his ideas make _sense,_ and-

_"Oh."_

Cameron's arms fold. A languid smile unfolds his mouth, spreading it. "Only if we're Conservatives. _That_ happens to be the fly in the ointment."

Ed huffs. "That'th not true. I'm friendth-s with-I get on with moth-st of you-"

He pauses, searching.

"You can just tolerate being around us" Cameron finishes for him.

"That'th not-you're _twith-sting_ it-" Ed bursts out.

It's not _fair,_ what Cameron's doing. He's right, he knows he is-it's because _Cameron_ won't _see-_

"It'th hardly th-surprising I don't agree with the underlying printh-ciples of your party-" he explains, trying to make the words slower, calmer. "You can hardly expect me to-"

"I don't" Cameron agrees readily. "But then you can hardly expect me to agree with _yours'."_

Ed stammers. "But-"

Cameron's mouth twitches.

Ed stammers again. "But-you-"

 _"Ah."_ Cameron holds up a finger. "So you're not obliged to agree with _ours_ , but _we_ are obliged to agree with _yours'-"_

Ed splutters. "No! But-but-"

_But I'm right!_

Ed doesn't dare say the words.

Cameron seems to hear them, anyway.

His mouth twitches again, in that half-smile.

Something about it drives Ed _mad,_ and-"Well-well, we're not _like_ you-it'th not the _th-same,_ we're-we're trying to _help_ , and-"

"And Conservatives are evil" Cameron says, only half-jokingly. "I see."

Something stabs sharply. Cameron's smirking, but he-he looks-

Jolted. Surprised. As though he'd expected this, but-

He looks a little lost.

Something about that clenches uncomfortably in Ed's stomach.

"Well-" He clears his throat. "Well. I didn't th-say you're _evil-"_

"You didn't have to."

Ed's chin juts because that's just-

"I never th-said that-" because he shouldn't be feeling _sorry_ for _Cameron._

It's _Cameron_ who doesn't _see-_

"Do you-do you even th-see-what you do to things-to the-the-the NHS, and-"

"Did you _even see_ what Milburn said?"

And that's just typical, because _one person-_

"And that it was your party who privatised more of the NHS than any other?"

"That was Blair" Ed spits out, because that's-that's not _fair,_ he's not _Blair_ , and everyone knows that- _"_ That was Blair-"

"And so he's evil, too" Cameron interrupts with a grin.

For a second, Ed wants to grin too. To let himself meet David's eyes.

But he-

"I'm not him" he says weakly

(this is too important to get distracted)

"I'm not him, and-that'th not the point-"

(Because he's supposed to _show_ people-)

Cameron stares at him, then. Really stares at him. Like he's trying to peel back Ed's skin and see inside.

Ed doesn't like it. Ed shouldn't like it.

"That's it, isn't it?" Cameron says it slowly, his head tilted, eyes narrowed. Taking Ed in. "That's it. That's why."

Ed doesn't like this at all.

"What-"

"You _can't."_ Cameron says this slowly, taking him in. "You don't _know_ how not to be right."

"That'th not true." Ed says it too quickly for something that's not true. "That'th not true-"

"You're scared."

It's like a slap.

"I am not" Ed says, like a child.

"Yes, you are." David's closer to him now. Too close. "You're scared of what's going to happen if you're _not right."_

And that-

 _That_ makes Ed step forward, so he's almost chest-to-chest with Cameron. So he can feel him breathing.

"That'th _not true."_ He almost snarls the words. "It'th _not."_

Cameron steps forward, too. Ed feels his own back pressing into the wall. It doesn't feel like school, when he'd be pushed back, the wall digging into his spine in a dank bathroom-

It feels like PMQs, a little.

It feels like-

"It'th _not-"_ Ed grinds the words out and they're so angry he's shaking, because Cameron-

( _How fucking dare you, stop thinking you know me, you don't fucking know me, you don't know anything about me-)_

Anger is squeezing his chest tight, and Cameron's so close, and their chests are touching-

That's-

Oh-

Ed can feel a strange warmth where they're-

Touching, and-

A warmth that's making his chest swoop, and his head spins a little-

And-

And then Cameron does something strange.

He lifts his hand. For a mad moment, Ed flinches, wincing, thinking he's going to slap him.

He stares back, jaw clenched, heart pounding.

Cameron's hand lowers a little. He turns it, so his knuckles are facing Ed's skin.

And then his knuckles stroke Ed's cheek gently.

Once. Soft.

Ed can't say anything.

Ed can't do anything.

He can't move.

He doesn't want to move.

Cameron's hand strokes all the way down Ed's cheek to his jaw.

Ed's eyes close. Cameron's hand is soft, gentle-

He wants to lean into it.

His cheek presses into it a little.

He-

Cameron's eyes are blue and brilliant, too, too close to his own.

"You shouldn't grind them" he says, knuckles still touching Ed's cheek, his voice low, almost husky. "It must hurt you."

Ed blinks.

"Oh" is all that comes out of his mouth faintly, because-

Oh-

He's-

Cameron's still touching him. Ed stares.

He can feel every line of Cameron's knuckles against his cheekbone. He can feel the graze of a rough edge of his nail.

He can feel-

Ed can feel his own heart, pounding and pounding and pounding.

Cameron's looking at him.

Cameron's pulling his hand away.

Ed holds himself still, heart thudding.

Pull away. Pull away. Pull away.

Don't. Don't-

Cameron's hand moves away. He looks at Ed.

Ed could count every one of his eyelashes, if he wanted to.

"Would you like to come to Oxfordshire this weekend?"

Ed blinks.

Then blinks again.

"What?"

 

* * *

 

Miliband's staring at him.

David doesn't blame him. He's staring at Miliband.

What?

What?

_What?_

What did he just-

Miliband's just staring at him.

David, though he doesn't know it, presses his hand a little closer to his side. "Would you-"

He clears his throat, his heart suddenly pounding. "Would you like to come to Oxfordshire this weekend?"

Why.

Why.

_Why-_

David doesn't-

He _wanted_ to.

That's the only reason he can grasp at for why on earth he just asked Miliband to come down and spend the weekend with them.

He _wanted-_

They've just been _screaming_ at each other.

Well.

Almost screaming.

They've just been _close-_

David's cheeks flame at that.

It's only then that he realises that Miliband hasn't given him an answer. He's just staring silently at him.

David steps back. Not that they're too close.

He just steps back.

Miliband blinks. His mouth seems to be working silently.

After a moment, he manages a "W-why?"

David blinks.

But-

It's fair.

But they've spent time with each other before.

But that was different.

Their kids have gone to each others' birthday parties.

That doesn't count.

They've done that with a lot of MPs' children.

And Ed stayed at Downing-

But David wasn't there.

And Samantha asked him.

That doesn't count, either.

And in France-

That was just because they _knew_ each other.

And Christmas-

Dropping off his-

There were _reasons._

This is just-

He just wanted to-

To ask Miliband round.

To spend time with-

"I don't know" he says, suddenly tired, and he steps back and away. "I just thought-"

_Just thought._

"I just thought-you might want to" he says, exhaustion suddenly creeping into his whole body, and he sinks down onto the bench, squirming a little over the flat cushions.

Miliband stares at him and then, to David's surprise, does the same.

David stares at him. Miliband's staring straight ahead, his fingers tapping furiously on the bench.

"I mean, I _can_ " and Miliband's head whips round to glare at him almost defiantly. "I can. If you want me to."

David stares at him. "Do _you_ want to?"

Ed blinks. "Well-"

"Well, you don't _have_ to-it's hardly an _obligation-"_

"I _do_ want to."

David stares at him. Miliband blushes.

"I-I mean, if _you_ don't want me to-" he blurts out too quickly, turning away, clearly about to scramble upright, and that's when David's hand grabs his arm and he says "Ed."

Miliband stills. They both sit there, neither of them looking at the other.

David's hand is still on his arm.

The moment they both glance back at each other, they both wriggle away, David lifting his hand as if he's been burnt.

They both sit there, each trying to avoid the other's eyes.

"I just thought-you might want to" David says a little stiffly, risking a glance at Miliband, whose hand is lying next to his knee on the cushion.

Miliband clears his throat. "Well. Um-"

"You don't _have to-"_

"I didn't th-say I didn't want to!"

Miliband blushes as he glares, but he glares at David, anyway.

David glares back. "Good."

"Good!"

They glare at each other.

David feels that odd twitch of something that could be amusement again.

He could laugh, but he doesn't. Instead, he just looks, and then says suddenly, "Look, I came in to see if you were all right, Miliband."

Miliband glares at him. "Well, I am."

He sniffs, and scrubs at his eyes.

"You hardly look it."

Miliband glares again. "Well, I am" he mutters again, but with less venom.

David just waits this time, knowing Miliband as he does.

Miliband stares stubbornly away, and then just meets his gaze with a glare. "I will be. All right?"

David opens his mouth, and whether to say yes or no, he isn't sure, but what comes out instead is this: "I don't want you to be alone."

He blinks, unsure himself at the words.

Miliband, though, outright stares at him, before turning away with a snort. "What do you mean?"

David glances around pointedly.

Ed sighs. "Maybe I want to be alone" he mutters, staring pointedly away. "Hmm?"

He looks back, sees David hasn't moved, and sighs.

David's mouth twitches. "You're a terrible liar, Miliband."

Miliband's mouth twitches, as though fighting a smile of his own, but he sighs again. "Who says I'm lying?"

"Your face."

David's finger taps Ed's nose before he can think about it. It makes both their hearts skip a beat.

David speaks too quickly. "Anyway. I was worried. You ran out-"

"I didn't _run-"_

David carries on, long-accustomed to Ed's contradictions. "I thought maybe something was wrong."

He waits for another denial or an outright instruction to leave.

Instead, Ed just stares straight ahead of him.

"I just-" He sighs. "Nothing."

"Something" David says, before he can stop himself.

Ed glares at him. David meets his eyes.

"I'm not going to laugh."

Ed arches an eyebrow.

"I've hardly laughed before, have I?"

Ed makes a disbelieving sound.

David sighs. "I didn't. I explained. In my office, when-"

He breaks off, feeling himself blush. He can tell even as he hastily glances away that Miliband's cheeks are tinged pink, too.

_When we ended up dancing together._

Maybe Ed speaks so quickly because he's not the only one trying not to remember. "I'm juth-st-"

He looks away. "Thinking about my th-speech."

"You sounded ill."

Miliband shifts a little.

"Juth-st-" He shrugs. "I don't know."

"Are you nervous?"

" _No."_ Miliband says it far too quickly for it to be true.

David tucks his hands under his legs. "You know, it's all right if you are-"

Miliband just snorts.

David looks at Miliband's hand, lying on the cushion, very near to his own.

David could just reach out, and-

David slides his hands away, presses them under his legs, and tries not to notice how long Ed's fingers are.

 

* * *

 

Ed has no idea why he's sitting here. He has no idea why he's talking to _Cameron_ , of all people.

But Cameron's sitting there next to him. (His hand's far too close.)

Ed clears his throat. "I'm not nervouth-s" he says, a little louder than he means to. "I'm juth-st-"

He looks away, steeling his jaw a little. "I don't-thith one's juth-st-"

_It'll help rebrand. Make things more personal._

Ed's stomach turns over.

"A challenge" he manages, trying not to let his voice shake too much. "Becauthe-you know-"

He wraps his hands together, not letting his hand crawl too close to Cameron's.

_It'll just be-_

_We need to give them something personal-it won't affect Sara-_

Ed's stomach lurches.

He retches suddenly, nausea gripping his stomach.

Cameron's hand is warm on his arm. "Come here-" He steers Ed back into the cubicle before he can do anything, one hand already holding Ed's hair back. "Come-come here, it's all right-"

Ed retches, but nothing comes out. Nausea's wrenching his stomach and chest, and Cameron's voice is soft in his ear. "All right-all right-"

Ed gasps for breath, but David just holds onto him, his voice low, murmuring until Ed stops, his chest aching, and he slumps back against Cameron.

"All right-all right-" Cameron's steering him back, pulling him gently to the bench. He sits him down. "All right-take a breath-"

Cameron's hands are on his cheeks. He lifts Ed's head gently. His hands are warm.

Ed's eyes meet his. "I-"

His hands are so warm. God, they're so gentle.

David's eyes are on his. "You all right?"

Ed manages a nod. He's not sure, but-

Cameron's hand's on his cheek, and-

Ed doesn't feel bad.

Cameron's pulling something soft out of his pocket. He's wiping Ed's mouth with it, but his eyes more than anything, and Ed hadn't even realised they were wet.

"I can-" But Ed's hand shakes when he puts it up to the handkerchief.

David moves it back gently to his side, and just keeps wiping.

When he's finished, he touches Ed's shoulder once. "Do you need anything-"

Ed can't look at him. The words scratch out of his mouth. "I-"

David's hand's on his shoulder.

_Don't._

Ed's lip trembles.

_Don't be nice to me._

"You know you don't have to-"

"No. No-" Ed shakes his head frantically. "I can do it. The th-speech, it-I d-don't-"

He shakes.

Tom and Bob and-

There was no point.

There was no-

But what was the-

He shakes his head. "No. I've got to-I've-" He can't stop saying it.

"I can't-I can't-"

He can't stop saying and then David does something that makes him.

His arms come up and around Ed's shoulders. He pulls Ed's face into his neck.

He's hugging him.

David's hugging him.

Ed lets it happen.

Cameron's _hugging-_

He just-

It's an awkward half-hug-Ed's head's somewhere under David's chin and his hand's holding Cameron's arm, and Cameron's just holding onto him and-

But the thing is, Ed doesn't notice it.

Or he _does-_ it's _odd_ -but-

It doesn't feel _as-_

It just feels-

 _David's_ hugging him.

And then Cameron lets go a little too quickly. Ed blinks as Cameron sits up hastily, clearing his throat.

"Um-"

Ed's blushing.

Cameron's blushing, too.

Oh God.

That felt-

It was...

_Nice-_

"Well-" Cameron looks away. "I just-wanted to-you don't have to give the speech-"

He's speaking too fast.

Ed shakes his head, barely noticing he's doing it. "No. No, I want to-it's juth-st-"

_Why do I want to?_

_Is it because I want to?_

"You know." Cameron clears his throat. "You know-I didn't particularly like-when I gave speeches-talking-talking about-about, Ivan and-it was nerve-nerve-wracking-"

That makes Ed feel much, much worse.

"But-but you-"

_You knew why you were doing it._

He swallows.

He looks at Cameron. Cameron watches him. "I what?"

They look at each other.

Ed shakes his head. "Doethsn't matter."

They're sitting far too close. David's leg is touching Ed's, very lightly. And now Ed's noticed it, he can't stop noticing. Everywhere they touch is sending a strange, light, stirring sensation through him, a tickle of electricity that makes his heart beat faster.

David takes in a deep breath. "Of course, you don't have to keep the handkerchief. Not if you still think I'm an evil-"

"You're not evil" says Ed, without looking at him.

Cameron snorts.

"No-" Ed lets his head fall into his hands. "I _don't,_ Cameron. I don't think-look, I juth-st-right now, I-"

He doesn't finish the sentence. But Cameron's shoulder nudges against his own.

They sit there, Cameron's shoulder against his, until Ed's breathing more slowly, more evenly. The warmth still makes his heart beat faster, but there's something deeper there too, solid, like getting into bed on a winter's night.

When Ed speaks, his voice is quieter, almost a breath. "Yeah."

He's not looking, so he feels rather than sees Cameron's turn of the head. "Yeah what?"

Ed swallows, his heart beating so fast he can feel it. He can feel his cheeks burning. "I'll come."

A pause, then "To Oxfordshire?"

Ed nods, and his voice is almost a whisper. "I'll come to Oxfordshire this weekend."

He can't look at Cameron. His heart's beating too fast. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. His cheeks are so warm, he doesn't know why-

He feels Cameron smile. He can feel it rather than see it out of the corner of his eye.

"Good" is all Cameron says, but he can feel that smile.

It feels like something bright opening out in Ed's chest, a flower spreading out and fluttering happily. It makes his heart beat faster, his breath quicken. His cheeks are so warm, and he lowers his eyes, his cheeks aching, with the sudden smile he can't stop spreading over his own face, too, and Cameron's shoulder's still there, warm and strong against his own, and something else, too. Something that makes Ed keep his eyes down, but they're wide as they stare at his knees and his heart's thumping so fast he can feel each beat.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Ed's standing at the podium.

"In the 1940s, both my parents fled the Nazis."

His fingers whiten a little on the edge of the podium. He takes a deep breath, and looks up and out at the audience.

"And several of my relatives-"

He swallows hard. His fingers whiten a little more.

His eyes flicker from one face to another in the audience-and then they settle on one. Cameron's watching him calmly, his face tilted to the side.

The long-honed reflex in Ed rears up, the sudden determination gripping him that Cameron will _not_ see him standing here, faltering like this, the sudden urge to just wipe that-that-

And also, something else-that same nervous brightness that had opened out in his chest when he saw Cameron's smile. That same deep solid comforting feeling when Cameron had put his arms round-

He straightens up. His voice is louder now.

"Including my grandfather-were killed in the Holocaust."

He swallows. He deliberately doesn't look at Cameron.

"My family's story is just one of millions of stories of men, women and children who were tragically murdered in the Holocaust, just because they were Jewish-"

He's not looking at Cameron now. He's looking out at the room. But his voice is stronger, as if that one look from Cameron was a drop of warmth, nourishing him from the inside.

"Or a member of other persecuted groups. I'm pleased to support the Holocaust Commission's recommendations-"

His eyes find Cameron's almost defiantly, braced for something. Something he isn't quite sure of.

But Cameron's smiling at him.

Not smiling smugly. Not the smooth, confident smile that Ed likes too much.

A smile like the one earlier. That makes Ed's heart quicken and his fingers tremble a little. That makes him smile, too.

His eyes find Cameron's. He can feel his own smile, a little tremulous but there, climbing to his own mouth, too.

"Because they will help ensure-" He says it to Cameron, his own smile hovering tentatively. "That the memories of those killed in the Holocaust live on."

Cameron smiles back at him. He doesn't nod, just smiles.

Ed watches him, his heart beating fast, and feels himself smile back.

 

* * *

 

"He's doing well, isn't he?" Nick murmurs suddenly at David's side.

David nods slowly, eyes still fixed on Ed on the stage, but his eyes flicker to Nick quickly. There's something less stilted in Nick's tone, his eyes fixed on David's conspiratorially-he sounds, in fact, like his usual self, not the slightly politer version that he'd given David earlier.

Nick's eyes flicker away and David feels a wrench of something-as though something's been pulled away that he didn't even realise was there.

He opens his mouth unthinkingly, considering saying something to Nick-something about what's going to happen in the next few months, something about his conversation with Lynton, something about the fact they don't know what there _is._

But Nick's already looking away again, at the stage.

For once, David follows his lead.

He sits and watches Ed speak, trying to ignore the urge to sink into the sound of his nasal voice with the edge of uncertainty that David thinks he and only a few others would notice. He watches, too aware of the warmth of Nick's elbow almost touching his at his side, and his face turned politely but resolutely away.

He watches, and he thinks of that moment again, in the Thatcher Room, last Monday. Lynton's eyes on his own face, his voice sharp, waiting.

_Clegg's seat._

His own silence for a moment, then slowly turning to the map on the iPad lying open on the table. His eyes roaming over the constituencies labelled in yellow, some marked with a blue dot.

"These are all the constituencies we could take from the Lib Dems?" he'd said, a casual blanket covering his tone.

"Yes." A similar casual tone from Lynton. They'd both known that every ear in the room was poised, sharp, waiting.

George's eyes had never left David's face.

David had let his eyes move slowly over the map, as though letting himself come to the conclusion of what they all knew he'd already decided.

(Not even decided, perhaps. Just known, deep down. Let himself realise.)

"They all look fine to me" he'd said slowly, deliberately. The room had waited, people drawing themselves up the slightest bit straighter. David had felt sweat bead under his arms in his shirt.

His finger had hovered over Nick's constituency, not quite touching, but able to if he wished. Able to reach out and grab it, fingers closing before anyone could stop them.

George's eyes had been fixed on his face. They hadn't moved at all.

"Yes, they're all fine-" His finger had circled slowly. "Except-"

There hadn't been much reaction in the room. The slightest straightening of backs, perhaps. The slightest incline of heads.

But everyone had known.

David's finger had stabbed down on the blob of yellow. "Except Sheffield Hallam. Let's go easy up there."

He sits, and listens to Ed speak, feeling Nick breathe at his side. He's aware of each movement of his hands, each time he folds his legs, the indentation of his fingers in the order of service, the way they've had to be aware of each other for the past five years.

He waits, aware of the way Nick and he had once believed each other about things, and knows that he could tell Nick. He could drop it in as an aside. A final joke in a conversation.

He could, but he doesn't. He sits still, folds his hands in his lap, looks straight up at Ed on the stage and listens to his voice, that David likes a little too well, and knows that Nick wouldn't believe him anyway.

 

* * *

 

_ Playlist _

_ Bright Lights-Placebo-" _ _Cast your mind back to the days/When I pretend I was OK..I have to find a middle way/A better way of giving/So I haven't given up/But all my choices, my good luck/Appear to go and get me stuck/In an open prison"-this pretty much suits David, Ed and Nick's reactions to the 100 Days countdown and their own individual feelings on how they have to conduct themselves in the months ahead._

 _ Done All Wrong-Black Rebel Motorcycle Club _ _-"Done all wrong/Done me wrong/All the wrong I've done/I'm sure I'll live quite, quite long"-this suits both David and Ed's reflections on their respective behaviour to win votes-David as he tries to decide whether or not to take Nick's seat, and Ed as he reflects how he used his aunt as a way to appeal to the Jewish vote._

 _ Dramamine-Modest Mouse _ _-"Look at your face like you're killed in a dream/And you think you've figured out everything/I think I know my geometry pretty damn well/You say what you need so you'll get more/If you could just milk it for everything/I've said what I said and you know what I mean/But I still can't focus on anything"-this really suits David's debate rehearsals and the fact that even though he knows he's probably going to beat Ed in a direct debate, he can't fully enjoy the victory._

 _ What You Know-Two Door Cinema Club _ _-"Maybe next year I'll have no time/To think about the questions to address/Am I the one to try to stop the fire?...Just remember I know/And I can tell just what you want/You don't want to be alone/You don't want to be alone/And I can't say it's what you know/But you've known it the whole time/Yeah, you've known it the whole time"-this reminds me not just of David's debate rehearsals, but also the moment he follows Ed, knowing instinctively that Ed's lying to him when he says he wants to be alone._

 _ Stop This Song (Lovesick Melody)-Paramore _ _-"You say the sweetest things and I/Can't keep my heart from singing along to the sound of your song/My stupid feet keep moving to this 4/4 beat, I'm in time with you/To this 4/4 beat, I would die for you...I never let love in/So I could keep my heart from hurting..It creeps in like a spider/Can't be killed, although I try and try to/Well, can't you see I'm falling?/Don't wanna love you but I do/Won't someone stop this song?/I've gone too far to come back from here/But you don't have a clue/You don't know what you do to me/Can someone stop this song, so I won't sing along?/Your lovesick melody is gonna get the best of me tonight/But you won't get to me if I don't sing"-this is pretty self-explanatory. It completely sums up David and Ed in this chapter, particularly Ed. (It's another recurring one, so it'll pop up at other points, too.) But seriously, these lyrics sum up Ed's feelings (even unconscious) towards David at this point perfectly._

 _ So Contagious-Acceptance _ _-"Oh no, this couldn't be more unexpected...Could this be out of line? Could this be out of line?/To say you're the only one breaking me down like this/You're the only one I would take a shot on/Keep me hanging on so contagiously"-this is another recurring one and it's another one that just sums up David's feelings towards Ed here perfectly (and also Ed's towards him.) It also echoes, more platonically, David's feelings towards Nick, when he decides not to humiliate him by taking his seat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nick Robinson's reaction to the 100 Days marker is genuine. (Will & Harry are his & Pippa's sons-they also have a daughter, Alice.) The call was a prank call David received on 25th January 2015, which led to a security alert. He had Florence on his shoulders when he answered: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-30977267  
> The interviews are a series of interviews David did on 27th January live from the Cabinet Room, to mark 100 days to the election. Michael's watch was a genuine incident:http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/11362740/Nick-Clegg-identifies-Mr-Goves-favoured-Beyonce-track-as-Irreplaceable.html br />  
> All the quotes from Ed's radio interview are genuine, & the part quoted can be seen here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p02hrt7g Justine's reference to BP refers to a case she was fighting on a no-win, no-fee basis representing Columbian farmers against BP, which went on through the election. (The verdict was delayed until August 2016. Justine lost: http://hsfnotes.com/litigation/2016/08/11/judgment-handed-down-in-long-running-class-action-regarding-the-ocensa-pipeline-in-colombia/ )  
> All dialogue from flashbacks of Ed's trip to Israel is genuine-you can see them here, & him laying the wreath: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHd05CMugLI   
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-26998207  
> http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11991793/How-a-trip-to-Israel-helped-Ed-Miliband-rediscover-his-Judaism.html  
> There were complaints from within Labour, who were uncomfortable at Ed seeming to use his family as a cynical rebranding exercise:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2608699/Revolt-Ed-Milibands-20k-bill-army-aides-trip-Middle-East.html  
> George used to play Ed in David's TV debate rehearsals.  
> Nancy & Alberto began secondary school in September 2015. The article Dave refers to was this: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/camerons-daughter-beats-a-thousand-to-top-state-school-xbv8fs88n6r  
>  Lady Margaret is an all girls state C of E school that was put as Nancy's 1st choice, but she didn't get in (Grey Coat was her 2nd choice): https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/cameron-girl-denied-first-choice-school-z29dqwbfzfr  
> Holland Park is a co-ed comprehensive school that David & Samantha & Michael & Sarah considered for Nancy & Bea but decided against. William later went to Holland Park: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/david-cameron-considering-syria-fighters-holland-park-school-for-his-daughter-2p39zb52zb0  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/gove-girl-heads-for-state-school-npr38fh7zlh  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3478541/GIRL-TOWN-Goves-send-son-Eton-comprehensives.html  
> Westminster Academy is a co-ed school that was suggested as an option.  
>  St Maryleborne is a school that it was thought the Camerons may look at-the suicide David mentions refers to the cases of two girls who took their own lives whilst pupils, which got a lot of attention in the UK: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/road-and-rail-transport/11164888/Teenager-killed-by-train-after-St-Marylebone-School-friend-died-on-tracks.html  
> https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/oct/24/cameron-secondary-school-admissions-deadline-daughter-state  
> http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/educationnews/11154466/David-and-Samantha-Cameron-look-to-send-daughter-to-inner-city-comp.html  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2789019/are-camerons-sending-daughter-comprehensive-pm-samantha-looking-two-local-state-schools-10-year-old-nancy-rejecting-private-education.html  
> The Oratory is the London Oratory School, a state all-boys Catholic school, where Antonio & Alberto attend. (Tony Blair's children also attended): http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-21653571  
> Nick stated he'd send his kids to private school if he thought that was best: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2013/jan/24/nick-clegg-son-private-school  
> Latymer Upper School is a private, co-ed school. St Paul's Girls' is a private, all-girls' school, one of the best in the country, that Liberty attends: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/londoners-diary/george-osborne-is-on-a-different-school-run-from-michael-gove-9181598.html  
>  Luke attends St Paul's School, the private, all-boys version, which George attended:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2826427/Chancellor-reveals-daughter-plans-Jane-Austen-banknote-son-inspired-support-NFL-team-based-London.html   
> David's reference to privatisation refers to the fact that the government that privatised more of the NHS than any other was Tony Blair's Labour government.  
> David had a choice of whether to try to take Nick's seat. He chose not to, weakening his own majority, sparing Clegg the humiliation: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11991550/Camerons-choice-let-Lynton-Crosby-destroy-Nick-Clegg-or-spare-him-for-another-coalition.html


	26. Comedy Calculations, Oxfordshire Odysseys, And Cloud Connotations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which Ed isn't distracted, Nick doesn't know how many times he's wanted to slap someone and Florence likes clouds. A lot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO....sorry this took so long! Theresa May went and called a GE, which left everything in a bit of a spiral, to put it mildly.:) But, finally got it done! Remember you can send me an [ask](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr or message me on there any time you want to ask me anything-I love hearing from you guys!  
> ALSO, quick note for this chapter: it's come to my attention that some people aren't quite clear on what constituency homes are, so: In the UK, the way it works is, MPs generally have a residence in London, so they can travel to Parliament for work, votes, etc. BUT they also have to have a residence in their constituency (the seat they represent), so they can say they reside in the place they are an MP for. MPs can handle this differently-some people, like David, will have their "main residence" be in London-that'll be where their children go to school, etc.-but will go up to the constituency home at weekends and holidays, kind of like a holiday home! Others, like Ed, will have their main residence in London, and will rarely spend time in their constituency home, except for constituency business. Others, like Andy, will have their constituency home as their primary residence-kids go to school there, etc.-and will simply rent a flat in London where they'll stay a couple of nights a week if necessary for work, etc! Just to clear up any confusion.  
> Leave a comment if you like it! Hope you enjoy! And definitely send me an ask if you want to chat about the fic or just ask me a question about it!

_Dakin: I'm beginning to like him more._

_Posner: Who? Me?_

_Dakin: Irwin. Though he hates me._

_ -The History Boys (2006) _

_"I feel like we could be friends" I said. "But I don't want to mess it up."_

_"Oh, sweetheart." Mum gave me a sympathetic look. "You've got lots of other friends."_

_"They only like School Frances, though. Not Real Frances." -Radio Silence, Alice Oseman _

_"I took him to see the play for the same reason I wrote, deleted and then rewrote the description of him in the first sentence of this piece, first abandoning the too-plain descripter of friend, then the overly-sentimental designation lover, before settling on the vague description of a boy. He was special to me."- Tova Benjamin, "The End Of My Rope", Rookie Magazine_

 

* * *

 

 

Ed's rehearsing in his head exactly how he's going to carry the wreath and bend to lower it at the statue-keep his feet a few inches apart, _don't_ let them get mixed up with each other-when a hand grabs his side.

"Haven't seen hide nor hair of you this week, Miliband."

"Ah!" Ed jumps, turns a furious gaze on Cameron, who's smirking, his hand having scrabbled into the soft part of Ed's waist, where he's more than slightly ticklish. "What the hell were you thinking, Cameron?" Neither of them quite know then that this is something he'll say to David many times over the years, with varying degrees of fondness.

David laughs. "What the hell were _you_ thinking?" And he actually elbows Ed a little as he moves to scan the room for their seats. "Shocked, Mr Miliband. That kind of language in a chapel-"

Ed feels himself blush, to his own consternation. "I-I'm th-sure that Th-Sir Winth-ston would hardly-"

They're standing in St Mary's Undercroft Chapel under the Palace of Westminster. The wreaths will be secreted somewhere else, waiting to be brought out into the lobby to be laid at the feet of the statue of Sir Winston Churchill, who'll be half-glowering down at them all. It's years since he was buried and, glancing around, Ed can see, with a strange jolt, the sight of three little children's heads, one blond and two dark, bent together in the front row.

David follows his gaze. "His great-grandkids."

"What?"

"Churchill's great-grandkids. The children. Nicholas is their grandfather." And sure enough, Ed sees Nicholas then, crouched in front of the three children, one of the dark-haired little girls rubbing her hands over his balding head affectionately.

"The little boy's John Winston" David tells him. "And the girls are-Iona and Christabel, I think-anyway, you didn't answer my question."

Ed blinks. "Well. That'th only fair, given the amount of time-th-s _you-_ anyway, what question was that?"

David winks. "Hadn't asked it yet. But you just admitted you'd try not to answer it."

Ed rolls his eyes. "For God'th-s sake, Cameron."

"I was going to say-" and Cameron leans a little closer, voice lowering in a way that stirs the hairs on the back of Ed's neck. "Don't you know it's rather rude to agree to go to Oxfordshire with someone and then ignore them for the rest of the week?"

Ed feels the heat creep up his neck. "Ah-"

Cameron arches an eyebrow, that smile still playing around his mouth, waiting.

It's not that Ed's been _trying_ to avoid Cameron. In fact, he'd looked around for him worriedly last night, without even realising what he was doing.

"Hey." Rachel had tapped his arm. "Stop looking around. It makes you look nervous."

"Oh." Ed had immediately made a concerted effort to look down at his shoes.

Rachel had yanked his chin up. "No. Makes you look _more_ nervous."

"Right." Ed had settled on staring straight ahead, trying not to picture the expression on his own face. It had been then that it had registered with a sudden jolt that he hadn't seen Cameron, and then, that that was who he'd been looking for.

Perhaps it had been that which made it a little harder to smile at Justine when she came up to peck him on the cheek. His hand had nearly darted up to rub at his skin automatically.

It had only just then occurred to him that he'd watched Cameron give his speech last year.

He'd been sitting there, listening to Cameron make some joke about Robinson and China, and then he'd looked down at Ed. It had been a ghost of a second, but Cameron's eye had flickered in a quick wink. Ed had felt something, something warm, bloom in his chest.

He'd tried to push it down, scowling at the table, and when he'd risked a glance up through his eyelashes, he'd caught Cameron smirking, dimples denting his cheeks.

That was last year, though. Though, then again, after Wednesday's PMQs, he hadn't felt much like talking to Cameron at all.

"Well, I'm-I'm very glad the Honourable Gentleman has mentioned the NHS-" Cameron had been looking away from him, carefully taking in the whole Commons. "Because I think before we go any further, he needs to clear something up."

Ed's heart had sunk. And that old surge of fury was back in his chest that- _It doesn't count, it's just a phrase, it doesn't mean-_

"He has now been asked _nine times-"_ Cameron stabbed his finger on the words. "Whether he made the disgraceful remarks about weaponising the NHS-"

The jeers had begun rising around them, and all Ed had been able to do was shake his head, mutter something to Balls without even grasping the words.

"Now, I think everyone in this House-and, I suspect, everyone in this country-"

Ed had hated Cameron, then. Hated him in a sudden, childish rush, that had curled his hands into fists, and then, on the tail end of it, had been the sudden thought- _He was hugging me less than twenty-four hours ago._

"Knows he made those remarks-" Cameron still wasn't looking at him. "So he should _get up_ at that dispatch box-"

His finger stabbed once at Ed.

"He should _apologise_ for this _appalling_ remark, and then we can take this debate forward-"

Cameron had already been sitting down as the noise rose around them, and even as Ed had been standing up, one thought had grasped at him suddenly, sharply: _He's won._

He'd shoved it away again immediately, but even as he'd been shoving out his own reply- _The only person who should be apologising is this Prime Minith-ster-_ it had reared again, perhaps making his voice louder, more frantic-

(more desperate)

( _no)_

_He's won._

"Why did he break his promith-ses?"

_He's won._

"I-i-it's very simple, Mr Speaker-" Cameron had been leaning on the dispatch box, not even _looking_ at him. "One of the most respected political journalists in Britain-Nick Robinson, the Political Editor of the BBC-"

Ed had felt everything squeeze tightly in his stomach.

"Said this-and I'm going to quote it, however long it takes, Mr Speaker-"

The edge of smugness to the jibe sent a bolt of something hot and furious through Ed's chest.

(Cameron had been wearing his glasses. The sight had sent an odd jolt through Ed's chest, quite unlike the other sensations.)

 _"A phrase the Labour leader uses in private is that he wants to-_ and I quote- _weaponise the NHS for politics!"_

All Ed had been able to do was shake his head.

Harriet, next to him, had been very still, her eyes not moving from Cameron. Balls was shaking his head, but Ed couldn't look at him.

He just kept shaking his own.

_He's won._

"Now, that is one of the most respected journalists in our _country-"_ Cameron had been leaning on the box again. "Will he now get to that dispatch box-"

Cameron had pointed at him without even looking. Like he was someone Cameron didn't even know.

"And _apologise_ for that appalling remark?"

_He's won._

"This is a ridiculouth-this is a ridiculouth smokescreen from a Prime Minith-ster running from his record on the NHS-"

They weren't listening. They weren't listening. And it wasn't _fair,_ it _wasn't_ , he was _right-_

_He's won._

When he heard Cameron's voice in that smooth drawl-"Let me tell him my record on the NHS"-he knows Cameron's hearing it, too, and in that moment, he hated.

Ed isn't sure if it was Cameron he hated or if it was Cameron he'd wanted to hate, but he'd hated.

And then Cameron had said "But people rightly want to know what his motives are when it comes to the NHS-" and Ed's head had jerked up then, his heart pounding, Cameron glaring, pointing his glasses at him.

"Now, if his motives are that he cares about this great national institution, then fine-" Cameron's face was flushed, spitting out the words faster, but somehow, it worked-

It worked with _him._

"But he told the editor of the political-the Political Editor of the BBC he wanted to weaponise the NHS, so I ask him again-"

And Cameron had been glaring straight at him, then. Glaring across the dispatch box, glaring straight at Ed.

Their eyes had locked, and Ed had almost flinched, because the-

The look in Cameron's-

The look in Cameron's eyes was like a physical blow.

_And everyone watching will notice that, too._

" _Get up there_ and _withdraw!"_ Cameron's voice had barked out at him, and maybe it had been that thought- _everyone else will see that, too-_ and maybe it was the sheer command of Cameron's tone-but Ed had almost scrambled upright, their eyes locking together, and Ed's whole body had jolted as their gazes met, because he-

"I'll tell him what my-" His voice had been too weak, which had made him even angrier. "I'll tell him what my motive is-it's to rescue the National Health Service-"

Cameron wasn't looking at him anymore. When had that happened?

"From this Tory government!"

Cameron wasn't looking. Somehow, that made fury wrestle in Ed's chest, leaving his hands clenching, wanting to smash that composure, to shake it to pieces-

"This is a man who-" The unfairness of it had been bubbling over in his voice. "This is a man who has a war on Wales-and frankly, frankly-"

_He's won._

Fury had gripped and thrust the words louder, wilder.

"And is using the Welsh NHS as political propaganda-"

The Tory benches had collapsed into hysteria. Hammond was jabbing his glasses at him. Ed had been so bitterly angry, he'd almost felt sick with it.

"This is a man who-who-"

He'd barely heard Bercow's call for order, barely heard his rebuke to them all-all he'd known was breathing hard and his heart pounding, and his voice weak, faltering when he stood up again-"Thith-s is a Prime Minister who is in a hole on the NHS-" because Cameron had already made his point, and that's what they'd lead with, that's all anyone would know-

"Let me answer that very directly-" Cameron had just looked faintly amused by the sardonic cheers from Ed's backbenchers.

"The NHS-the NHS in the West Midlands-without any instruction from the Department Of Health, without any instruction from ministers-issued a statement about major incidents-"

Ed had felt sick, then.

"The head of NHS England was asked about it this morning, and she said this- _"I haven't been under any political pressure. This is a document that was issued in the West Midlands!""_

_He's won._

_He's won._

A chorus of _"Aaaahs!"_ rises up from the Tory benches.

_He's won._

"What a contrast-" and Ed had felt himself stiffen slightly, look up. Cameron hadn't been looking at him, but an edge of smugness had curled the words-as though he knew Ed was looking.

As though he wanted him to see.

"Between the operational managers of the NHS, and the man-" Cameron's finger jabbed at him, hard. "Who wants to _weaponise_ the NHS!"

_I hate you._

_I hate you for this._

_I hate you._

"Now, the Right Honourable Member-he mentioned Wales-" That note of false surprise had entered Cameron's voice. "He criticised me a moment ago for mentioning Wales-he seems to have forgotten that yesterday, _he_ said this to the BBC-he said this, and let me quote-"

(Cameron's glasses look good when he pushes them on like that)

(Don't notice that)

"He said this- _"It is right to look at problems in Wales and to compare."_ That is what he said yesterday!"

Ed clutched his papers, his knuckles whitening. _You-you-_

Cameron was reciting statistics and Ed couldn't help but picture those glasses again. The way Cameron holds them, pointing at him.

"Now, let's look at what's happened today in Wales-the Welsh Ambulance Service statistics have come out and they are the _worst ever on record_ -"

A chorus of _Aaaahs._

"Just 42% of emergency calls are answered in time, compared with 70% in England-so will he now admit-will he now admit that Labour's catastrophic cuts and mismanagement in Wales have cost the NHS dear?"

_You-you-_

"Mr Speaker-the last time _he_ was in charge for Wal-in Wales-" It had burst out of him, louder, indignant at the injustice of it-"People were waiting _two years_ for an operation! That is the comparison with what was happening-now he has, everyone will have heard-"

They were shouting again.

"Everyone will have heard he did not answer the question-he did not answer the question about what is happening in the NHS in England-this is what the head of operations at one NHS hospital says, and I quote-"This is the in-enhanced criteria that has been introduced by NHS in England to stop trus-thts from calling a major incident-"

He curses the lisp.

"The whistleblower says the hospital's hands are being tied-now, the Prime Minister says they're not-who does he think people will believe?"

His voice was too loud. Cameron's was too smooth.

"P-people will _believe_ the head of NHS England, who said this very clearly this morning-"

Ed had fumed, then. He'd fumed, because Cameron had held this back, of course he'd held this back, the way he always does-

_"Local hospitals continue to have responsibility for deciding whether to call major incidents!"_

Ed had wanted to shake him.

He'd wanted to-

"It's perfectly clear what is happening, Mr Speaker-" Cameron had been smiling at his own backbenchers. "He's clasping at straws, because he's in a desperate mess on the NHS-"

The cheers from Cameron's benches were almost drowning him out.

"He talks about Wales-here's the record-"

Ed had wanted to shake him. He'd really wanted to.

"Per head of the population, 10 times more people in Wales on a waiting list for an operation-"

Cameron looked round at each one.

"Nearly twice as many ambulances failing to meet those urgent calls-almost _twice_ as many people waiting for more than _four hours_ for A &E-"

Cameron looked up. "That is what is happening in the NHS in Wales, because Labour ministers cut its' budget-but the reason-the reason he's in such a mess on the NHS is this-"

With a jolt, Ed had noticed Cameron's parting. It was neat, made his chestnut hair look thicker, fluffier.

It was nice.

Underneath the fury, something had flipped pleasantly in Ed's stomach.

"A week ago-a week ago, the Shadow Chancellor said that every penny from their new homes tax will go into the NHS-"

Ed had glared at him. Balls was saying something, but Ed couldn't hear over the roaring in his own ears.

"Yesterday, the leader of the Labour Party said he had a plan to pay down the deficit with _"tax changes like the mansion tax we've announced!"_ "

Ed had almost snarled. Because Cameron was just-

He'd just seized on one thing. One quote and _twisted_ it-

Ed had to smile. That was all he could do.

"So there we have it-" Cameron was looking around. "99 days to go until the election, and they can't even have a sensible policy on the NHS-"

Ed had snarled. "He's pathetic" he'd said to Balls, but it was drowned out under the tide of cheers from the Tories, and Alastair's voice in his head- _The economy._

He didn't need Alastair to tell him what the subtle message was.

No one else did, either

"What a completely _useless_ Opposition!" Cameron had spat out and Ed had almost kicked himself upright.

"Nin-ninety nine days-ninety nine days to kick out a Prime Minister who has broken all his promises on the National Health Service-" His voice had been weaker, quavering, but the shouts of his backbenchers had made up for it. "And today's revelation shows once again the NHS under him is in crisis and under strain-"

Cameron had just sighed, as though Ed's points were so beneath him it was barely worth responding to them. It had sharpened Ed's words even more.

"It's a crisis of his making-on his watch, and that's why nobody will trust him with the NHS ever again!"

His words had fallen weaker then, but he'd sat down, shaking with the fact that Cameron hadn't looked at-

_Look at me!_

Cameron had got up slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.

"Wh-what a contrast, Mr Speaker-this government dealing with the unions to stop the l-the action in the NHS-a Labour Party _weaponising_ the NHS! That is what everyone can see-"

Ed's fingers had curled into his papers.

"He talks about what has happened this week-we've seen Labour casting around for a coalition with the SNP, a coalition with Sinn Fein-"

Ed had had to laugh. He'd had to, because he didn't know what else to do.

"The first time in Britain you've had people who want to _break up_ Britain or _bankrupt_ Britain-what a _useless shower."_

Cameron had sat down, Mr Speaker calling "Mr Stephen Gilbert-", and Ed had made himself keep laughing. He'd stared at Cameron across the box, willing him to look up.

_I don't care. See? I don't care._

Cameron hadn't. Instead, he'd kept talking to Osborne and the others. As if he hadn't even noticed Ed was there.

It had stuck in Ed's chest. And it grated, even as he forced his eyes back down to his notes, and tried not to notice his own hands trembling.

Ed hadn't felt like talking to Cameron at all afterwards.

And then, to his own irritation last night, he'd found himself scanning the room under his eyelashes once again, for Cameron.

He hadn't been there, of course, and Ed had told himself it should be _of course._

But now, he thinks, his speech went well-and he holds onto that with a fierce stab of pride. It had gone well.

He can do it. He _can._

He'd even been able to use the story about the park-

No. No. Ed catches hold of his feelings tightly. No. Not _use._

That sounds bad. Wrong.

He just-adapted it.

And that's fine.

 _(Cameron's_ always talking about _his_ children.)

(But his children weren't crying.)

_Now Daniel was learning to ride a bike, Sam was on his scooter. And I met another man with a large dog. It was really odd actually, because he stopped me, and he started talking to me quite intensely about politics, the weather, Europe, statins, Princess Diana-I thought to myself, hang on a minute, I know you, you're Richard Desmond._

The room had been laughing.

Daniel's face, flushed and crumpled with tears.

_This is actually a true story. Justine, I've hidden it from you for reasons that will become obvious._

Justine had been laughing. Of course she had, everyone was-she was meant to-

_For those of you that don't know, Richard is actually quite an intense guy. He talked at me for about 10 minutes and I looked round and Sam was still there but Daniel was nowhere to be seen. So I panicked and I said to Sam "Where's Daniel?"-he said "I don't know."_

It had been her idea, partly. Well-Stewart's, too.

_Keep talking about the kids. People always like the personal touch._

And Justine had suggested talking about the park.

_I said "Well, we've got to find him" and Sam, being a Miliband, said "No, I'm staying here."And suddenly I realised I faced a hideous dilemma-leave Sam alone on his own at the age of four in the park-or ask Richard Desmond for childcare._

"I mean, you'd bumped into Richard" she'd said, with those wide eyes. "You could turn it into a joke. Makes you look more personable-"

Ed had hated that, suddenly. That she knew that. That that was the first thing she'd thought of.

_Now David Cameron may have left his daughter in the pub._

Something had stabbed in his ribs as he'd said that.

_But everyone can agree I did something far worse that afternoon. And now Sam's worried about house prices and threatening to vote for UKIP._

They'd laughed. Ed had made himself laugh, too. His mouth had ached.

"But-that day-" Ed had paused, staring at the cursor flashing on the screen, at the laptop's page, waiting for him to fill it with reasons, funny, smart reasons-reasons he should be Prime Minister and not Cameron.

"Daniel was upset. You know?"

_You were talking with the man!_

He'd raised an eyebrow, willing her to remember. "He cried?"

"Oh yeah. That day." Justine had shrugged. "Don't worry." She'd turned those large, pale eyes on him, and a moment later Ed had turned too quickly back to the laptop screen. He'd tried not to flinch. He'd tried not to feel that something about that shouldn't be so easy. Something about that shouldn't be as easy as the shrug Justine gave before she said "Just don't mention that bit, then."

Now, watching Cameron watch him, Ed feels a surge of confusion.

"It's fine if you don't want to come."

Cameron says it gently.

Ed's head snaps up. "What?"

"It's fine. If you don't want to-"

"No! No, I want to come-"

He does, he realises with a sudden jolt. He wants to go.

Badly.

Shaking his head at that, he peeks up at David.

"I haven't been avoiding you" he tells him. "N-not deliberately-I'm juth-st-"

_Confused._

David's blue eyes crinkle. "Just?"

_You confuse me._

"Just" he says, feeling stupid. "Juth-st-"

Cameron grins at him. Ed tries not to grin back.

"Well" Cameron says, as if this is a perfectly usual conversation. "If you want to come tomorrow, you can come anytime."

"I-it'll juth-st be me" Ed says warningly. "And the kids-"

"Fine-" Cameron's already pulling out a pen. "Here, have you got any directions-"

"Oh-" Ed fumbles in his pocket for his phone, but shakes his head-they're in a chapel, after all.

"Here." David nods, indicating something. Ed glances down at his hand, puzzled.

Cameron's mouth twitches in a quick grin, and then his hand comes out and grabs Ed's, warm and strong.

Ed's too surprised to do anything, but Cameron just turns his hand over and begins to scribble a number down.

His hand is warm. Ed is very aware of that, and the warmth in his own cheeks. His heart is suddenly beating so fast that it's almost a tingling sensation in his chest. The nib of the pen tickles Ed's skin. His eyes skitter to Cameron's face, and then away in a second, before he can see anything but the slight crease of Cameron's brow, the blue of his eyes.

"There-" and Ed becomes aware that he's breathing a little too fast, and when Cameron smiles at him, something melts and swoops in Ed's chest.

Cameron's fingers take his own then, very gently, and fold them over the words in a flutter of movement. "So you won't get lost."

"Oh." Ed manages a smile. "Um-thankth-"

He's like this. Already, after Cameron-

After PMQs-

Ed stares at him, perplexed, that tangled mess of feelings pulling at each other in his chest again.

_How do you-_

"Oh, and if you want to stay over, we've got plenty of spare rooms" Cameron says, as if this is the sort of casual remark anyone might make.

Ed splutters. "W-what?"

His heart's thumping. His palms are suddenly damp.

Cameron gives him an odd look. "Just that it might be a long journey-there and back in one day. We've got a few spare rooms-option's there." He shrugs, still looking confused.

Oh. Ed realises.

"Oh."

It didn't mean anything. Cameron was just offering.

He's surprised by the twinge of something like disappointment he feels.

"Um-" Frantically, he tries to unscramble his thoughts. "Um-yeah-that-that might be-"

He trails off because Cameron's face just-

Lights up.

It really does.

The eyes crease. The smile-David's smile-widens.

Ed feels something open out in his chest, something bright and beaming-and-

"Shall we-" Cameron gestures to the seats, and Ed has to shake his head a little to clear the daze.

And then PMQs stabs back into his head.

For God's sake, why can't he _remember-_

Ed curses himself.

 

* * *

 

David is careful not to mention the speech. Then again, it's not as though he heard it.

It had been Samantha who'd suggested he go up and speak to him.

"You dragged me down here" she'd said, swinging her legs with a grin, as she sipped the glass of wine she'd demanded as compensation. "We're not even listening to the bloody speech."

"I know" David had said, letting his foot kick hers' gently as she swung her legs. "I just-"

He'd shrugged. Samantha had been playing with his hand, bored. "So you've dragged me to the Strangers bar for a speech we're not even going to go into."

David had considered. "That's about the size of it, yeah."

Samantha had kicked him again.

"How are you even going to know what he said?" she'd asked, several minutes of good-natured bickering later, and one demanded second glass of wine promptly ordered. "You haven't bloody got someone there reporting back to you, have you?"

"No. 'Course not."

There had been, at that moment, a strange scuffling from round the other side of the bar. Samantha had peered over curiously.

Lawrence's head had popped up, hair dishevelled, clutching his phone triumphantly like a dying man. "I got out without anyone seeing me" he'd hissed, with the air of an injured war hero crawling out of a battlefield.

Several minutes later, with Samantha still sniggering, she'd taken a sip of the wine, a cocktail now also meekly ordered, in line with a careful and specific request. (David had known all too well Samantha wouldn't hesitate to count the cherries.)

"I'm surprised Justine's there" she'd said, with a slight frown.

"How come?"

Sam had shrugged. "Don't know. Just-wouldn't have thought-I don't know-just from what Frances says-"

"I thought she and Frances were friends?"

Samantha had shrugged again. "They are. But-" She'd tilted her head. "I don't know. You can be friends with someone, really good friends, and still have-reservations, I guess."

David had frowned. Samantha had looked at him. "Well. You were friends with, weren't you?"

David rolls his eyes. "They'll bring back those stories if they hear you saying that" he says warningly, taking a sip of his own beer. "Saying you were one of-I don't know, Blair's Babes, or whatever it was."

Samantha had drawn a hand across her own throat. "Nah. Ed's not here to tell people."

David had jumped a little, before he'd realised she meant one of _their_ Eds.

"Still" Samantha had said, as though answering David's question before he'd asked it. "I meant a bit more-or Frances, Frances meant more than-you know, different politics, political beliefs, whatever. It was something-more."

David had looked more closely at her, then. Samantha had been staring down into her glass of wine, a slight frown creasing her brow. David had watched. "What-"

Before he could finish the question, Lawrence had touched his shoulder. The doors were opening, people starting to spill in.

"Come on." David had grabbed Samantha's arm. Samantha had spluttered indignantly. "I'm finishing my drink!"

"Take the glass, I'll pay for it later-go, go, go!"

And they'd run, Samantha defiantly gulping from her glass as she ducked down, still giggling slightly, as Lawrence jumped and weaved about, trying to get in the way of as many people as possible, at least until they'd reached the doorway of the bar, where Samantha had abandoned any attempts at concealing her humour and burst out laughing at the sight of her husband crouched down, occasionally meercatting his head to check they hadn't drawn any attention, whilst scuttling sideways in a frantic crouch, which looked, as Samantha informed him cheerfully, once they were safely ensconced in pyjamas, back in their apartment above Number 11, "Like a sort of terrified crab."

David, if asked, would never have imagined that he'd be relieved if informed he resembled a trembling crustacean in the advanced stages of terror by his wife of nearly nineteen years, but on this occasion, it had to be said, it had had unexpected benefits; she hadn't asked anything more about why he was so keen to be in the same vicinity, if not the presence, of Miliband's speech. David counts his blessings, and doesn't let himself wonder why.

Now, perhaps to help himself not wonder, he gives Miliband an attempt at a friendly elbow. (Miliband winces. Perhaps it was a little too hard.) "So, you weren't avoiding me, hmm?"

Miliband blushes. David takes that as a yes.

"You know, it's only PMQs" he says , feeling uncharacteristically awkward. "It doesn't mean-"

Ed looks quickly at him.

David sighs and looks back. _"You_ say things, too."

Ed sniffs. David feels an odd stab of irritation.

"You know, it's not just _me."_ The words tug at that sense of annoyance that had risen in his chest in the bathroom on Tuesday, when Miliband had knocked his hand away.

Miliband simply pouts, and abruptly, David tires of the conversation.

"Look, just-just forget it. I just wondered where you were, that's all."

Miliband frowns, looking confused, and David sighs.

"I don't want to fight with you" he says, as plainly as he can. "Not here."

Miliband stares at him, and then gives one rapid, jerky nod. David looks away as they take their seats, mind already running through the first few lines of his speech. ("Don't do the bladder trick" had been the customary warning from George.)

("I'm not planning on it. Family event."

"That makes it sound as though it's some kind of deviant kink, Dave.")

"Do you usually-"

David looks up at Miliband. "Do I what?"

Miliband's watching him across the empty seat between them.

"Like fighting." Miliband clears his throat abruptly. "With me."

David stares at him, at the colour creeping slowly up his cheeks. Miliband's dark eyes send an odd, jolting sensation through David's chest.

"Well-" David coughs. "Well. I-"

He swallows. "I-yes-"

Surprisingly, he doesn't have to think about it.

"Yes. I suppose. Sometimes, it's-stimulating." David pulls out his glasses and begins adjusting them with an ostentatious amount of attention. "Arguing with you."

He concentrates very hard on the glasses, then the order of service.

He can feel Ed watching him. Big, dark eyes.

David's heart is suddenly beating very fast.

Suddenly, perhaps just unable to stand staring at the booklet anymore, he looks up, stares back at Miliband directly. "What?"

Miliband's just watching him, head tilted to the side, with those dark eyes just a little wide and wondering.

"What?" David asks again, perhaps a little peremptorily.

Miliband keeps staring.

David's about to ask again, but Miliband's looking at him. Still with that wondering look.

David looks back.

"Nothing" Miliband says slowly, after several moments. "Juth-st-"

David's eyes meet his.

"Hi." David jumps, as Nick promptly plonks himself down between them.

He quickly looks away but he senses an odd frisson of movement from the other side, as though Miliband's just jumped a little, too.

"Hi" he says, the slightest bit brighter than usual, turning to Nick. "Looking forward to _The Last Leg?"_

Nick gives a half-grimace. On his other side, Miliband seems to give a small, suppressed shudder at the thought.

David focuses a little too hard on what Nick's saying about how tight the schedule will be to get to the studio, and on not looking at Miliband, and when Nick's leg presses against his own for a second as he moves, tries not to notice how he pictures it for a moment as Miliband's.

 

* * *

 

It's when they're standing in line, clutching the wreaths each of them will lay at the foot of the statue, that Ed notices.

They've walked through with him behind, so he should really have noticed sooner, he thinks-

(No, he shouldn't have noticed.)

(That's the thing.)

(He _shouldn't_ have noticed.)

But then it's Cameron's turn and it's as he walks forward-

Ed's just watching him, and then he-

Well, he bends to lay the wreath, and-

It's nothing, of course, but-

Ed's looking.

He's looking at Cameron's-

Cameron's-

And it doesn't make _sense_ , because he's seen Cameron like this more times than he can count, and it's meant nothing, and-

It must just be the cut of the suit, it-

It _must-_

But Ed can't stop noticing.

Can't stop noticing his-

Oh God.

Ed should stop looking

Oh God, that-

Those trousers fit him so-

Oh God.

Ed can feel his cheeks burning. He doesn't know what to do with his fingers. He doesn't know what-

Oh God.

He can feel that ache in his-

No-

_No._

Ed stares down at the wreath, wondering if anyone's noticed his rapid breathing. He tries to keep looking at the wreath, tries to notice little details about it, counting the leaves-

Cameron's stepping back now. He gives a short, careful bow to the statue.

Ed's eyes flicker down.

He notices-

Heat flames in his cheeks.

Oh God.

Oh God.

Oh-

Just ignore it. Just don't notice.

It-

Ed keeps his eyes on his wreath. His cheeks are flaming.

When he lays his own wreath, the thought grabs at his mind-

_Is he looking?_

_Is he looking at me?_

An odd shiver goes through him, makes his cheeks burn more.

He can't look at Cameron as he walks back to the line. But he's aware of him, of his blue eyes and his smooth skin and that crinkle at the edge of his smile, and he can feel that awareness, settling into his whole body, burning his face, prickling his skin.

 

* * *

 

The thing about David having a driver is that it often means Sam does, too.

She doesn't always mind. But there are times, like now, when she misses being able to talk to Dave while he drives. She's always liked it. It was a time when it was just them-the way David liked to talk sometimes, when he's occupied with a task he knows so well he could do it in his sleep.

When they were first going out, he'd sometimes chop logs while they discussed something-Sam would watch him, perched on a log pile, swinging her legs as she chattered. Originally, she'd wondered if he was showing off for her-letting her see him bring the axe down with a long, powerful swing into each blow-sometimes ripping his shirt off halfway through. But she'd quickly realised it wasn't so much that as simply the chopping himself he loved-the look of concentration on his face as he lifted the axe, the slight, satisfied nod he'd give as he took a few deep breaths, hands still gripping the wooden handle triumphantly, his face clearer, as though the blade had swung through whatever was bothering him too.

Now, Sam watches him, aware of the kids behind them, with the iPad propped up against the back of the seat, the volume turned down low. Nancy has one of her headphones dangling loosely from her ear, her attention half on the film, and half on the rough sketch she scribbles at quickly whenever they come to a stop in traffic.

"What did you mean, yesterday?" Dave asks her, as he leans back a little in the seat, unfastening his top button.

"When what-"

"When-er-we were talking about-in the bar, we were talking about Justine, or something-"

"That-Justine Miliband-"

"Yeah, yeah. You said something-"

"Well." Sam leans back in her own seat, keeping her voice low. "Actually-I mean, yesterday, I was just-it was just Frances, but then today-"

It had been that morning, when she and Sarah had been in her kitchen, having a coffee.

"She's probably just on her last paragraph or something" Sam had said, familiar with both Frances and Sarah's ways with their writing. It's one thing she's always loved in both of them-the way they can create a story, an article, coax out tears or spike up rage or just slash out their own feelings, simply through unscrambling a myriad of words into their own order, crafting them around a shape of their own. Sam sometimes wonders if it's the same pleasure she gets when she hits on the right cut for a dress, when her pencil traces the right curve. She wonders if Nancy experiences the same thing-if that'll be something her daughter, too, can disappear into, something that gives her an agency, the control, of creating something out of nothing.

Sarah had been sitting at the breakfast table, where Nancy's hairbrush still lay, where she'd thrown it down that morning, diving out the door. They'd done the school run together-it had been a chance to experience what the drive to Grey Coat might be like, if that's where Nancy ends up in September. (They might have put Lady Margaret first, but Sam isn't getting her hopes up-you practically have to have a signed letter from God to walk through the door.)

If they're still in Downing Street, of course.

Either way, the journey had been informative, to say the least.

"Stop rambling about them being green, or I'll _ram them down your throat-"_

"They're _green-"_

"They're _white"_ Sarah had bellowed, hiting the wheel. "They're white. They're the whitest sodding socks to ever be white. And I know because I bloody washed them."

Beatrice had kicked the back of her mother's seat, while William and Elwen had been tossing a pound coin back and forth, which had hit Nancy in the head.

 _"Ow!"_ Nancy had promptly chucked the coin back at Elwen, who'd thrown it again, with the result this time of hitting Sarah in the head.

"Ow!" Sarah had grabbed the coin before it slid down her collar, and flung it into the back seat, where it had caught William in the neck, bringing forth an indignant squawk. _"It wasn't even me!"_

"Money" Florence had said, loudly, then. "Money-"

Sam had been about to wonder if Flo was listening to Dave's speeches when Nancy had leaned forward and said "Oh, yeah, we need money for the Bake Sale."

Sam had had to count to four very slowly in her head. Then she'd turned round to face her daughter. "You're telling me this _now?"_

Nancy had shrugged. "I just remembered. It's for charity."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Nancy had eyeballed her. "Well, you don't want us to look selfish, do you?"

William's head had popped forward. "So do I."

Sam and Sarah had carefully avoided looking at one another.

"I could kill you" Sarah had announced, apparently to the car in general.

"That's emotional abuse" Bea retorted, kicking the seat again.

"I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to God."

A musing silence. Then,

"They're green, not white."

Sarah had breathed out through her nose. Nancy had leaned over to squint at Bea's socks. "I think they look blue."

Sam had winced.

When they'd eventually pulled up round the corner from Grey Coat, Sarah had simply grabbed the laundry bag out of the boot, and thrown a pair of white socks into Bea's face. "There. Now get out before I choke you with them."

Bea had proceeded to exit the vehicle as slowly as possible, with the result that Sarah yanked the door shut hard enough to shake the entire car.

Bea had promptly screamed so loudly that Sam was sure they were about to find she'd been shot.

Sarah had yanked her own seat belt loose, thrown the door open, and scrambled out of the car in one swift movement. "What is it-"

She'd already had her hands on Beatrice's arms, when Bea had promptly fallen silent, pressed her lips together, scowled and said "Nothing. But you could have broken my hand."

Sam, whose idea had been to get a picture of the average drop-off at Grey Coat, is fairly certain it wouldn't usually consist of the sight of a young girl racing through the school gates, cackling manically as she went, chased by a middle-aged woman, bellowing incoherently, several balled-up pairs of socks flying from her hands as she ran, each lobbed at the retreating back of its' target.

Sam had taken the opportunity, as they drove to St Mary Abbots in wary silence (Sarah's teeth were gritted and every few seconds a sound rather like the word _green_ would force itself out between them), to slowly pull out the money. "Would it kill you to remember the night before?"

Nancy had just looked at her. "Well, it's unlikely."

Sam had drawn her hand swiftly across her throat. "Bring the change if there is any."

Nancy had rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm not _stupid."_

Later, ensconced back in the kitchen at Downing Street, Sam had peered at Sarah over her mug of tea. "I didn't know the school run usually ended like that" she'd remarked mildly, taking a bite out of one of David's homemade biscuits. "With you picking Bea's socks out of the road."

Sarah had shaken her head, still looking battle-worn. "No. That's just us. That's just Bea. She's possessed. It's the only decent explanation."

There'd been a knock on the door, and Frances had popped her head round. "Hi."

Sam had taken the two of them in a few minutes later, Frances slumping into a chair and reaching gratefully for one of the biscuits. She and Sarah have known each other for so long that Sam almost doesn't remember not knowing her and Michael.

Logically, she knows they met in the '90s, shortly before she and David got engaged. She remembers Michael introducing Sarah to her, Sarah's dark crop of hair shining as she glanced up at her, her dark eyes glittering wickedly with mischief as she gave Sam a hug. Michael and her had already seemed to move together, easily conscious of each other-Sam remembers the first night they all went out together, the two of them throwing the car keys back and forth as they argued about where to park.

Now, as Frances had confided in Sarah about the difficulties of wrapping up a chapter, Sam had watched her, too. She can remember meeting Frances-a couple of months after David had become an MP, after he'd first started talking about George, the other new MP with the dark hair and dark eyes, who'd taken to picking David up in the mornings and dropping him off in the evenings, when they'd had them over for dinner.

George had been standing there when Sam opened the door, with fifteen-month-old Luke nestled into his father's shoulder, and Sam had felt a leap of happiness at the sight, her own hands automatically travelling to her stomach, though she'd been nowhere close to showing yet. But the knowledge had been enough; the knowledge that Ivan was there, though they didn't have his name yet, didn't even know they'd have a son-just that he was there, a small, living person inside her, still putting himself together, growing and unfolding into the little baby he would eventually be lifted out as; the knowledge that this time next year, she and David could be opening this door, holding a small, gurgling little boy or girl of their own.

Perhaps that's why she still feels that leap when she remembers the first time she saw Frances. But she'd smiled, as she looked past George at his wife, meeting blue-grey eyes, and a scattering of freckles under wavy, blondeish hair, and a smile back that, under the confident upright look, had an edge of sweetness.

Now, Sam had sunk down at the table between them, picking up her own biscuit. Sarah had been filling Frances in on the chaos of the school run that morning.

"You're lucky George took your two."

Frances had grimaced a little. "They don't think so."

"Has he ever chased one of them?"

Sarah had given Sam a kick under the table.

It had been a few minutes later that Sarah had remarked "Why are we eating Dave's biscuits when we're about to try on Sam's dress, by the way?"

"Because you don't need to worry" Sam had chipped in. "Either of you. It's me who needs to-nearly ripped the bloody thing sewing it. Nearly had to get Nancy's help with it."

"She's getting quite into the sewing, isn't she?" Frances had asked, as the two got up to follow Sam down to the dining room, which somehow, over the years, has become her dress room.

"Yeah. She always liked her art and that, but-she's into it a bit more, now."

Sarah had clambered up onto the dining table. "Better than being a priest. Still haven't forgiven you for telling Will that."

"What's wrong with being a priest?"

"That was when Bea's hamster went, wasn't it-" Frances had asked.

Sarah had snorted. "Yeah. Nancy wrote a pretty good poem for that, too. I thought she'd be into writing."

"She is, quite-and her opera-but I think she's more-" Sam had turned and grinned at Frances, a slight tradition when it comes to them trying on dresses together. "Don't go giving it away to Justine."

Sarah had snorted. Frances had rolled her eyes. "I helped Justine pick out a dress. For Labour conference. Once-"

"Did she try to make you drink the Kool-Aid?" Sarah had asked, straight-faced.

Sam had shaken her head. Frances had rolled her eyes again. "No. Though we don't usually talk about politics."

"When did you meet her?" Sarah had asked, taking another sip of her tea. "University?"

"Law school." Frances had taken another bite of her biscuit. "She was always-well-" Frances had pursed her lips a little. "Focused."

Sarah had snorted, picking up on the tone. "Why were _you_ friends with her, then?"

Frances had almost exploded. _"Cheek!"_

A few minutes and one thrown biscuit later, Frances, who had joined Sarah on the table, chewing her biscuit, had said thoughtfully "I don't know. I mean-I was there because I wanted a back-up plan. In case I couldn't write. But Justine-" She'd rubbed both hands through her hair, ruffling it up so that it resembled a blonde cloud around her head. "It was like it was the be-all and end-all. You know. I mean-" She'd sighed. "Her parents expected things, but it was more like she didn't....I don't know. Like she thought-I don't know. Like that was all she was."

Sam had stopped by that point, staring at her, dress folded over her arms.

"But you went backpacking together?"

Sam had nearly choked then. "She _backpacked?"_

Frances had managed a grin. "Yeah."

Then the second implication hit Sam. " _You_ backpacked?"

Another thrown biscuit later, Sam had joined her friends on the table.

"Thing was-" Frances had sighed, chewing another biscuit. "It was like-she had to do it. Like everything was just-another thing to be able to say she'd done. Another string to add to her bow, if you know what I mean. It was like-she couldn't-"

"Have fun?" Sarah suggested, with a raised eyebrow.

She'd meant it sarcastically, but Frances had shrugged. "Yeah, actually. As though everything-everything had to mean something. Enjoying things was-I don't know. Secondary."

She'd shaken her head. "Anyway. I suppose I was just-I don't know. Protective? She _was_ three years younger-but I'm not sure."

"Doesn't she have other friends?" Sam had asked, taking a slow bite of her own biscuit.

Frances had shrugged. "She's got some. But I don't know. I think-" She'd taken another gulp of tea. Then, "I don't think she knows how to _be._ Not without work, really."

The slight pause had, for some reason, made Sam shiver.

Now, sitting next to Dave, she takes a breath from relating the conversation, glancing at him to see what he makes of it.

David's leaning his elbow against the window. His jaw's tense, but his eyes are narrowed thoughtful.

"I suppose" he says slowly. "Well. Miliband's quite similar. With the children."

Sam frowns and turns, peering surreptitiously at their own children in the backseat. Nancy's still got one of her headphones in her ear, but she's got Flo nestled into her shoulder. Flo's staring at the screen, blue eyes intent above her chubby cheeks. Elwen's squinting over her head, freckles scattered under that brown hair that's almost exactly the same shade as Dave's.

Sam's chest aches, she wants to put her arms around them so badly. But it would scare them or smother them. And she doesn't want to do that, doesn't want to risk ever pushing them away. Ever giving them a moment of doubt.

So she takes them in with her eyes, as though if she looks long and hard enough, her eyes could pull them into her chest and keep them there, safe, under and inside her beating heart.

She just looks, and then turns back round in her seat.

David is watching her quietly. He keeps watching for a moment before he speaks. "You know, we'll have to talk about it. What Lynton suggested."

Samantha turns and stares straight back at him. "My children's faces will not be shown on the television" she says very quietly, and she stares at him, the words like steel between them.

David meets her gaze. "I know" he says, and Samantha's arms wrap around herself instinctively. She pictures hugging them, all four of them, Ivan, Nancy, Elwen and Florence, safe, under her skin, under her heart, inside her heart, each beat strong and loud, each thump yelling how much she loves them.

She pictures, the way she always does, his dark hair and dark blue eyes, nestled in her lap. Ivan dozing off gently while she stroked his cheek and kissed his hair. Ivan, blinking up at her just for a moment, back from the world he lived in, but drifted to her for this one breath, looking up at her as she watched him, so that for a moment, it feels like her son knew who she was.

 

* * *

 

The lights are hot on his skin, and Nick tries not to adjust his suit too obviously.

"But I'll tell you what-I'll tell you what-"

"Almost? Almost?"

Alex Brooker glances up at him over his glasses. "You _almost_ had me at Nandos."

The audience bursts out laughing. Nick laughs, too, settling a little now that this portion of the show must be coming to an end.

 _How much worse can it get?_ James had asked, when Nick had asked if coming on _The Last Leg_ was really the best idea. Which wasn't, in itself, a reassurance.

"But just one more question, quick-fire-" Alex is peering at the card, but Nick stills a little.

It's _The Last Leg._ It's a comedy show. But they can still use it.

 _You need to get young people back onside again_ , James said backstage, Miriam sitting at the dressing table, glancing between them, taking him in. _And if this is the best way to do it-_

And so, now he's sitting in a chair that he's remarked looks pretty Mastermind- _Yeah, well, that's one seat you're guaranteed this year, innit, pal_? Alex had shot back, and the audience had burst into laughter, loud slaps of applause stinging in the air-lights too bright on his face, sweat running down his back, and Alex sitting opposite him with a last question.

"How many times in the last five years-" Alex leans forward slightly. "Have you wanted to give David Cameron a slap?"

Cameron question.

That's the first thing that occurs to Nick. The second is, _Oh God._

They've practiced this one. He just has to take it carefully

"Ooh." He leans forward slightly, playing for time. "Ooh-"

"And this is-so we'll put this to the nearest hundred and all."

Alex grins. The audience bursts into riotous laughter. Nick glances down at his lap, fighting back a grin, trying desperately to land on something vaguely non-committal to say.

"What, over the national debt-"

But they won't let him get away with that. They've left this question until last and they want something. Of course they want something. And he's got to give something too, and not just for them.

"Erm, a few times, yes-" He waits for the laughter. "And I think, likewise, likewise-yeah-"

"Just a-just a figure?"

Oh God. Just head it off.

"Both ways-both ways-"

"How many times-go on, just between me-" Alex leans forward with a grin. "Pretend there's no one else here."

"No one else-"

The audience is dissolving into laughter again. Nick lets himself smile a little, quietens his own voice. "A few times, yeah. A few times-"

That won't be enough.

"About ten? Twenty-"

Not enough-

"Oh, more than-more than-"

"Thirty?"

"Oh, no, no, no-" Because Nick can suddenly see how this is going to go, and he can see how this could be spun into the headlines the next day, and he has no idea if it would be good for them or not but he knows he needs to shut it down now. "No, no more than that-"

Was he saying more than that? Wasn't he?

"Really?"

"I'm not going to get into-"

"Ten or thirty-"

Oh God, shut it down-

"I got into this at Number 10 once and it got me into-" He says something about _trouble_ but the audience is already laughing, and Alex is moving on.

"Well, then-well then, I'm glad you two have been working together for the last five years-"

"Yes-no, we have-"

"-went _really_ well-"

The audience are laughing, but something nettles at Nick. He's not sure why, but something about it-

"Right-"

"Do you agree with these-this lot?" Nick points at the other presenters, who are sitting, watching the proceedings with high amusement. "You don't agree with everyone you work with-"

Alex gives him an amused look. "Sorry, this was Al-Alex's question, so-" His eyes glimmer behind his glasses, and the audience dissolves into more laughter.

"OK." There seems little else Nick can say to that, but somehow-

It's not as though when they first agreed to go into coalition they didn't know every inch where they disagreed would be scrutinized-

"So, Nick, thank you-"

"Yeah-"

"You've given me your time-"

It's just that sometimes, Nick can't decide whether people want them to agree more or not-

"You've spoke some bullshit, admittedly-" Another small laugh. "But you have given me your time, and that is OK-"

And back then, five years had seemed like a long time.

"But-it's up for-you have been a great sport-but-"Alex looks straight at him. "Now, it's your turn."

Oh God.

"Yeah?"

"Which party leader would you like to nominate-" Alex sits up. "To go next? To sit in the hot seat-"

"Here?"

Nick doesn't have to think before he says it, and he's not sure if that's a problem or not.

"Oh, David Cameron."

In the split second between him saying that and the applause breaking out, he wonders if he shouldn't have.

It was only an attempt to lighten the mood, but all he can think of suddenly, even as the applause rings out around him, is the other stuff.

Dog shit through the letterbox. Saliva hot on his cheek. _The Lib Dems are worse than the fucking Tories. They fucking sold us out._

He wonders if he shouldn't have-

"Oh, and by the way-" He leans forward, raising his voice a little to be heard above the noise before he can second-guess himself. "If-if-if-if you-but-but, erm-but your-your producers will have a job 'cause-"

Something itches about saying it.

"If you've seen what he's been saying about these TV debates, so if he comes-"

"Absolutely not-"

"He won't come on his own, he'll come with the Green Party, the Monster Raving Loony Party-"

The laughter's breaking out again and Nick raises his voice even more to be heard, even over Alex, who's saying something he can't hear.

"And-and-Larry the cat-"

"Oh, brilliant-" Alex's laughing, and Nick leans back a little. "He'll have everybody here, so-"

The crowd's applauding. Nick squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, because the lights are too bright.

He thinks that came off right.

He thinks.

"So, news headline today-" Alex grins at him. _"David Cameron Won't Come On His Own."_

The crowd dissolves. Nick cringes inwardly, but he makes himself grin.

"Well, he won't" is all he can say, and imagines the way David will deal with this, with some joke of his own that'll be turned onto Nick and how he might just have made the whole polling situation worse.

The crowd's still screaming.

"Are you going to vote?" he asks Alex, too loudly, mainly for something to distract himself, distract the crowd.

Alex grins-as though he knows what Nick's doing, but has decided to give him a pass for some reason, and gives a quick nod. "I will be voting-"

"You will vote?" Nick grabs his arm and turns to the crowd, knowing he must look ridiculous, but somehow preferring this to what he was saying a second ago. "He said he's going to vote, did you hear that?"

The crowd keeps applauding. Alex's hand is a little too tight on Nick's arm, and Nick suspects his own grip is too.

It's that sometimes he doesn't know whether people want them to agree more or not. And, getting up, leaning forward, gripping Alex Brooker's arm, ears almost hurting from the crowd's cheering, Nick wonders, if he'd known, if he'd have answered the question the way they wanted.

 

 

* * *

 

 

David is sitting, looking out at the winter evening settling over the long lawn. Flo's asleep, and the other two should be soon-it's easier to get them to bed in winter than summer, when the evening sunlight can creep through the curtains, and they like to give Gita a break and make sure it's always at least one of them who does the bedtime routine.

But now, David's sitting at the dining room table, watching the winter night through the window.

"Want me to do my Mozart trick?"

David looks up at Tom, who grins at him across the table. David shakes his head. "Not unless you want Samantha to kill you. It'll wake Flo up."

Tom grins. "Ah, well. It's for long nights. And this is just a quick drink."

David's first sighting of Tom was at the age of thirteen, sipping his too-hot tea nervously, Alex lounging next to him, swinging his own legs with the lazy insouciance that comes with three years of knowledge of a school. David had glanced round, conscious of his father's hand, occasionally squeezing his shoulder.

David had let his gaze wander around the room, taking in the faces of the boys who would become his classmates, some of whom he'd known from Heatherdown-Simon and Giles were both there, both of them adjusting their collars nervously-some of whom he'd still know more than 30 years later, and his eyes had settled on Tom.

Of course, he hadn't known his name. But he'd noticed one thing about Tom-something that he'd notice in his own younger son years later and, though he doesn't know it, others notice in him, sometimes with admiration, sometimes with resentment. A watchfulness, perhaps. But more than anything, a quiet confidence.

A comfort. An ease.

David hadn't, of course, been able to lay his hands on any of those terms then, but he'd looked at Tom and when Tom looked back, something had clicked-clicked in the way Tom grinned at him, as though recognizing something. Clicked in the way David recognized the same thing without knowing it, in the way he'd smiled back.

Now, they're sitting at the dining table across from each other, and Tom grins. "I didn't foresee being dumped for Ed Miliband-"

David rolls his eyes. "Hardly being _dumped-"_ He reaches for his glass of Scotch. "Just-don't fancy him going on about old Etonians all weekend."

"Won't he do that, anyway?"

David shrugs. "Knowing him, probably."

"Hmm. Why'd you invite him, then?"

David sighs, chewing over the question, taking another ruminating sip of wine. "I don't know" he says slowly. "I really don't. I just-"

He chews at the inside of his mouth, trying to find the right word, but he supposes, in the end-

"I just wanted to" is what he hears himself say, quietly.

Tom, when David looks up, is arching an eyebrow. "Well. You were always good at surprises."

David arches an eyebrow himself. "Haven't often heard that."

Tom shakes his head. "No, just-you remember how it was, in our last couple of years of school. When you suddenly got into politics, no one expected that of you, either."

"Thanks" David laughs, but then, more seriously "Yeah, I wanted to do Art. I remember."

Tom nods. "And then when you were at Oxford, you blew everyone else out of the water."

"I don't think I-"

"No, what I mean-" Tom says, almost before David can open his mouth. "You know-you did well in your work, but you weren't-you were so _into_ it once you got to Oxford."

David frowns. "What's that got to do with Miliband?"

Tom shakes his head, taking a gulp of his own Scotch. "Well. I suppose you've always taken people by surprise, that's all. I mean, I don't tend to get involved in all this politics lark, but-well, you know. You can get on with people. I mean, you surprised us, then."

David knows he did. He's been asked a couple of times, with varying degrees of admiration or incredulity, why he chose politics. Not why he's chosen it, now. But why, all those years ago, looking at the advertisement from CCO, he'd thought _Hmm. Yes. OK._

The odd thing is, he supposes most people he knew at Eton would have put bets down on him entering any number of other professions. Finance. The City. Even journalism, though he didn't know if writing was really his thing. He could manage it fine, well when he wanted to, but he didn't seem to love it enough.

He supposes that's how a lot of his friends would have thought he'd end up-a little like them, with jobs that they maybe don't _love_ , but are interesting enough to provide them with money and friends and contacts-all the things that form a bedrock to their lives. Just what was necessary.

He looks at Tom, remembering doing the same thing a hundred times before; as teenagers at Eton, lounging across the aisle between their desks, half-lying over the back of a motorbike during the summer holidays. The same thing with Simon, shivering in narrow beds at Heatherdown, waiting to get warm, not knowing if they wanted the door to open or not. Simon's hand stretched quickly across the gap between them to squeeze his in the dark.

"Well" Tom says. "You've always been fine when you've surprised us over the years."

He clinks his glass to David's. For a moment, the stretch across the table, the high ring of glasses, is the squeeze of cold child's fingers in the dark. Simon's whisper, warm and small and scared but strong, "Don't worry. It'll be OK."

David tries to hold onto that now, the look in Tom's eyes. There's no whisper, but at this age, there shouldn't need to be.

 

* * *

 

Ed drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He glances over his shoulder at his sons.

The boys are both staring at an iPad. They're watching The Octonauts. Ed had guessed it'd be that. He feels proud of himself for guessing correctly, and only briefly does it occur to him to wonder if that's unusual.

He glances at the seat next to him, at the small packet lying there.

It had been by chance that he'd found it the previous evening. He hadn't been able to sleep, and so he'd wandered about, a little aimlessly, and eventually ended up in his study.

He'd tried distracting himself with one of his books at first, but somehow, scrambling up to pull one out, had dislodged a little envelope tucked between the pages.

He'd stared at it for a long moment, heart beating fast, and then, almost as though it might disappear, he'd snatched it up and held it against his shirt, before glancing about, as if someone might see.

He'd slid his finger nervously under the flap of the envelope a few times, lying in bed again, with it almost lying over his heart. He'd known what they were, of course. But he hadn't opened them.

It's not as though he'd meant to bring them with him. But somehow, they'd been on the bedside table, and when he'd dragged himself into consciousness, hearing the shower running, which told him Justine wasn't in the room, his hand had covered the envelope, hiding it swiftly under the bedcovers so they wouldn't have to talk about it.

He'd kept it there the entire time that Justine had been in the room, and he'd felt an odd pang of relief that she was dressed when she came back in, because somehow, if she hadn't been-

Well, she might, she might have suggested-and he couldn't, this morning, he just couldn't.

So he'd managed to force a smile and drill out some chatter, fingers pressing lightly into the envelope, creasing it a little, so that now when he glances over, Ed can still see his thumbprint, pressed so deeply into the envelope you could never pretend it wasn't there.

It isn't that he intended to bring them along. It's just that he picked them up, intending to put them back, and then he'd been planning to shower first, and then he'd put them in his pocket, and then-

And now, well, here they are on the car seat.

Ed glances at them again, then drags his gaze away, trying to focus on the road. He wonders if it's normal that he hasn't spoken to the boys since they left their road.

But then, they haven't said anything to _him._

So that's fine.

Ed glances at the clock instead of the envelope. 10:47. Cameron said to get there for about 11:15-"Then, we can have lunch or something, maybe go to a nice pub-or maybe that on Sunday. We've just got to run a couple of errands Saturday morning, shouldn't take too long, and once you arrive, we'll have them done-"

At this rate, they should be there on time.

Ed wonders if he should think that's a good or a bad thing. He wonders if his heart suddenly picking up speed, the slight dryness of his mouth, the tightening and then playing back and forth of his fingers on the steering wheel is an answer he wants at all.

It's easier to focus on the road.

 

* * *

 

Florence likes coming up here. The churchyard is nice and quiet and she's allowed to run _round_ in _circles_ and sometimes take a skipping rope, so long as she doesn't hit a gravestone. The safety people always walk a while behind them, so they can keep them safe, Daddy says.

She likes it because everyone gets together, nice and all together, and they get to take flowers. Flo can't carry flowers because she held them once when she was much littler, back when she was three or maybe _two,_ but a few got out of her hands, and ended up blowing about. Nancy got really upset, so her face went all creased, and she cried, so Flo cried too, because she didn't want Nancy to cry.

So Mummy or Daddy carry the flowers now, or Nancy, sometimes, because Nancy's bigger. Flo still gets to skip, though, and sometimes she can bring things she's drawn for Ive.

Ive is in heaven, but they come to the graveyard, anyway. Flo doesn't know why, and Nancy got upset when she asked-Mummy and Daddy say that Ive went back to heaven before Flo was born. Babies come from heaven, Mummy says, and when people die, they go back up there, even if their bodies are under the ground, like Ive's.

Now, Flo walks around the gravestones. Daddy keeps looking at her, so Flo waves so Daddy knows she's fine. Nancy's talking to Ive, that's why Mummy and Daddy have moved away. Mummy told Flo she can talk to Ive on her own too if she wants to, but Flo likes talking all together, and everyone else knew Ive, so they might have other things to tell him.

Flo does want to hug Ive, though, but she has to wait, because you have to wait when someone talks to Ivan, though the safety people have to stay near. That's one rule, so Flo jumps up and down to help herself wait.

When Nancy stands up, Flo jumps. She runs up, so fast her feet nearly get tangled, and hugs her arms around the gravestone. It's nice and big, so Flo can't get her arms all the way round. She pushes her cheek against it.

"Hi-hi" she says happily. Mummy and Daddy say that Ive's up in heaven but his body's under the stone, so that he can still feel when they hug him. Flo likes that, so she gives Ive lots of hugs in the stone.

"Are you giving Ive a lovely cuddle?" says Mummy, and Mummy's kissing her head. Flo presses her cheek against Mummy's, nice and soft.

"Yes" she says, and hugs Ive again. She has Nancy and Elwen as her big sister and brother, but Ive is her big brother too. When Miss Karim asked about brothers and sisters, Flo said that, that she had a big sister and two big brothers, and one of her brothers went back to heaven before Flo came down. Miss Karim's face got all crumply.

El put something on Ive's grave, too. Flo's brought him a little coloured-in picture she did at school, though there's some icing smeared on it, because she was biting into her cake while she coloured it, so it's a bit sticky. Mummy says that's OK.

The picture's of her hugging him. There's lots of pictures of Nancy and Elwen hugging Ivan, but there aren't any of Flo because she wasn't here yet. So Flo made one.

"Lots of nice hugs today, Flo" says Daddy. He's cuddling Nancy, squeezing her hand like he does when he holds Flo's hand when they walk to school.

Flo nods. "Yes, yes" she says, with Mummy's arms nice and all tight around her, and she gives the stone a kiss, rubbing her nose against it the way Daddy does when he gives her rabbit kisses. She gives Ive another kiss, longer this time, so that when they've gone home, it will go up to the sky where Ive is.

Flo hopes Ive gets to sit on the clouds. Flo likes clouds.

 

* * *

 

Ed wishes suddenly for a mirror as they wait, the ring of the doorbell echoing in the air.

The cottage they've just walked up to is larger than Ed expected, extending in all directions. It's made of what looks like cream sandstone, but despite the size, there's something homely about it. Maybe it's just the countryside surroundings, but the place feels warm, loved. You could picture a family in there.

He tries to surreptitiously fiddle with his hair, smoothing it down into place. He hopes it isn't sticking up.

He should have checked in the car. What if he's looking-looking-

Why does it _matter-_

But he can't stop fretting. He wonders if he should take Daniel and Sam's hands-but then, they're not having a photo taken, so maybe not. Ed worries at his lip.

The door opens.

"Oh, hi, Ed-" Samantha's dark hair shimmers above a grin as she opens the door. Florence is clinging to her mother's shoulder, her blue eyes crinkling into a grin at the sight of Sam.

 _"Sam-"_ she says, pointing happily. "Daniel, _Sam-"_

She looks so like David. Ed thinks the words with a flood of warmth, something that makes him feel soft and fond.

He smiles. "H-hi-"

"Do you want to come in?" Samantha steps aside, and Ed jumps a little. "Oh-yeah-thanks-"

Daniel promptly steps forward and wraps himself around Samantha's legs.

Ed steps forward, already getting ready to apologise, before hesitating, unsure of whether he should.

But Samantha's lowering Florence gently and lifting Daniel, wrapping her arms around him. "Hiya, Daniel-"

Ed feels an odd stab of something, watching Daniel bury his face in Samantha's neck. He can't remember the last time Daniel did that with him or Justine.

He can't remember the last time Daniel _did_ that.

But then they're stepping inside. Sam's looking round at the walls, his big, dark eyes taking everything in.

"It's the first time you've been to our place, isn't it?" Samantha asks, still holding Daniel.

(She does that so easily.)

Ed's so busy staring that it takes him a moment to realise what Samantha's said. "Oh-"

He's about to tell her that he has-he's been to Downing Street plenty of times and he's been to Chequers for Nancy's birthday-but then he remembers that they're not Cameron's, not the same way his homes are. He supposes David and Samantha have done the redecoration, and put in their own kitchen. But Downing Street's not theirs', of course. And obviously, Chequers isn't, so this is the first place he's seen that's been just _Cameron's._

It's really this sudden spark of interest that makes Ed relax a little, though he isn't aware of it. But the sudden appeal makes him forget his nerves a little, and he looks around the hallway, eyes brightening without him realising.

The hallway's warm, especially after the cold outside, though even Ed, who knows nothing about interior design, can tell it's minimally decorated. But the walls are a warm cream, and the door ahead is wooden, in a style more reminiscent of an old farmhouse than anything else.

Something about it's cosy, making it easier for Ed to take Sam's hand when he needs to as they push the door open.

"It'th lovely" he manages, meaning it. He looks around as they step into the kitchen.

He blinks at the size. His and Justine's kitchen at home's almost blank. Neither of them are in there very often, if he's honest, and Zia has the bigger kitchen downstairs, where the kids eat their meals. This kitchen is about the same size as Zia's, perhaps a little bigger-but the decor is different. Although it's simple, there's something warm about it-the kitchen table has one of the chairs yanked out, and there's a couple of couches nearby. It's an open-plan kitchen, Ed thinks, finding the words for it. It's outlined in honey brown wood with a silver fridge and photographs hang on the walls.

"It's lovely." Ed hears his own voice before he realises what he's saying.

Samantha gives him a grin over her shoulder. "Thanks. We had it done up a few years ago-"

Elwen wanders in, kicking a football. Sam takes a tentative step forward and kicks the football back.

"Take it outside."

"It's too cold."

"Tell that to your dad-he wants us all to go on a walk-" Samantha rolls her eyes at Ed. "Here, do you want to-"

Daniel's wriggling down and Samantha lowers him gently. Elwen, kicking the ball again, grins at him. "Oh. Hi-" He kicks Daniel the ball.

"Boys-"

Florence is already tugging Sam's hand, trying to wriggle between the two of them. Samantha glances at Ed, who's staring about the room.

His heart's beating faster. He's not sure why, but as his eyes dart to each picture, each cushion, he finds himself wondering if Cameron chose that one. Was he there when they picked it? Did he look at it with Samantha, mull it over? Or did he stare at his phone, or nod thoughtfully, the way Ed's seen him do a hundred times when he knows Cameron's trying not to let his eyes glaze over?

Ed feels a little jump in his own chest as he realises he's noticed that about Cameron without even knowing.

It's only then he becomes aware that Samantha's saying his name.

He jumps a little. "Oh. Oh, th-sorry, Sam-I wath-s just-"

"It's fine." Sam's picking his Sam up now. Sam's clinging to her. "I was just asking do you want a cup of tea?"

Ed nods gratefully. This is something he knows, at least. "Oh. Yeth, pleathe. Thanks-"

Samantha regards him then, head tilted to one side, her eyes twinkling with something. Something like curiosity. Something like mischief.

"Dave's just out there" she says, nodding at what Ed realises is a conservatory. "Could you get him for me? I hate to ask, but-"

"Oh, no-yeah, sure-"

"He's decided to some drilling while he waited for you-" Samantha rolls her eyes. "So now we're all waiting on him. Just tell him there's a cup of coffee ready for him."

Ed jumps. Something about the words makes his heart beat faster.

"Um-OK-" he says nervously. "Um. He's-ah-"

"Just out there-" Sam grins and jerks her head towards the conservatory, filled with slanting, winter light. "It's just outside-you'll see the door straight away-probably hear Dave, knowing him-"

Outside is a shock of cold after the warmth of the cottage, and Ed wraps his arms around himself. The garden is huge-more like a field than anything else, stretching out in both directions, with a space hopper and a mini-trampoline scattered about. Ed measures it with his eyes, notices the barbecue in the corner, the small brazier sitting out on the patio. He pulls his jacket tighter around him.

He can hear the drilling as he gets nearer the outside door, the vibrations echoing in his ears. He takes a breath, suddenly unaccountably nervous.

It's ridiculous. He's only going in to tell Cameron that there's a cup of _coffee_ ready. It doesn't _mean_ anything-

But he can't stop himself thinking suddenly-imagining if he'd made that cup of coffee for Cameron. If he was out here working and Ed was just bringing him a drink-

Something about that makes Ed's insides puddle into something warm and pleasant in his stomach, something that makes a grin stretch across his mouth, making his cheeks ache with happiness.

He clears his throat. He tries to shake his head, clear it a little.

Just knock on the door.

He rubs his hands up and down his trousers. His heart's beating fast.

Just-

He rubs his hand up, then down again, then up-

He knocks. Once.

The drilling goes on.

He knocks again.

This time, he hears a muffled shout that sounds like a greeting, so, taking a deep breath and not being quite sure why, Ed pushes open the door.

It's much warmer than outside-that's the first thing Ed notices. He lets his jacket fall open.

The second thing is Cameron standing upright, pushing his hair back. He's standing over a set of shelves that look to be midway through a stage of construction.

Cameron's shirt sleeves are pulled up. His hair's slightly damp with sweat. He gives the shelves a satisfied look. He's clutching the drill in one hand.

Ed just stares at him. He's not sure why, but Cameron looks-

Well, he looks-

Ed stares. His own cheeks suddenly feel far, far too warm.

Cameron looks up then, and jumps. "Jesus, Miliband-" His hand slams over his chest.

Ed jumps himself. "Th-sorry-"

Cameron shakes his head, gives him a grin. "Pre-pre-election tactics-"

Ed manages a laugh. For some reason, he feels a little light-headed.

"When did you get here, then?" Cameron gives him a grin, dragging another piece of wood out.

"J-juth-st now-"

Ed's eyes are riveted by the strip of bare skin visible at Cameron's collar.

He yanks his gaze up to Cameron's, needing to say something suddenly.

"D-doing labour yourth-self, Cameron?"

David chuckles. "Surprised, Miliband?"

He steps round, adjusting his shirt so that it hangs open, revealing more of his skin. Ed's breathless.

Cameron cocks an eyebrow at him. Ed can't answer. He couldn't remember the question if his life depended on it.

"Th-Samantha th-said she made you a coffee" he manages, what seems an age later.

"Oh, right." Cameron chuckles. "I'll be out now-here, let me just finish this one bit-"

He bends over, lifting the drill again.

Ed should go, he thinks. He's delivered the message. Cameron will be in in a moment.

But he stands still. And he watches.

It's slowly that Ed realises his cheeks are much, much warmer than usual.

He chews his lip. He can't stop looking at Cameron's hands, wrapped firmly around the drill. Cameron pushes his hair back with one hand, taking deep gulps of air. His tongue's sticking out slightly in concentration, as if the only thing he really cares about in that moment is the way he's moving that drill, guiding it just exactly where he wants it.

Ed's hands are knotting very slowly in his own shirt. He's breathing a little deeper.

Cameron tosses his hair back, giving the shelves a triumphant look. He grips the drill more firmly, guiding it all the way in. He rubs a bare arm across his forehead, lets his hair fall back again, goes on with drilling, tongue sticking out a little.

Ed's hands are clenching more and more tightly. His own tongue comes out of his mouth, tracing his lips.

Cameron stretches, and Ed catches sight, as his shirt rides up, of the bare skin there, of the slight softness at his stomach, and then Cameron gives him a slight grin, just fleetingly, over the drill.

Ed thinks he grins back. He isn't sure. Suddenly, it's very hard to be sure.

He swallows. His mouth's dry. He watches the way Cameron's tongue traces his mouth as he bends over again.

He's got his back towards Ed and Ed's got a perfect view of his-

His-

Ed's knees suddenly feel like they might give way. He stares at Cameron's strong hands just _gripping-_ and that strip of skin visible-

Ed's tongue moves slowly over his own lips-

If Cameron just loosened his shirt a little he could-

Ed would see-

Like at Chequers-

It's very hard not to think about that image.

Very hard.

His heart's pounding so hard it aches.

Cameron turns the drill off, and gives Ed a grin. Ed blinks, only just aware he's staring at Cameron through hooded eyes. His hands have knotted in his shirt, creasing it.

Cameron arches an eyebrow. "You all right, Miliband?"

Ed's cheeks are burning. When did the room get so warm?

He tries to look away, but somehow Cameron's eyes won't let him.

Cameron's stepping towards him. His eyebrows are arched, almost amused, but there's something else there too.

Something a little nervous. A little-

"Are you all right?"

Cameron's so close to him. When did Cameron get so close to him?

Ed can't look away from him either.

Cameron's just looking at him. Ed's never felt so warm in his life. Cameron's gaze feels like a slow, physical touch.

Something's fizzing in his chest. Something that leaves an ache between his legs, his heart pounding-something that's leaving him so excited his body's almost shaking with it. Something-

"I'll-"

Cameron's trousers are brushing his own and Ed gasps, because that-

That makes something-

There's a knock-or maybe just a thump from inside the house, Ed isn't sure-but either way, it's enough. They both take a step back, Ed wincing as he smacks into a table.

"Um. Right-" Cameron clears his throat, eyes blinking a little rapidly. "Right. Shall we-"

Ed nods too quickly. "Yeah. Yeah-um-"

It's too warm in here. Far, far too warm.

And close.

It's probably better to get outside.

Ed takes a couple of deep breaths of the winter air as they step out through the door, feeling the sting of it cool his warm cheeks.

That's better.

(He pretends not to notice Cameron, at his side, doing the same thing.)

"Shall we-"

Ed follows Cameron towards the house, tugging his jumper and shirt down firmly over the front of his jeans.

He pretends not to notice that it's a little more difficult to walk than usual.

Or that he has to fight not to look at Cameron-

(or that he _wants_ to)

-the whole time.

 

* * *

 

 

_ Playlist _

_ Another Day-Carousel _ _-"Did you know that I have never felt this way before?/I know you're quiet but you feel it too/...You'll be surprised that I already adore you too..Oh, you got me feeling I want to stay/I want to stay another day"-This suits the scene at the Churchill memorial near the start, where David and Ed are talking, and Ed ends up getting distracted while David's laying his flowers._

 _ When Our Legs Grew Tall-The Paper Kites _ _-"There's a place we once knew/Something old, something true..Now the days go so fast/Give me time, give me past/And I know it's been so long/Since we were children of the sun..See the world up from the trees/Like when we were young/Memories, memories..But our minds grew small/When our legs grew tall/And our eyes don't see right"-this suits both Sam's scene in the car, reflecting on her and David's friendships with Frances, George, Michael and Sarah, and also David reflecting with Tom._

 _ Doll-Helen Jane Long- _ _this is an instrumental, but this always seems to suit Florence, to me-just with the innocence of the tune._

 _ Tracking Aeroplanes-The Echelon Effect _ _-this is a recurring theme, but it's the theme of Florence and Ivan and suits the scene where they visit his grave. Florence's relationship with Ivan is slightly different to her siblings', because of her age and the fact that she never knew him, whereas they did, and so she sees him in many ways through the stories she's told about him by her family, and so that, combined with how young she is, makes this piece suit her._

 _ Not Enough-Carousel- _ _"And right now, thinking I wanna do what you wanna do/This is not enough, I can't get enough/This is not enough/...You're all right, I feel like I'm changing/Look with both eyes/You couldn't hide it/In this town/I feel the way that I wanna feel/But don't hold out now/Don't hold out now...This is not enough/I can't get enough"-this song totally suits the last scene where Ed walks in on David drilling and gets...distracted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> David, Ed and Nick were attending a ceremony to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Winston Churchill's funeral at the start of the chapter, on 30th January 2015. It was also attended by his grandson, Tory MP Nicholas Soames, and his great-great-grandchildren, John, Iona and Christabel. You can see some clips here, including David's speech: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-31041370  
> You can see the video of David, Ed and Nick laying the wreaths here: http://www.gettyimages.co.nz/detail/video/interior-shots-of-a-procession-of-politicians-in-the-news-footage/462813866  
> Ed's speech is a Members' Speech he'd given to journalist correspondents on 29th January-you can see excerpts of it here: https://www.buzzfeed.com/emilyashton/ed-miliband-made-a-speech-and-he-was-actually-quite-funny?utm_term=.vp6w2l3eV#.vgqjndD9G  
> He had attended Cameron's speech the year before, during which Cameron made a joke about Nick Robinson and China-Robinson described David "teasing and charming" Ed throughout the evening. Lawrence is Lawrence Mann, one of David's advisers, whose children attend the same school as David's.  
> You can see the footage of that PMQs here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c1tfLQmdc1M  
> David and Samantha have been friends with Michael and Sarah since the '90s, and George and Frances since David and George became MPs: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/georgeosborne/9429089/The-bonds-between-David-Cameron-and-George-Osborne-grow-ever-tighter.html  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/news/politics/font-politics-the-age-of-power-godparenting-7804628.html   
> Frances and Justine were friends at law school, and did go backpacking together. http://www.francesosborne.com/author-qanda/times-magazine-interview-may-2012/  
> Sam did often try out her dress designs on her friends and used the dining room as a dressing room in Downing Street (she launched her fashion line in early 2017):http://www.vogue.co.uk/article/samantha-cameron-fashion-label-cefinn-interview  
>  Nancy is keen on sewing and dress designing, as well as opera, reportedly: https://graziadaily.co.uk/celebrity/news/samantha-cameron-interview-fashion-brand-cefinn/   
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2541909/David-Cameron-gives-intimate-interview-losing-Ivan-driving-Sam-TV-remote-new-love-Swedish-country-music.html  
> The anecdote from Sarah about Nancy writing a poem for Bea's hamster and Sam telling William he could be a priest is reportedly true: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/sarah-vine-on-a-holiday-tragedy-and-the-price-we-pay-for-love-xh5392gztsq (If you can't read it and want to, send me an ask on Tumblr:))  
> You can see the clip from Nick's appearance on The Last Leg here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLGjPuaEgyw  
> Tom Goff is one of David's best friends from Eton, and was one of his best men at his wedding to Samantha. Simon and Giles Andrae are two of David's close friends from Heatherdown and Eton, having known him since he was a child. Tom's "Mozart trick" was a trick of being able to play the Mozart horn concerto even after a night of drinking:http://www.classicfm.com/music-news/david-cameron-music-education/  
> The Cameron family do call Ivan "Ive." Florence does give his gravestone "a hug for Ive" when they visit. Ivan is buried in the churchyard of their constituency home:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-3023033/Samantha-Cameron-s-major-interview-Dave-runs-country-school-run.html br />  
> David does reportedly enjoy chopping logs. Ed's children do have to eat separately from their parents, according to their nanny. This is the Cameron family's constituency home, and the kitchen in said home:  
> https://goo.gl/images/5psQtZ  
> https://goo.gl/images/rVvf83  
> https://goo.gl/images/Ue1VAH  
> https://goo.gl/images/ihjxER  
> https://goo.gl/images/GyS8bb


	27. Country Camaraderie, Earring Embargoes And A Bipartisanship Of Bikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which Bake-Offs are the way to solve competition, earrings are a negotiation requiring careful delay, and Ed engages in the mysterious practice known as vaping."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. Sorry this took so long (there was the election and everything else, and time kind of got out of control.) But here it is-and yes, they will kiss SOON in answer to everyone who's been asking! I promise!  
> ALSO. I've just come across this fantastic fic that was written, inspired by one of my own fics! I've linked to it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11351292/chapters/25404582?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_115612500) -everyone go and read it!  
> Thank you SO, SO much for all the comments/kudos and for the new fans of this I've got since last time-I hope you're enjoying it! And, remember, if you want to ask me anything about the fic or just chat, you can [send me an ask or a message on Tumblr!](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask)  
> Hope you enjoy! Leave a comment if you like it!

_"I feel like we could be friends" I said. "But I don't want to mess it up."_

_"Oh, sweetheart." Mum gave me a sympathetic look. "You've got lots of other friends."_

_"They only like School Frances, though. Not Real Frances." -Radio Silence, Alice Oseman_

_"It's just...everything. There are too many people. And I don't fit in. I don't know how to be."-Fangirl, Rainbow Rowell_

_"I thought I recognized you. You're awfully quiet, aren't you. Not much like your sister then, I'm supposing."_

_"We...we like different things, Katie and I" Emily told her quietly._

_"Good" Naomi said with an approving nod, blowing smoke out into the cool night air. Then "I have to say I'm rather pleased that you and your sister aren't so alike. The world doesn't need two Katie Fitches in it. Besides" she added, flicking away the end of her fag. "It would have been so disappointing if you'd turned out to be nothing special."_

_She thinks I'm special, Emily thought. -(park that car, drop that phone) sleep on the floor, dream about me, majesdane (Skins fanfiction)_

 

 

* * *

 

"This is my room. My room _here."_ Flo tugs Sam by the wrist so that he doesn't get left behind. "Up here. I have my, my, my own room here _too."_

Sam looks around at all the photographs on the walls. Mummy and Daddy have lots of photographs on the landing and Sam's eyes are so big and dark that Flo thinks it looks like they're pulling the photos into them, making them bigger and darker.

Daniel grabs her hand, pulls it up so that it's pointing higher at one of the photos. "Who's that-"

Flo cranes her neck back, trying to see; Daniel's only a bit taller than her, but she can't see who he's pointing at. "Who's that-who-"

"The-who-him-" Daniel jumps up and tries to touch the pictures, but even Flo can see that his finger won't reach. "That little-boy-"

Flo scrunches up her forehead and tilts her head back until she can see he's talking about Ivan. There's a big photograph of Mummy and Daddy on a settee and Ivan lying in the middle. In the photograph, Mummy's holding a baby that she's told Flo was Nancy.

"That's my big brother" Flo says. "He's Ivan. He's my other big brother. He's bigger than Nan--Nancy and Elwen-"

"But where's he?"

"He's in heaven" Flo says, leading the way into her bedroom. "But he went up there before I came down." She jumps up onto her bed and bounces, her hair slapping her in the face.

"What's that?" Daniel asks, climbing up next to her. Sam climbs too, his big, dark eyes looking around Flo's room. Flo beams happily at getting to show everyone her room. Everyone she knows has already seen her room before.

Then she hears what Daniel's said and blinks. "That's where you go-it's in the _sky"_ she says, her voice waving up and down, and jolting with each bounce. It makes her teeth chatter a couple of times. "It's in the sky, and you go there when you die."

"When you _die?"_ asks Daniel, as they bounce.

"Yes" Flo says, happy to explain. "When you die, you go back into the sky. Mummy and Daddy said. That's where babies are before their mummies born them."

"Our grandad-Daddy's grandad died" Daniel says, still bouncing-Sam is quietly bounced between them. "But he's-he's-he just died, he's not in heaven, he just died-"

Flo shakes her head, panting. "No, he'll be in heaven. If he's good, because if he's good, if you're good, when you die, you go to heaven."

Daniel's face is all scrunched. Flo nods. "Ivan went up and then I came down" she tells him, taking Sam's hand to make him bounce too. "And then I-I came down, and then I was here-"

She bounces harder, and because she's got hold of Sam's hand, he does, too. Daniel's head nearly crashes into hers', and they bounce, Flo's breathing aching while their laughter gets all loud and crashes into each other as they bounce, higher and higher and higher.

 

* * *

 

Nancy shoves her hands deep into her pockets as she walks, breath punctuating the air like small sharp bursts of conversation as they walk. The air's icy, biting at her collar. Nancy yanks at her ponytail, fingers squeezing at her earlobes regretfully.

"Dad" she says, trotting up next to him, breaking off his conversation with Mr Ed Miliband. "When can I have my ears pierced?"

"Ah." Dad puts an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him. "The ear-piercing question."

Nancy shakes her head, annoyance stabbing in her chest. Liberty has her ears pierced. So do most of the girls in Nancy's class, and Bea's, from what she says. But not Nancy. Or Bea.

Mum wouldn't have a problem with it-when Nancy was little, Mum used to sit and let Nancy run her fingers over and kiss the blue dolphin Mum has on her foot. Nancy had told her she wanted a dolphin, and Mum had sketched out a picture of Nancy grown up, with a school of dolphins leaping up and down each shin.

Dad shakes his head, pulling Nancy tighter into his side. "I said we'll think about it."

Nancy snorts. "That means no, then, doesn't it?"

It's not fair, because even Bea says her main problem's Auntie Sarah (Auntie Sarah took Bea's phone away last year when she'd only had it a week. Uncle Michael, Auntie Sarah had said waspishly, would probably have let Bea stare at the screen until her brains dribbled out of her eyes, which totally ignored the fact that Auntie Sarah had _bought_ her the stupid phone in the first place, Bea had said furiously, kicking her wardrobe.)

At least Bea _has_ a phone. Nancy isn't even allowed that, or Internet on her iPod touch. Even if she does get her hands on a phone at some point, Nancy's got no doubt that Dad's security team will get their hands all over it, that by the time it's actually given to her, she won't be able to so much as click on Instagram without every alarm in the building going off in case someone's hacked into it.

But even if Dad wasn't Prime Minister, Nancy probably wouldn't be allowed a phone or earrings. Nancy kicks sullenly at the ground.

"What about when I go to secondary school?" she tries, tugging her ponytail out of her jacket collar. "Why not then?" Her words come out as an icy cloud. "Liberty got her ears pierced, then."

"You're not Liberty."

"Well, that's quite obvious, Dad."

"Oi." Her father taps her shoulder. "Don't."

Nancy glares up at him. "Why not? Uncle George is fine with it-"

"Nance, we'll talk about it another time." Dad just looks at her, and Nancy glares back at him, kicking a stone along the ground. "No, we _won't"_ she says, as they catch up to the others, loud enough for Mum, who's carrying Flo, to turn round as they catch up to them. "Why, what is it?"

"Earrings" Dad says, at the same moment Nancy says "Dad won't talk about getting my ears pierced-"

"Oh." Mum's arm comes out around her shoulders. "Well, how about we talk about it-we could look at getting it done in summer, OK?"

Nancy just folds her arms and shrugs. Mum bends down, tugging her into her side gently. "Just not right now, OK?" she says, breath tickling Nancy's temple. Nancy huffs.

It's not fair, she thinks, and tugs herself free from Mum's arm a little, letting her take Elwen's hand instead. Nancy pulls her jacket tighter around her and her gaze falls on Mr Ed Miliband, who had been talking with Dad, but had drifted away a few steps, as if not sure whether or not he was allowed to listen to the earrings conversation.

Nancy watches him. He's trying to lift Sam, holding him out in front of him like a parcel that he's not sure if he wants or not. "Can I juth-st-can you just wait a th-second, sweetie-"

Nancy watches. Mr Ed Miliband holds Sam out in front of him, eventually moving him to the side, onto his hip. But his arms look like they don't quite fit around him properly.

Nancy's not sure why she lags behind a little, shoving her hands into her pockets, and slowing her pace to match Mr Ed Miliband's, but she does, falling into step beside him. Maybe it's something about how odd he looks, looking at Sam like he doesn't know quite what to do with him. Nancy looks for Daniel, but he's wriggled between Mum and Elwen, holding Mum's hand tight.

She stares at him until Mr Ed Miliband notices and turns to look at her. "Oh-" He always looks a bit surprised to see her, or anyone, really. "Hello, Nanth-cy-"

It's really the lisp that makes Nancy feel a bit warmer towards him, though she isn't aware of that at the time. She just knows that he sounds nervous and his eyes dart a little and, in the manner she's used to having to do at school when there's someone on their own, she wants to talk to him. Nancy's on the school council, one of those children whom are often selected by teachers to be a buddy for the younger kids, and she feels the same pang of almost painful sympathy now.

If Nancy was less used to being around adults, she'd probably feel more out of her depth, or at least be aware of the strangeness of their positions-of her asking Mr Ed Miliband if he's all right-of the person a forty-five-year-old man needs to reassure him being an only-just eleven-year-old girl, whose biggest worry a few moments ago was when she could get her ears pierced.

But she's Nancy, and so she isn't, which is what makes her able to say to Ed Miliband "Are you all right?" with absolutely no hesitation at all.

Mr Ed Miliband blinks and stares down at her. Nancy just stares back, noticing the odd grey streak in his hair. Bea thought it was cool, like the girl from Paramore, but Nancy has the feeling Mr Ed Miliband would probably no more think of dyeing a streak in his hair than he would to fly out the window.

"Um-yeah." Mr Ed Miliband shifts Sam awkwardly from one hip to the other. "I'm-I'm fine. How are you?"

Nancy shrugs. "I'm OK." She can hear Sam's breathing on the air, a little unsteady, as if he has to try hard at it.

"Well. That'th-that's good."

Nancy's used to grown-ups knowing the way they want to take the conversation, so, although she doesn't know it, the fact that this grown-up probably couldn't hold his own as well as Flo can with strangers probably makes Nancy more interested in talking to him.

"Th-so-um-" Mr Ed Miliband shifts Sam awkwardly again. "You'll-you'll be going to th-secondary school in September."

One of Uncle Michael's friends had called it big school. Nancy had nearly vomited.

"Yeah" she says, wandering with her arms out, noting the thin crackles of ice on the hedges she brushes her fingers along.

"Do you know where?"

Nancy's pretty sure. "Probably Grey Coat" she says. "Where Bea is."

"Oh. Did you like it?"

Nancy hadn't minded it, looking around-as much as you could like a school. It was old, like a house in some ways-Nancy had wondered if anyone had ever lived there. There were old boards on the walls, listing school teams and that kind of stuff. Dad had stopped and stared at them with an odd blink, as though they were reminding him of something. Nancy guesses they were probably quite like the teams he'd had at boarding school, and had wondered if that was why he liked this school for her so much.

When they'd gone into Bea's class, Nancy had felt the odd jolt that comes with recognizing someone you know somewhere unfamiliar. It shouldn't have been because Bea and her have been in the same school for as long as Nancy can remember, until this year, and she'd seen Bea in her uniform plenty of times.

But it was still weird. Nancy had watched her, until Bea had looked up, spotted her and given her a wave. She'd gone off to school that morning in the school-regulated ponytail, but during the course of the day, Bea had clearly pulled it out so her hair hung like a dark curtain over her shoulders, brushing her desk. She was slumped in her chair, rocking it back and forth.

Nancy had waved back. The girl sitting next to Bea-Eliza, Bea later told Nancy-had been doing the thing most people did when they spotted Dad in public-the look under the eyelashes, the widening of the eyes, then staring really hard at a table as if she'd never seen a desk before.

It was more subtle than most of the rest of the class were being. One of them was elbowing her friend, who eventually shoved her back, sending her half out of her chair into the aisle.

Those were the ones looking at Dad. The rest of the girls had been staring at her.

Nancy had had no clue what to do. The classes they'd been into so far had been for older kids. They'd _looked_ but they hadn't stared.

This lot were staring.

Nancy had just fixed her gaze on Bea, trying to look as though she wasn't aware that she'd turned into a zoo exhibit. Bea's eyes had caught her own, and her head had jerked slightly as she seemed to get Nancy's silent telegram for help.

"Uncle Dave" she'd said loudly enough for her voice to carry across the classroom, and, with everyone watching her, she'd given Dad a wave. "Hi."

Dad had just given her a quick "Hi, Bea" and wave in return, but that's all he'd had to do. The other girls had turned to look at Bea, not Nancy.

"Do you-"

"-know him because your dad-"

Bea had affected a disinterested, casual air, which, of course, had only served to make everyone more interested. "Yeah. He's just my uncle. Well, you know, not _proper_ uncle, but-"

It hadn't mattered. There'd been a couple of muffled explosions of whispers, and a rustling of looks around the classroom. One girl was already yanking her phone out. Nancy had resisted the urge to grab it out of her hands.

But they were looking at Bea. Dad, as well. But Bea. Nancy still drew a few curious looks, but Bea was the one shrugging, feigning a sudden interest in her work which would only make people look at her more, casting Nancy a grin under her dark fringe and a mischievous look out of her green eyes. Nancy's missed Bea being at school with her.

Now, she shoves her hands in her pockets as they wander down the lane.

"Are you looking forward to it?"

Nancy shrugs. "I 'spose."

St Mary Abbots is tiny. That's what Nancy's heard Mum saying, anyway. But it's the only school Nancy's ever been to, and the size feels fine to her. She knows her way around. She can see the other kids at church on Sundays. And, of course there's Bea and Will, but some of their other friends-kids of Dad's friends-go there too. Everyone knows each other.

That's the big thing-everyone _knows._

And so, they know Nancy's _Nancy._

They don't ask about Dad. They don't gawp when they see him at the summer fair or at Sunday school.

People _know_ , there. At Grey Coat, things are going to be totally different.

Mum and Dad have been talking about the uniform-Nancy can already tell the skirt will be a total nightmare, though she might be able to sew it somehow-and the different way to school, and if she'll be able to be in the car with El and Flo, or if they'll have to take two cars, and of course, about who'll have to go with them when they take her, because Nancy can't remember the last time they were able to go anywhere, alone, without-and she clocks them ahead of her now, knows there are a couple behind-guards walking around them, but Nancy's got other things to think about.

How's she supposed to invite anyone over? What does she say when they ask where she lives? Whenever they do letter-writing at school now, Nancy just writes down her old address, of the house they lived in until she was six, that they'll go back to when Dad stops being Prime Minister. And that was fine, because by the time he was Prime Minister and they moved, everyone in her class knew who she was and they only cared who Dad was the same way they cared about anyone else's dad.

At Grey Coat, the second they read out her surname on the register, _everyone's_ going to know. If they do letter-writing _there_ , the second Nancy has to stand up and read out her address, the entire class is going to dissolve into hysterics, no matter what she says. She could tell them she lived at Disneyland and her dad was a marshmallow man and they'd still be gawping at the big, fat, invisible DOWNING STREET they'd all be seeing slapped on her forehead.

"You know-" Mr Ed Miliband's threading his fingers in and out of each other around Sam's back. "Um-when I went to th-secondary school, people were-um, well, they were difficult-"

Somehow, Nancy isn't surprised.

"You know-" Mr Ed Miliband juggles Sam nervously, who's making annoyed sounds. "Shh, sweetie-it'th-s best to ignore it-"

Nancy snorts. She sometimes wonders if adults remember that they were ever actually kids. It's all very well to tell someone to _ignore it_ -they're not the ones sitting there while everyone stares at them like they might sprout a black Downing Street door out their shoulder.

"What does ignore it even mean?"

Mr Ed Miliband stares at her worriedly, head on one side. He looks like a curious squirrel. "Doeth-s that not work?"

Nancy snorts. "Not particularly."

Mr Ed Miliband bites his lip. Somehow, Nancy feels rather like she just kicked a puppy.

"Why?" she asks. "Did it work for _you?"_

"Well-" Mr Ed Miliband's forehead crumples a little. "Not really. But then-"

He blushes suddenly, and his fingers flutter, as though they want something to hold. "O-other thingth-s didn't work, either."

Brilliant.

Nancy's not quite harsh enough to say that out loud, though, so she just shrugs.

Mr Ed Miliband glances at her a few times, as though wanting to say something. Nancy watches him, curiosity piqued. She knows Mr Ed Miliband's smart-and he's about the same age as Dad-but he seems younger, somehow, with big eyes. Like a shove would send him over.

"Do-do you come here a lot, then?" There's his voice too, the way he stutters over certain words, his lisp thickening in his mouth.

Nancy kicks a stone along the road as they walk. "Yeah. At weekends. But sometimes, we go to Chequers."

Mr Ed Miliband nods. "Right."

"Where's your other house?"

"Oh." His head jerks a little. "Doncaster. It's in Yorkshire-but I'm not there as much."

Nancy nods. She's used to the fact other people don't come to their other houses as much as they do. When she was little, she thought everyone had a weekend house.

"Your dad said you were out doing errand-ths thith-s morning" Mr Ed Miliband says suddenly, and Nancy's heart plummets for a second, making her hug herself tighter.

"Um-yeah."

It's not that Nancy's surprised Dad didn't tell Ed Miliband where they were going-though she guesses he must talk to him about _some_ stuff, since they have photos of Ivan everywhere at home.

If Dad didn't tell him, Nancy's not about to. Besides, she doesn't like talking about Ivan. He's theirs. When she tries to put it into words, it makes it feel different, less, like when you see an age-progressed picture of a kid that's missing. It's a kid but _not_ the kid.

Everyone at school knows about Ivan, but everyone knows not to ask about it, without needing to be told. At Grey Coat, things will be totally different.

What does she do, the first time someone comes round and asks _Who's that?_

_Oh, that's my brother, he's dead, do you want to watch Bake Off?_

Or does she have to give them a pre-emptive warning when they're at school? _Oh, just so you know, my brother's dead, don't ask about the pictures._

The only way Nancy can see around it is not to talk about it, and that's not going to stand up forever. But then that's the only way she can see around mentioning Dad, either.

"Were you canvath-ssing?"

Nancy looks up in surprise. Mr Ed Miliband's watching her.

"Was I what?"

"Were you canvath-ssing?" Mr Ed Miliband shifts Sam from one side to the other. "This morning. For the election."

"Er-no."

Mr Ed Miliband stares at her, looking slightly bemused by her tone. "Oh. Don't you-I mean, won't you have to do some, th-soon?"

Nancy stares at him. "I'm _eleven."_

Mr Ed Miliband blinks. "Right."

He stares at her for another moment. Nancy stares back.

Then _, "Oh."_ He blinks a couple of times, as though he's been hit and isn't quite sure if it's happened yet. "You mean-no?"

Nancy shakes her head slowly.

"Oh!" Mr Ed Miliband's eyes open a little, as though he's just been stuck with a pin or something.

They walk on in silence for a few moments, a little behind the others, Flo's chatter echoing on the cold mid-morning air. Nancy, glancing at the slightly confused expression on Mr Ed Miliband's face, feels an odd stab of guilt.

"You mean leafleting and stuff?" she says, moving closer to him without realising.

"Yeah." He looks relieved, as though Nancy's just thrown him a life jacket or something.

She shakes her head. "I mean-I think Dad does that, but we don't have to."

Mr Ed Miliband doesn't look bewildered this time. Instead, he just stares at Nancy quite unabashedly as they walk, scrutinizing her as though she's some curiosity in a zoo he's never seen before.

This type of staring, oddly, doesn't make Nancy feel the same stirrings of self-consciousness she'd felt at Grey Coat. Perhaps it's something about the simple unashamed nature of the way Mr Ed Miliband's staring at her-as though he doesn't realise it's a weird thing to do at all.

Nancy stares back, with a similar amount of curiosity.

"Oh." Mr Ed Miliband shakes his head a little, still frowning, as though Nancy's just told him something very odd indeed. "Oh-juth-st-I would have thought-" He blinks, frowning a little at the ground. "I always did, with my dad" he says more quietly, almost to himself.

This doesn't seem to require an answer, so Nancy doesn't give one. But she looks at Mr Ed Miliband, and then at the way Daniel, a few feet ahead of them, is cuddling so determinedly into her mother's side.

Sam's making noises again. Mr Ed Miliband juggles him half-heartedly. "All right, sweetie" he says, but he says it vaguely, as though his thoughts are somewhere else, and the words are something he learnt a long time ago, that he still trots out. The words don't seem to quite fit in his mouth.

Nancy looks at Daniel again, at the way he clings onto her mother's hand, as though she might pull away at any second. She looks at Sam, at the way his dark eyes skitter away from his father's, still making small, disgruntled sounds in his throat-at the way Mr Ed Miliband holds him slightly out in front of him, like a parcel that's arrived unexpectedly that he's not sure what to do with.

 _Yeah,_ Nancy thinks to herself, without quite knowing why. _I bet you did._

* * *

 

 

Every second he looks around, Ed has to pinch himself to remind himself that this place is real. Chadlington looks like the sort of village Enid Blyton would shove into one of her books; the kind of place retiring couples or young families rhapsodize about. It is the kind of place where, Ed would bet, it'd be safe to leave your door unlocked, the kind of place almost nobody real gets to live.

Even when they get out of the car-it had transpired they'd only had to walk part of the way-people still smile when they meet their eyes. Ed has been here once or twice before-but that's been to visit food banks, to deliver packages, to show willing, to show caring.

To show how uncaring Cameron was.

Ed shoves that thought aside.

To park himself on Cameron's turf.

He supposes that's what he's doing now-but it feels entirely different.

Now, as they walk down one of the high streets, Ed notices the sheer number of people who nod or smile at Cameron, Sam and the children-some even turn and run back, after accidentally walking past, to say a hello. Ed, if he'd thought about it, wouldn't have bet that many places like this still existed.

And the first thing that lodges itself into Ed's mind, small and mean and leaving his mouth crumpling at the sourness of the words: _No wonder this is a safe Tory seat, then._

Even as he thinks it, Ed hates himself for it.

"All right, Miliband?" Cameron turns to him unexpectedly, jolting Ed out of his reverie. "Seem a bit glazed."

Ed shakes his head, blinking rapidly. "Oh-no-"

Cameron's eyes sparkle. "Wondering what kind of Conservative safe-seat abomination I've brought you to, Miliband?"

 _"No."_ Ed looks up at him, suddenly aware of their arms brushing. "It'th-"

He searches for a word, but the way Cameron smiles is making him-

"Nice" he manages, inanely.

Cameron grins. Ed feels something flood up and out in his chest, making his cheeks ache as he ducks his head to hide his own smile.

He looks around at Samantha. Her eyes flicker to the children every few moments, even as she walks-she has his own son on one hip, Sam's curls resting against her shoulder, Daniel cuddling into her leg, Florence skipping ahead. (It's a miracle she can skip. Florence has been wrapped in so many coats and jumpers that only her little eyes are visible. She looks like a tiny Michelin man.)

As she walks, Samantha's eyes skitter to each of the children without trying, a dance her gaze seems to have learnt over the years. Justine always looks ahead when she walks, or at the others they're talking to-because when they take the kids out, it's nearly always with aides or advisors or strategists-but Samantha looks at the kids, every time.

Ed's so busy staring at them that he barely notices the brush of David's arm against his. "Hey? Pizza all right for you?"

"W-what? Oh-" Ed shakes his head. "Yeah, it's-that's fine."

"For the boys?"

"Um-I th-I think th-so-"

Cameron gives him an odd look. "You _think_ so?"

Ed fumbles. "Well-"

But before he can say anymore, a woman's voice calls out. "Hi, Dave-"

Cameron gives her a grin, and then he's chatting away, with her and her husband, who's tugging at a dog on a lead. Ed never knows how Cameron does that-launches into a conversation with anyone, without practicing, without-

Ed suddenly feels a tug of wanting, one that makes his hands curl and makes him bite at his lip.

He doesn't know why, but seeing Cameron like that, talking to people-

He almost gets the feeling-

As though Cameron would introduce him.

Like he's-

"Oh, this is Ed."

Ed freezes.

"I think you already know him" Cameron's saying, with a grin.

The woman blinks, as though expecting him to vanish any moment.

Ed can't blame them. They've got the _Prime Minister-_

Well, their MP.

And those words crash together in Ed's head, because-well-which is it?

"Oh-" says the woman, and Ed takes her outstretched hand a little awkwardly, running through the etiquette he's rehearsed so many times that he sometimes wakes up mumbling it, teeth clenched tightly around the words as though that might help him hold them closer. "Hello, it'th nice to meet you-"

The woman shakes his hand, still regarding him warily, as though he's a dog that she's not sure is friendly or not. "Nice to meet you" she says, still warily, and, with a sudden jolt, Ed realises that, of course, there's another thing Cameron is-he's their neighbour.

And Ed's the one they see trying to get rid of his job.

Ed drops his hand a little too quickly. "Um-really nithe to-" He feels his head bob awkwardly, and looks away.

"Ed's here for the weekend" Cameron says and Ed notices the slight raising of his voice, wonders if anyone else would. "He's my-"

He hesitates. Ed wonders if anyone's noticed that either. Cameron's eyes have somehow found his own.

"Friend" Cameron says, a little quieter. The slight uncertainty in his voice makes Ed's heart skip a beat.

Cameron clears his throat, looking away too quickly, a slight flush at his cheeks. Ed looks down, feeling his own cheeks warm, but his gaze is caught by the sight of Elwen running over to one of the stone walls that borders the town lane, heading for a little boy in a white football shirt, Daniel following him.

"Chadlington Under-9s" Cameron says, following his gaze. "Elwen plays for them most Saturdays or Sundays-you'll see them tomorrow-"

Ed stares at them, the three little boys, one in a football shirt, leaning against the stone wall.

_The day had been sunny. Ed had been reading, reading Enid Blyton to himself-he can't remember which one, years later-his mother's hand too tight around his wrist, occasionally tugging him along. "Come on, Edward-"_

_David had been standing with their father, a few feet ahead, Dad's hands on his shoulders. They were talking quickly, though Ed couldn't tell about what. Something about football, which he didn't understand much of._

_Mum didn't understand, either, but she and Dad always turned up. Football's something boys do. Something British boys do._

_A ball had bounced onto the grass next to them, hitting Ed's shoe gently. Ed had blinked owlishly, staring down over the book at the ball._

_Looking up, he'd seen David staring at them, too. Ed had stared back at his brother, then down at the ball._

_"Come on" one of the boys, only a bit older than him, had been yelling, and Ed had fumbled with the book, fingers tangling together, his feet already knocking into each other, nudging against the ball awkwardly, because he couldn't kick it straight, he-_

_"Here-" David had been there, suddenly at his side. Ed had noticed the warmth of his arm, almost, but not quite touching Ed's, the rapid heat of his breath. "Here. I'll do it-"_

_David's foot had already been there, catching the ball as Ed stumbled and missed. He'd watched as the ball bounced back to the other boys, felt his shoulders sink a little, fingers pressing into the pages of his book too hard._

_His mother's hand had been back around his wrist, a little gentler this time, but tugging him on. "Come on, Edward" she'd said, her voice more forcibly cheerful than before. "You've just got funny feet, that's all. David doesn't."_

_Ed had put his nose back in his book, something heavy and aching swelling his throat shut._

_It had been later, in the middle of the game, that Ed wandered._

_He didn't mean to. He was always being told about wandering while he read or thought to himself, and for most of the game, their mother had kept a close eye on him, a hand always ready to dart out and close around his wrist. But then David had scored a goal and his mother had cheered and then there'd been orange slices to prepare for half-time, and after that, she'd forgotten to hold Ed's hand so much._

_Ed didn't know he'd started to wander. The other children stuck watching at the sidelines had been scuffling, ducking and diving in an impromptu game of tag. Ed had watched them for a bit, the thought occurring that he might be expected to try to join in, but it had looked boring and he didn't get asked to play, anyway._

_So he'd been reading, and he'd wandered._

_He'd just been wondering whether or not the St Clare's boarding school was one of those ones you had to pay money to go to, and whether or not he should ask Dad about it, when his mother's voice, shrill and sharp, had sliced almost painfully into his musings. "Edward!"_

_Ed had looked up, confusion scrambling his senses, so he became aware of the footfalls making the ground shudder beneath his feet as he was yanking his thoughts out of boarding school and Dad and Matron._

_He'd wandered onto the pitch. Now he was standing right in the way of a herd of players stampeding down the field towards him, the ground thudding like thunder, all of them in mad pursuit of the ball rolling towards Ed._

_Ed had just stood there. Weakly, he'd raised one leg, then lowered it again. He was standing still, staring at the herd of players thundering towards him._

_Then someone's hands had been fastening around his arms, fingers pressing bruises into Ed's skin. His feet had been dragging along the grass and he'd been half-pulled, half-carried, his left arm twisting a little, and then the ground had thudded into his back, slamming the breath out of him._

_The ground had thundered, but the feet had been passing him, and Ed had looked up then, his chest aching, to see his brother looking down at him._

_Ed had looked up at him, still reaching for breath. David's fingers had still been biting into his shoulders, leaving those deep purple bruising marks that would still be there when Ed stared into the mirror for weeks afterwards, no matter how long he stared at them. Whether he was waiting for them to vanish or not._

_"What were you doing?" David had barked the words, saliva hot on Ed's cheek, their faces flushed, both of them panting._

_Ed had opened his mouth, even as the feet of the grown-ups racing for them made the ground shake under his head._

_"I-"_

_David had just been looking at him. His fingers were gripping Ed's shoulders hard enough that it must have hurt, but sometimes, Ed thinks he can't remember the pain, but he'd pulled him out of the way. He'd pulled him out of the way, but he was staring at Ed. He was staring, shaking his head slightly, but his face was twisted in something furious, something furious and fierce and-_

_"What were you doing?" David had asked again, those words carrying above the grown-ups and the shaking ground and the bounce of the ball and the shouts of the other players, the footfalls of the rest of the world around them._

 

* * *

 

 

Cafe de la Post is the kind of place that'd make any Tory swoon, Ed thinks uncharitably, glancing around, and then hates himself for it.

But it's true. Erected in smooth brown stone, with overhanging striped awnings, the place could easily be mistaken for a little tea shop.

"It used to be a post office" Cameron had explained, as he led them inside. It looks utterly wholesome, innocent, right down to the crayons the waitress tosses onto the table for the children. (Nancy gives the crayons an offended look.)

Now, Ed finds himself glancing at Samantha, sitting next to him. She's tucking her hair back, but he can almost feel that same awareness-the one he noticed earlier. She's effortlessly carrying on a conversation with Cameron about some of the repairs needed on the house, while at the same time settling Flo into one of the booster seats the waitress has just handed them. Ed, with a start, only now realises he should be doing the same for Sam, only to realise when he starts out of his seat that Sam's already propped in a booster seat next to Florence, dark curls bobbing as the little girl lifts his hand to make him colour. Ed glances at Daniel, popped between Nancy and Cameron, only to realise that he's been contented with a smaller cushion, without Ed noticing. Ed feels a twinge of something he doesn't recognize.

Before he can notice it more, Samantha's giving him a grin. "They're sweet, aren't they?" she says, nodding to the crayons. "Dead kid-friendly-when we brought my friend Plum here, it was one of the only restaurants her little one, Tess, would eat out at-what is it, sweetie?" because Sam's tugging at her wrist. "You want to-oh, do you want to tell me what that is?", pointing to Sam's unidentifiable scribble.

Ed wants to smile, but it's hard. He realises, suddenly, that he's searching for the last time he looked at one of Sam's pictures, asked him to tell him about it. He can't remember where all the kids' coloured paper, curling at the edges, sagging under the weight of too much glitter, are at home, instead of covering the fridge, held up with brightly-coloured plastic magnets spelling out the alphabet, like on Cameron's.

"Look!" Ed jerks out of his reverie and into a jump as Flo punches his arm hard. "I _drew."_

Ed tries to recover both his composure and the feeling in his arm at once. Cameron, across the table, notices.

"Flo-" He reaches across and taps her hand. "No- _no-"_

"But I want _show-"_

"No hitting-"

Samantha gives Ed a grin over Florence's head as Daniel tugs at Cameron's arm. "Are you all right?"

Ed's about to answer, but something seems to swell in his throat and he presses his lips together to try to swallow it down.

But hearing Samantha talk so easily about her friends-she'd mentioned an Allie and a Venetia in the car-has suddenly jolted something into place-Cameron has a whole life that Ed isn't part of.

It sounds stupid. Of course Ed isn't _part_ of it. Why would he be?

But he's just never thought about it before.

And it's not just Ed-it's politics in general.

If Ed thought about Cameron before-well-

Ed colours.

Before this-well, it was generally political.

Well. Maybe.

Maybe sometimes-when they were sitting next to each other or-

But that's not the _point._ Politics is only a _part_ of Cameron's life. A big part, but still, a part.

And he can, like a child taking turns with his toys, put it down and walk away, for a while-Ed thinks of Nancy's birthday, of his lunches with Cameron in his office. They hadn't been talking about politics then. There's a whole other world out there for Cameron, that doesn't seem rooted in Parliament and the Commons and policy and debate, at all.

Ed's not sure why that feels like such a jolt, but it's-

He tells himself it shouldn't be-that it shouldn't even be a surprise.

After all, _he's_ got a life outside politics, too. A family. Everyone does.

Except-

The fact is, when Ed tends to think of his friends, he tends to think of politics. They tend to be in politics. Stewart, Bob, Anna-they're all in politics.

Sure, they have dinners. They've been to each other's houses. He's met their kids. It's just that somehow, round the dinner table, the conversation always tends to come round to politics, sooner or later. A line for an interview they should go over. A figure Alex dug out for Balls this week. And Ed will feel his shoulders relax, his breathing ease, back on familiar ground.

Ed blinks. He's always assumed that they just talk about politics because it's there-it's interesting, but it's _there_ and necessary-it's what they talk about, what they need to be thinking of.

Now, suddenly, it niggles, that maybe politics is all they _have_ to talk about.

Ed takes a sip of his water, teeth clinking too loudly on the glass. He suddenly can't quite remember the last conversation he had with his friends that wasn't about politics. The last time he called them up just to talk about whatever came into his head.

Suddenly, Ed feels lonely.

Samantha's watching him, head on one side. Suddenly, as if she knows exactly how he feels, she reaches out and puts her hand on Ed's arm.

Ed's never had a sister, or anything like one. The closest he's ever come to it is when he shared a flat with Yvette, and she would sometimes sit him down when he was agonizing over some policy detail for Gordon, push a cup of tea in front of him, and tell him it wasn't the end of the world. The only other person he can think of is Catherine, when they were at Oxford, who was the first person to look at him and say "You need to lose the jumpers. _Jesus_ , someone could have _died_ in that, darling", but somehow say it with a laugh so that it didn't sound mean at all.

Ed's never really thought about what it would be like to have a sister, but if he had, he might have pictured it as something like that squeeze of the arm. The warm pressure of Samantha's hand is gentle and firm but sends a rush of comfort through Ed, slows his heartbeat, and his shoulders slump without him even realising he's been holding them stiffly.

Samantha smiles at him. The smile's so sweet, it's disarming; Ed can't help but smile back.

But then why wouldn't he be able to smile back-

Cameron's watching them from across the table, his blue eyes flickering. "Everything all right?"

Ed blinks, unsure if Cameron's talking to him or Samantha. But it's him Samantha glances to for confirmation as she nods, and when he looks up, it's to find David's gaze fixed on his own.

David's gaze flickers away immediately when Ed catches it. Something leaps in Ed's chest-as though he's just caught Cameron in the act, though he isn't sure why.

"Yeah" he says, his voice a little breathier than usual.

And then, well-

Cameron's hand just comes out and-

Cameron just touches his hand. One quick, warm touch of his hand. Then it's gone.

Ed stares at him. Cameron's looking back at his menu, leaning over to look at what Elwen's pointing at.

Ed has to give himself a little mental shake. His cheeks are burning. He hastily stares at his own menu.

He keeps replaying that touch over and over.

He can feel it again. The warmth of Cameron's hand rubbing circles into his back that morning in Paris. The warmth of his hand a moment ago.

Ed wants to smile. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. His heart's beating so fast it hurts.

He keeps his eyes on his menu and so feels rather than sees Samantha's gaze linger on him for half a second, just that.

 

* * *

 

"Rock." Nancy always throws rock.

"Paper's supposed to beat rock" Elwen complains, taking a bite of his pizza.

"How would paper beat rock?" Nancy folds her own slice over, examining it. "Paper would get _ripped_ by rock."

"I don't know, paper just beats rock, it's in the rules-"

Nancy rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair. Daniel, next to her, is holding up the crust from a slice of his own smaller pizza and apparently chatting to it. "And this is _mine"_ he says, waving the pizza crust. _"My_ pizza-"

Nancy catches it when it promptly falls off his fork. "Here-"

Daniel takes it back. "Thank you. And _this-"_ He bites at the crust, kicking his legs uproariously. "Is _mine-"_

"Yes-" Dad's saying to him, tapping him with his own pizza crust. "Is that-is that going to fit in your mouth, then-"

"Yes-" Daniel's biting. "It's big enough for _this-"_

"Right-" Dad's guiding the crust into his mouth. _"Aaah-"_

Daniel's laughing. "What are we-what are we doing after lun-lunch-"

 _"What_ are we doing after lunch?" Dad takes a bite of his own pizza. "Well, we might go for a bike ride-"

"I ride _bike_ " Daniel announces. "When we-" A shadow falls across his face. "And Daddy says we have to ride scooters-when we leaflets-"

His face looks darker, suddenly. His lips purse together. Dad's gaze only sharpens for a blink of an eye, but Nancy can tell that he notices.

He doesn't say anything, but Nancy, looking at Daniel's pursed mouth, says "Don't you like leafleting, then?"

Dad doesn't look at them but Nancy watches his shoulders tense just slightly.

Daniel, frowning at his pizza crust, shakes his head hard.

Nancy frowns. "Then why do-"

She doesn't get any further before Dad grabs her shoulder. "Right. Everyone look at your shoes."

Nancy stares at him rather than complying. "Why-"

Dad grips her shoulder and steers her so Nancy finds her face suddenly about an inch away from her lunch. "He's just come in."

"Who?" Mr Ed Miliband looks up from across the table.

"Enright."

"Enright?" Mr Ed Miliband's eyes widen. _"My_ Enright?"

 _"Your_ Enright? What is he, your _husband-"_

"Oh, don't be th-stupid, of course not-"

 _"Your_ Enright-"

"My Enright, my, our candidate for-"

"Shall I book the chapel-"

"Oh, shut up, Cameron-"

Nancy and Elwen are glancing between them. Flo, apparently not noticing or caring, throws a pizza crust into the air, and giggles as it promptly lands on her head.

"Look, everyone just-" Dad makes frantic flapping gestures with his hands. "Everyone just-"

Mr Ed Miliband, rolling his eyes, manages to lower his own eyes to the table. Mum rolls her eyes. "Oh, for goodness' sake, just go and say hello-"

"We are _not saying hello."_

"Who is it-" Daniel only manages to look halfway round before Dad grabs him and steers him to look at the table. "Look. Pizza."

Elwen cranes round to peer past Nancy at the man they're all trying to avoid being seen to peer at while they all try to peer at him.

"Don't bring up the bake off" Dad's muttering. "Don't bring up the bake off, don't bring up the bake off-"

"What bake off?" Nancy hisses, past Daniel's face.

Dad avoids her eyes. Nancy feels a sense of foreboding stir the hair on the back of her neck. "What Bake Off?"

"OK." Dad keeps his eyes down as John Enright speaks to one of the waiters. "In a moment of ill-consideration-"

"Oh Christ."

"When he challenged me to a bake-off, I might have said, in a moment of madness-"

"Oh God."

"That Nancy could beat him in a bake-off any day."

Nancy smacks the table furiously. Dad ruffles her hair. Nancy glowers at him. "Are you _kidding?"_

Dad shakes his head. "He challenged the family baking skills."

"David!" Mum rolls her eyes. Mr Ed Miliband is watching Dad with his head on one side.

Dad shakes his head. "I made an executive decision, you weren't there."

Nancy rolls her eyes. Elwen bursts out laughing next to her, prompting a storm of furious _shhs_ from the rest of the table.

Dad frantically beckons them all to look down. "Don't come over....don't come over...don't come over...."

"Oh, for God's sake" mutters Mum. Mr Ed Miliband just smiles. His eyes flicker up, taking Dad in for a second, before they flicker down again.

After a moment, Nancy risks a glance up. She can't see Duncan Enright anywhere.

Dad snorts. "Ah. Look who's too go-"

"Hello, David-"

Dad closes his eyes for a long moment, before he looks up to see Duncan Enright standing behind him.

Duncan Enright smiles around the table. "Not interrupting anything, I hope?"

Everyone stares up at him. Flo, sitting with a pizza crust right in the middle of her head, giggles loudly.

 

* * *

 

 

"You brought it on yourself" Mum mutters a few moments later, kicking Dad under the table, once Duncan Enright has gone on his merry way. Daniel, Flo and Sam are already chattering again, Sam holding out another piece of pizza crust to Flo.

"How on _earth_ did I bring it on myself-" Dad's cutting his pizza with a knife and fork, a quirk peculiar to her father. "I was defending my daughter's good name-"

 _"Defending-_ we're not in the _seventeenth century,_ she doesn't need a _dowry-"_

Mr Ed Miliband's still looking at Dad, head on one side. Nancy watches him watch her father. There's a small smile playing at his mouth. His cheeks are flushed. He looks almost fond.

Mum shakes her head and turns back to the pizza. Dad sticks his tongue out at her when she isn't looking. A small dimple creases Mr Ed Miliband's cheek as he reaches for his glass of orange juice.

Then, in the short silence, Daniel pipes up "When did Ivan go away?"

Mr Ed Miliband promptly chokes on his juice. Orange juice splatters the table.

Mum sits very still for a second. Then she's moving so rapidly that it's like a blink, banging Mr Ed Miliband on the back, while Dad reaches across the table for a napkin. On Nancy's other side, Elwen hums uncomfortably in his throat and stares out of the window. His foot drums under the table, as if searching for a football that isn't there.

Mr Ed Miliband stops coughing, sinking slowly back into his seat. He touches Mum's hand awkwardly, eyes darting around. "Th-thankth-" His eyes settle on Daniel. Only Flo and Sam seem merrily unperturbed, now engrossed in piling pizza crusts on each other's shoulders.

Dad takes a gulp of his glass of wine. "Ivan died five years ago" he says to Daniel as if it's a perfectly normal question. He even carries on eating his slice of pizza.

Daniel, picking up his slice again looking untroubled, does the same. "OK."

They all sit in silence for a moment.

"How old was he?" Daniel's biting into his pizza again.

Once again, it's Dad who answers. "He was six, Daniel."

 _"I'm_ nearly six." Daniel nods once. "OK."

He starts eating again.

Dad carries on eating. Mr Ed Miliband's eyes are darting about, before he says, in an undertone, "David-"

"It's OK." Dad's voice is gentle.

"David, I-"

"It's OK." Dad's voice is as gentle as before, but there's a steadiness too. He sounds calmer.

Mum, across the table, seems to jerk back into movement at the sound. She reaches across to Flo and begins gently removing the pizza crusts from her and Sam's shoulders. Nancy stares at her, stares until she's sure that Mum's not going to go still again, until Mum's wiping Flo's face while Flo beams happily, blissfully absorbed in playing her fingers through Sam's hair. Elwen begins eating his pizza again as though having received silent permission, with a sense of relief at being allowed to do so.

Nancy looks down at her pizza. She isn't hungry anymore.

Abruptly, she slides her plate away, pushes her chair back and, grabbing her hoodie, heads for the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Nancy doesn't go far-she never _can_ go far. The second she'd headed for the door, one of the protection team had almost kicked his chair over in his haste to go after her.

Outside, he doesn't approach her-just hovers at a distance, keeping her within his line of sight. Not that Nancy can go far anyway. She'd be stuck waiting by the car.

Nancy eyes the benches up on the grassy mount that's just across from the restaurant, where there are fairs and races in the summer, but, deciding that isn't far enough, she turns back down Horseshoe Lane. The grass and leaves are covered in the kind of ice which crackles when you touch it.

There's no cars coming and Nancy would hear one from behind from miles away so she walks down the centre of the road they've just wandered down, careful to pick her feet up carefully so she doesn't slip on the ice. She can feel the protection guard following at a distance. She's not planning to go far, and she doesn't.

After only a few feet, pulling her hoodie tight around her, she spots a set of steps she's perched on before, tucked almost out of sight if you were heading in the direction she is, in a small bay area at the side of the road, next to a small outhouse. She can see, very faintly, the big sign for Chadlington Garage in the distance, which is about where they've parked the car.

Nancy perches on one of the steps pulling her hoodie tightly around herself. She almost immediately feels the cold soaking through her jeans and shivers, but she'll go back in a bit. In the meantime, she taps her wellies on the step below, thinking. Quietly, she catalogues some of the things she remembers about her brother.

His eyes were exactly the same colour as hers', so they matched.

When she put her hand on his cheek and turned him to look at her, his eyes would move about a bit over her face, as if he could only look at her a bit at a time.

When they were swimming, Ivan liked to float on his back and look at the ceiling or the sky, and his eyes would widen like it was filling them up.

Sometimes, his fingers would curl around hers' when Nancy gripped his hand.

"Hi."

Nancy looks up. Mr Ed Miliband is standing at the side of the road.

"Hi" she says after a few moments, and then looks away. She wonders briefly how he knew where to stop, and then remembers the protection officer.

She feels a pang of guilt as he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. Nancy's about to offer him a seat when he seems to make up his own mind and sits down on the step below her.

"It'th-um-" He's playing with his fingers. "Well. It'th a nithe place here, isn't it?"

Nancy tries not to roll her eyes. It would be mean.

They sit next to each other, Mr Ed Miliband's elbow brushing hers', not looking at each other.

"Um-" Nancy feels rather than sees Mr Ed Miliband glance at her. "Well-Daniel-Daniel didn't mean to upset you-" His first name sounds awkward in his mouth.

"I'm not mad at him." Nancy pulls her hoodie tighter around her, slides her hands into its' pockets.

"Um." Mr Ed Miliband chews his lip. "That'th OK."

"I'm not."

Mr Ed Miliband purses his lips, curls his fingers. "Um-you know, he didn't to, though. About. Ivan."

Nancy folds her arms tighter.

After Ivan died, she wouldn't sleep.

She wouldn't eat when she was meant to.

She wouldn't go to school.

She wouldn't go to the toilet when she needed to.

She wouldn't have a bath.

She wouldn't talk properly.

Nancy doesn't remember much about it. She remembers trying to reach up to a chair, tugging Mum's arm. "Mummy" she'd said, over and over. "Mummy. Mummy. Mummy."

She remembers Dad lying down with her one night, shushing her over and over. "Shh" he'd said. "Shh, shh-"

"Mummy-" she'd said into his chest over and over. She'd been pressed tight into his chest. "Mummy. Mummy-"

"Shhh-" He'd had his arms tight around her. She could feel him shaking a little but his heart had been beating hard against hers' and Nancy had closed her eyes and listened to it, feeling his arms stay tight around her the whole time.

Mr Ed Miliband is watching her worriedly. "Are you all right?" he says, as though she's a bomb that might go off. Nancy takes her hands out of her pockets, then blows on them, wincing at the cold.

"Here-"

Mr Ed Miliband awkwardly reaches out and puts both his hands on either side of hers'. Nancy stares at him.

"Um-" Mr Ed Miliband slowly moves her hand without looking at her, and tucks it into his pocket.

Nancy stares at him even more, even as her fingers flex in the unexpected warmth.

Mr Ed Miliband blushes. "I juth-st-someone did that for me when I was cold" he mutters, staring down at his knees like he wants to disappear into them.

Nancy doesn't think she's ever seen anything more awkward in her life.

"Um-thanks."

Mr Ed Miliband glances at her, then away. "You don't have to-"

Nancy shoves her other hand in his pocket to spare him having to say anything else. His eyes widen a little, and he gives her that stare again-the same one he gave her earlier.

Nancy stares back. Mr Ed Miliband looks at her for another moment, and then awkwardly squeezes her shoulder.

"It'th all right" he says, apparently to himself as much as to Nancy. Nancy shrugs but not enough to shrug him off.

"I know."

Ivan's theirs.

They sit there in silence for a few moments. Nancy's hands are warmer, and she shifts closer so that she's pressed into Mr Ed Miliband's side. He keeps his hand on Nancy's shoulder. Nancy lets him.

 

* * *

 

 

Cameron keeps stopping to talk to people as they wander back to the car. He's carrying Florence, who's decided that she's tired now and he keeps stroking her hair and cheek, which lies against his shoulder.

Everyone he chats to seems to just _like_ him. They stop and beam at him when they see him. Cameron seems to know everyone. He's always asking about someone's vegetable garden, the holiday someone went on over Christmas, how one of their kids is doing in school. Some of them stroke Florence's cheek. A couple of teenage girls nudge each other when they spot him, and dissolve into shrieks of giggles when he gives them a grin, his blue eyes twinkling.

People in this place _like_ Cameron.

And Cameron introduces him too.

That's the other thing.

Every stranger who he stops to chat to, he always gestures to Ed. "This is Ed Miliband-you'll recognize him-"

Or sometimes, "This is Ed."

Ed isn't sure which he prefers. But the second makes him feel oddly warm inside.

Another thing.

Cameron keeps-touching.

And once Ed notices, it's all he can think about.

Not overtly. Just one hand on his arm when he introduces him. Or a light touch on his back. Once, as they walk away from someone, Cameron's hand touches Ed's shoulder and then drifts down to Ed's waist, brushing his sleeve on the way.

It's the quickest of accidental touches. Ed shouldn't really notice it.

It's something he notices, though.

"What?" Cameron says, with a grin, as they're heading away from another constituent. "What are you smiling at?"

Ed hadn't even realised he was smiling.

"Nothing" he says too quickly. "Nothing. Just thinking."

_You're so nice._

The words jolt Ed.

He gulps. But-

Cameron smiles, with his head on one side. Ed's heartbeat stutters.

He bites his lip.

_You're so nice._

 

* * *

 

 

Ed manages to wait until he's in the guest bedroom before he starts to panic.

It's fine. It's fine. Everything's _absolutely fine._

The kids' laughter is echoing up from downstairs.

It's fine.

But-

Ed takes a deep breath, in and out, trying to calm himself down.

So what if Cameron was _nice?_

Cameron's been nice hundreds of times before.

It doesn't mean he should be _Prime Minister._

But that's-that's not-

Ed shouldn't be _noticing._

He presses his face into his hands, and takes a deep breath.

Once. Twice.

What if Cameron wasn't the Prime Minister?

This thought doesn't occur in the usual election-preparation mode it usually does. It pops into his head with a little wriggle.

What if Cameron wasn't in politics at all?

What if _he_ wasn't in politics at all?

But that's ridiculous. Ed gives his head a little shake.

He can't imagine Cameron without politics. He can't imagine _himself_ without politics.

Take that away, and there's something gone, wrenched out.

He's not _him._

But what if-

What if Cameron was on his-

No. If Cameron was on his side, he wouldn't be Cameron.

But what if Cameron-was outside politics? What if he hadn't _met_ Cameron through politics? What if he'd met him somewhere else?

Would he have liked him, then?

Ed blushes, even though he's alone.

(Would he _still_ have liked him then?)

If he'd seen him when they first met, just how he was today, just how he-

How _nice_ he was.

Would he have liked him then?

Would Cameron have liked _him?_

What would it _be_ , if you took politics out of the equation? What would they have without politics, as safe ground for their feet to find when conversations get-

Something else wriggles into thought, then, suddenly alive and energetic and not willing to be ignored. Would they _need_ it?

If he'd met Cameron how he was today, on the first day they met-

When was the first day they met?

No. If he'd met Cameron the way he was today, instead of the _way_ they met. If he could have met him through here, instead of through the House Of Commons and debates and the chamber-

Ed groans, pressing his knuckles into his forehead.

God, what's he _doing_ here?

But he-

He _wants_ to be here.

It would be so much easier if he didn't.

Ed groans again.

He remembers something, suddenly-a time when he'd got the better of Cameron at PMQs. He'd been triumphant, almost bouncing, as he made his way out of the Commons. Balls' hand had squeezed his shoulder too tightly. "Brilliant. Fucking _brilliant."_

Ed had been beaming, triumphant, and then Yvette had turned round, the chatter dying quietly around them.

Cameron had been standing there, flanked by Osborne and a few aides. Ed had stared at him, searching his memory for a meeting they were supposed to have.

"Miliband." Cameron had touched his arm. "Well done. You were good today."

Ed had blinked. "What?"

Cameron had just grinned, as though that response was precisely what he'd been expecting. "You were good. Today."

"Oh-"

That's all that had come out.

Cameron had just given him the flicker of a wink. "Don't get used to it, though."

His hand had brushed Ed's arm again and then he'd moved off, already talking away to Osborne, as though he'd done nothing peculiar at all.

Ed had stood, staring after him, until Balls had burst out "What the hell was _that?"_

Ed had shrugged. "Don't know" he'd managed, trying far too hard to sound casual, his heart beating far too fast.

"Do you think he's-" Yvette's voice had trailed off.

Ed had shaken his head again. "Don't know" he'd managed. "Just-"

He'd been trying to ignore the sudden flipping of his stomach, the rapid beat of his heart.

"It'th probably nothing" he'd said, to reassure himself as much as them. "He'th just being-"

He hadn't been able to finish. He'd just stared after him, his stomach flipping, trying to ignore the rapidity of his heartbeat, the smile pushing at his mouth.

There's a knock on the door.

Ed jerks a little. Part of him hopes it's Cameron. Part of him hopes it isn't.

He almost groans again.

"Miliband?" Cameron's voice is muffled by the wooden door. "Can I come in?"

Oh God.

Ed shifts awkwardly, glancing about, as though there's something he needs to shove under the sheets. But it's not as though he's _doing_ anything.

"Yeah" he calls, his voice wavering a little.

The door opens. Cameron leans against the door frame.

He's pulled off the navy jumper, so now he's just in his open-necked shirt. The sight makes Ed's fingers curl into the duvet.

Cameron tilts his head to the side. "Hi."

Ed manages to smile back. "Hi."

Cameron shifts from foot to foot. "Um-"

If Ed didn't know better, he'd think Cameron was _nervous._

"Just came to see if you were all right-" Cameron gives him a grin. "You seemed a bit quiet."

"Oh." Ed shakes his head. "No. No, I'm fine, I juth-st-"

Cameron nods. "Good, good-"

They stand and sit, David on his feet, Ed on the bed, their eyes darting to and away from each other.

"Well, we're thinking of going for a walk in a bit-let the kids take their bikes" Cameron says.

"The boys have their scooters-"

"Yeah, I think Flo will go on hers'-" Cameron nods. "But-um-are you-is that OK?"

Ed was meant to work. But somehow, that's seeming more and more like something he could do tomorrow.

He likes this. He thinks it with a jolt. He really-

"Look-"

Somehow Cameron's moved across the room. He's taking a seat on the bed next to him, the mattress sinking a little under his weight. His leg almost brushes Ed's. "Are you all right, Miliband?"

Ed's heart's beating too fast. Cameron's too close.

"Yeah-" he thinks he says, but his voice is too small.

"Are you sure? Because-"

 _"Yeah._ God, I-"

Ed bites his lip. His fingers are curling into the duvet.

There's a moment of silence, during which Cameron takes a slightly deeper breath, as if reminding himself to be patient.

"Look." His voice is deliberately calm. "If you don't want to-if you're not happy being here-"

Ed's head jerks up. "When did I th-say that-?"

Cameron meets his gaze. Ed stares back.

"You didn't." Cameron's voice is soft. "But-I thought-"

"Well, you're wrong." Ed's voice is a little louder than he means. "I'm, I'm-"

Cameron's watching him, and something about the look in his eyes makes Ed's breath catch in his chest.

"Happy" Ed finally manages, heart stuttering. "I'm happy."

And Cameron's stare just-

_Lightens._

He stares at Ed. Ed stares back.

"Good" is all Cameron says, but he's smiling.

 _"Good"_ Ed says, a little more defiantly.

Cameron looks at Ed, then away. Ed glances at Cameron, then away.

Their eyes meet. Something dances in Ed's chest. They're both smiling.

Cameron grins. "Bike ride?"

His hand brushes Ed's.

 

* * *

 

Miliband stops dead when he sees the bikes. "Oh. Ah. Bike ride."

David, who's retying Flo's ponytail, glances up at him. "Yeah. You said the boys have scooters-"

"Oh. Oh, yeah, they do, but erm-" Miliband's staring rather anxiously at David's bike, leaning against the house.

"Oh-you didn't bring-it's all right, we've got plenty of spare helmets-" David kisses Flo's cheek, then taps her hand as she promptly begins to tug at her ponytail again. "Here, careful, it'll fall out-"

"No-no, that's-ah-"

David glances at the children-Nancy's fastening her helmet, Elwen's kicking at a ball with Daniel-to check they're out of earshot. He lowers his voice. "Can you ride a bike?"

Miliband's head jerks up far too quickly for someone telling the truth. _"Yeth."_

He sounds far too indignant. His cheeks are flushed.

David stares at him. Miliband's eyes dart away, his cheeks crimson.

David lowers his voice even more. "Miliband. It doesn't _matter-"_

Miliband's biting his lip. His cheeks are burning. David feels like the worst person in the world.

He hates it when Miliband does _that_ look.

The fact that he's become aware of when Miliband does _that_ look hits him like a slap in the face.

God, when did that happen?

Miliband tries to huff, to kick a stone along the ground moodily.

It's _Miliband._ Practically-a-Marxist, utterly-sanctimonious, geeky, pedantic _Miliband._

God, how has he managed to get under David's skin?

Or has he always been there and David's just _knowing_ it differently....

Maybe that makes his tone a little sharper. "Oh, for-"

Miliband's eyes narrow and he glares at David. But David's already seen the slight crumple of his brow, the flinch in his face, and now he feels like he'd need to stretch up to reach the ankle of the worst person in the world.

(Miliband's stupid big dark _eyes,_ making him think like _that.)_

"Well _, fine-"_ and oh God, how typical Miliband, complete with the huffy look and the raised, aiming-to-be-condescending tone. "If I'll th-slow you down, I can stay behind, that's perfectly _fine,_ I-"

"Turn around and look at me, you idiot."

Miliband's back stiffens, and for a moment, David freezes, but then Miliband turns slowly and the expression on his face is so affronted that David's face breaks into an irrepressible grin. It gives him a pleasant crinkling sensation in his chest, like paper crumpling pleasantly.

"I'm _th-sorry?"_ Miliband attempts to draw himself up to his full height. He's still not as tall as David.

As it is, brown eyes flashing, and anger pouting his mouth slightly, he looks-

Well, he looks-

David doesn't need to worry about that.

"I said, turn around, you idiot." The words come out far more softly this time. More softly, perhaps, than David expected them to.

Ed sniffs. "Well. Well, typical of _you_ to-" and David's had enough.

"I want you to come with us, you idiot. I _like_ you being-"

His mouth snaps shut.

Miliband's staring at him. David notices that even as his own cheeks burn in the icy air.

Thank God the kids don't notice anything.

Not that there's anything _to_ notice.

Oh God oh God oh God-

Miliband's staring. "You-"

"I want you to come" David says, before Miliband can say anything else.

Miliband blushes. David tries to ignore the heat of his own cheeks.

God, how pathetic.

He turns round. "Kids" he says, so that the children, scattered at various points along the driveway, turn to look at him. "Just one bike between two. Less hassle with the weather."

Miliband frowns, and then David pats his own bike.

Miliband's eyes widen. "Camer- _no."_

"Come on, they're bikes. They're bipartisan."

" _No."_

"Why not? Elwen'll go on Nancy's-"

"I'm not _eight."_ Miliband looks around frantically, as though searching for a way out. "I-I-"

"Miliband." David isn't sure why he steps towards him. "I want you-"

Ed's gaze snaps to his own. David feels his breath falter.

"Ed, please." His mouth is dry. The name feels unfamiliar, like it might crumble between his teeth.

Ed's staring at him as though trying to read his mind. David doesn't blame him. He's having trouble understanding it himself, and it's _his._

As if the situation could get any weirder, Ed nods.

For a moment, David's sure he's seeing things. He blinks. "You're-"

Ed just makes an impatient noise.

David swallows. "Ah. Um. Well-"

He gestures to the bike. Miliband steps over to look at it. David hands him a helmet cautiously, skin tingling at the slight brush of their fingers.

What the hell's _wrong_ with him?

"Here-" Maybe he should just touch Miliband as little as possible.

Maybe.

Maybe-

Miliband turns the helmet over, looking confused, and David's hastily-thought-out resolution crumbles on the spot.

"Here-"

He doesn't want Miliband to nick himself, he tells himself.

He settles the helmet on Miliband's hair. He pulls it down, tugging the fastenings below his chin, snapping them gently into place. The entire time, he tries not to meet Miliband's eyes.

But he can feel the heat of his skin as the tips of David's fingers brush his chin.. He can feel the slight tremble in his own fingers. He can feel the moment Miliband's dark eyes lock with his own for an instant and something jumps a little in David's chest.

"Here-" His voice is hoarse. He tightens the helmet a little. His knuckle is pressing against Miliband's chin. He can feel the slight movement of Miliband's throat as he swallows. He can feel-

"Is this OK?" His voice cracks a little as his eyes find Miliband's.

Christ, Miliband's eyes are so dark.

"Yeah." Miliband's voice is almost a whisper. David nods too quickly, pulling back.

But his fingers linger, testing the straps to make sure it's tight enough. It's better to be on the safe side, sometimes.

Miliband's eyes meet his again.

David's hands drop. "Right." He turns away from Miliband too quickly, telling himself it's just to cast an eye over the kids. "Right. Well-we-"

He manages to climb onto the bike, the kickstand down. He sits on it, takes a deep breath of the icy air. There's a second seat on his bike for precisely this reason. It shouldn't be strange at all.

"Right. Um. You see the little footholds, sticking out-"

"Yeth-"

"Well. If you step onto them, you can-" David's cheeks shouldn't feel warm. "Put your hands on my shoulders-"

"Yeah-" Miliband says it far too quickly. "Yeah, yeth, I-"

His weight shifts the bike a little. And before David can notice much, his hands fasten into David's shoulders, digging in pleasantly. If David glances at the right angle, he can see Miliband's fingers.

God, his fingers are long.

"Good" he manages, his heart leaping oddly as Ed's finger brushes his neck. "That's good. And-" He clears his throat. "If you want to-sit on the seat-"

"Yeah-" The bike shudders a little as Ed lowers himself. David tries to focus on Flo picking up Sam's scooter, keeps his eyes fixed on that as he feels Miliband press slowly against David's back. His warmth is against David's whole body, pressing through his coat and jumper and shirt to his skin.

"And-" David's sure his voice isn't usually this low. "Just-um-put your arms around my waist."

He says it as quickly as possible and fixes his gaze elsewhere furiously, as the words sink in, focuses on Elwen clambering onto Nancy's bike in exactly the same way, without a care in the world.

It has to be the same. It's normal. It's _normal._

Miliband hasn't said anything. Why hasn't he said anything? Why isn't he-

David feels a slow warm pressure as Miliband's arms slide forward-first around his hips, then around his waist. They loosen, then tighten. Ed is pressed against David's back now.

"Right." David clears his throat. "Right. Well." His heart is banging.

"Yeah-" Miliband's voice is breathy in his ear. It's a relief to hear it and it isn't.

David's heart is far too fast. His entire body seems to be alive, bristling for a touch, a-

They sit there.

(Miliband is right-)

(Right against his-)

"Is th-Samantha coming?" Miliband's voice tickles David's neck. His grip tightens on the handlebars.

"Um-" David never _umms._

"Nah. She just-fancies a bit of time on her own before dinner. So we can get the kids out of her hair for a bit." His heart thumps for a different reason now. "She just needs it, sometimes. Some time on her own."

 

* * *

 

 

Ivan's room could be any space, now. They've talked about it, a few times-taking out the bathroom, at least, or the kitchen area, or changing half of the room, turning it into a den area for the kids-but somehow, they haven't got round to it.

In the London house, it's easier. There's an excuse. It's rented out, they can't make any adjustments now. Not until they're back there.

Sam looks round the room carefully the way she always does, as if something might have changed since the last time she was in here. She sometimes cleans up, dusts a bit, cleaning around Ivan's furniture the way she was always careful to when he was here, to make it easier for him to breathe.

The basements were always the most practical rooms to renovate for Ivan-he needed everything on the floor but to take him up and downstairs as he got bigger was too dangerous. It had been someone from the social services who'd suggested a lift being put in the house and it had been Dave who suggested that they put the kids' playroom down there, too.

 _That way, they can talk to him,_ he'd told her in bed one night, one hand on her rounded stomach, both of them waiting for the little flutter of movement that meant Elwen, though they didn't yet know his name, had kicked. _He won't be cut off._

Sam hadn't objected; the only objection she might have raised would have been about whether they, her and Dave, might find it harder to get to Ivan. But it's not until your children are in another room that you realise how much time you spend with them-it's not until you find yourself poised, waiting to hear them, and getting more and more anxious as the seconds tick by in silence, that you realise their voices have become intertwined with your own breath as the backbeat of the world. They spent most of their time with Ivan, whether that was in their basement or wherever in the world he happened to be.

Sam sits down on the end of Ivan's specially-designed bed-a cot at one end, with bars to keep Ivan from falling out during a seizure, and a semblance of a normal bed at this one, but with specially padded mattress, sheets and duvet, in the unlikely event his nappy should ever leak. Twinkling stars dot the ceiling and walls overhead and around, so that Ivan's gaze could track them as he lay in bed, blue-eyed and passive and waiting for sleep.

They've given away some of Ivan's things, over the years. Some of his clothes, after long discussion with the psychologist, and some of his toys had passed to Flo when she was born. Even some of his equipment-Ivan's was state-of-the-art, expensive-has been donated to social services or deprived hospitals, struggling to function.

Sometimes, Sam looks at photos down here, but not today. Instead, she looks around Ivan's room, which hasn't held the person it was brought into being for for nearly six years.

It still smells like Ivan, a little.

When she'd heard Daniel's voice, she'd frozen just for a second. Her spine had juddered once, as though she'd just been hit. Her stomach had turned over. Her hands had curled slowly into her trousers, fingers digging into the black fabric.

It had only lasted a second, but she'd felt that old absence-the feeling of her emotions receding like a tide going out. A dizzying blankness, her fingers tightening, first in her trousers, then in the tablecloth.

It used to come more often. When she least expected it-shopping in the middle of Waitrose, sitting in the audience at one of the kids' school plays, pressing her forehead into the hard edge of a shelf or her curled knuckles, elbow digging into her thigh, waiting for the world to swim back into reality around her.

It had been five months since Ivan died. They'd always had to use the word _died_ -any other made Sam cringe, feeling empty, saccharine, sugar tickling her tongue, surging in her stomach.

They'd been in Brittany. It had been one of the only places they'd been able to go with Ivan, which had been why they'd chosen it. They couldn't go on holiday somewhere they couldn't have taken him.

But that day, they'd been on a beach, half pebbles, half sand. Nancy had been kicking the stones up, Elwen throwing them occasionally, Nancy's laughter high on the air.

It had all reached Sam vaguely, like she was watching through a pane of glass. Or rather, like she'd been thrown slightly off-kilter, jolted out of time, so Nancy's screams of laughter would slap her in the face a second too late, so that the salt in the air made her tongue curl and the stones crunching under her shoes made her wince.

She should have been feeling something about Nancy laughing, but she hadn't. What was scary was that she hadn't been able to feel anything about the fact that she hadn't.

It had been that evening at dinner back at the villa, while one of the staff was pouring drinks, that the girl had slipped or jostled and half a glass of juice had spilt over Sam's bare arm. Sam had waited for the jolt to hit her.

"Oh God!" The waitress had dived for a napkin. "Oh God, ma'am, I'm so sorry-"

Sam had already been wiping herself down she'd noticed vaguely, staring at the napkin that had somehow ended up in her hands. The waitress had been holding one out. Sam had stared at it, still wiping her own arm, not able in the slightest to work out what the waitress had been wanting her to do with it.

The girl had still been talking. "I didn't mean to, honestly-"

Sam had known she was supposed to say something-something reassuring, to wipe the crumpled look off the girl's face. But the words wouldn't come. They were on the other side of the room. She could hear them, but they just hovered there, out of reach. Her mouth couldn't fit around them.

The waitress had kept talking. "Honestly, I didn't mean-"

And then Dave had been leaning over and saying "Please don't worry, it's fine-" He'd patted the girl's arm, taking the napkis from her, saying something reassuring, his hand brushing Sam's arm comfortingly.

Sam had sat there. She hadn't said anything. She hadn't been thinking anything. She could hear the conversation clattering around her, but the words hadn't reached her. They might as well have been on another planet.

Later that night in their room, she'd sat on their bed with her arms around her knees, chin resting on her kneecaps. Sarah's dark eyes had met her over her legs.

"Sam" she'd said gently, testing. "Sam."

The words had hovered there, familiar but the wrong shape, something known but alien. Sam couldn't have fit them in her mouth if she tried.

Sarah had looked at her and hadn't tried to make her. Instead, she'd just lain her dark head against Sam's knees, her shoulders rising and falling in time with her breathing. She'd sat there, her head against Sam, breathing with her, waiting it out.

Now, Sam lies back on Ivan's bed. She lets her eyes close, remembering another beach, in Cornwall this time.

Dave had had Nancy and Elwen down by the water, but they'd been worried that Ivan was tired and in any case, his wheelchair couldn't be pushed that far, so Sam had perched on a rock with him. His dark head had lain against her shoulder, carefully supported by her arm, the arm that now curls itself carefully when she sits down without her noticing, ready to hold or cuddle or kiss.

"Can you feel that?" she'd whispered to him, kissing his warm cheek, gently tracing the salt on his lips, very carefully letting the tip of her finger touch his tongue, hoping that Ivan would at least get a taste of the sea.

She'd held a stone up for him, the waves crashing in the distance, the salt on the air making her tongue tingle pleasantly. She let the stone stroke his fingers, watched his eyes for any movement, any reaction. She put the stone to his cheek, stroked it gently. Ivan made a sound in his throat.

"Do you like the stone?" The sea mist was settling in his hair. She wondered if Ivan could feel the freshness of it on his skin. "Shall we keep that one for your sister, when she comes back-" Sam had folded the stone into her pocket, kissed Ivan's forehead, propped Ivan up more closely against her. Ivan's eyes had wandered to the sky. It was too cold to swim in the sea today-plus, they wouldn't risk putting Ivan in the sea. If he swam, it had to be in a pool, usually a heated one, like the one back at the cottage they were renting.

Ivan's eyes had followed the sky then very vaguely, and Sam had felt the leap that always came with Ivan spotting something. "What are you looking at?" She'd rocked Ivan very carefully, so as not to jolt him. "What are you looking at? Hey? Looking up at the sky-" A bird had wheeled overhead, some weak sunlight breaking through the iron-grey of the British summer sky. "Looking about?"

Ivan's gaze had fallen down and Sam had lifted him gently, propping him up. "Shall we wave at Daddy down by the water?" she'd said softly, waving at Dave, who was carrying Elwen, Nancy holding his hand at his side. "Can you see Daddy?"

Ivan's gaze was somewhere in the distance. Samantha stroked his soft, dark hair, kissing it breathing in the warm smell of him, love cracking open her chest so she could press his face right up against her jumping, beating heart.

"There's Daddy" she'd said. "Nancy and Elwen-"

Ivan's gaze hadn't been near them but he'd made a sound in his throat-an inaudible, involuntary sound-but his mouth had twitched slightly on one side, in the tiniest hint of a half-smile.

Sam had had to stop her arms from squeezing too tight, she hugged him so quickly. "Good boy-good boy, Ivan-that was a lovely smile for Daddy, wasn't it-"

Ivan had made the sound again, eyes still off in the sky, but the smile still there.

Sam had never known what it meant to have to be careful not to kiss too hard until she had Ivan. How you have to kiss them hard because otherwise, you think you might slowly wrench yourself inside out, crack open your ribs with how much you love them.

"Daddy" she'd said gently, stroking Ivan's cheek with one finger. "Nancy. Elwen."

Ivan had made the sound again, almost proudly. Sam's heart had moved, palpably. She held him tighter, her arms wrapped around him so that she couldn't tell where she ended and their son began, she remembers as she pulls Ivan's pillow closer, buries her face in it and breathes him in, wraps her arms around it and holds it to her beating heart.

"Mummy" she said softly, to Ivan's tiny crooked half-smile. "Mummy."

 

* * *

 

 

 "Can I ask you th-something?"

David's almost tempted to say no. Not because he doesn't want Miliband to ask him anything. But Miliband's nasal voice in his ear is just...

Distracting.

Miliband's arms are warm around his waist. His hands are joined around David's stomach. It's sending a strange, swooping sensation through him.

David shakes his head a little. "Yeah, of course."

He feels a sigh of relief escape Miliband, his breath tickling David's neck. He's pressed against David's back and David can feel a faint thump-thump every time Miliband presses closer against him, which, he realised with a pleasant jolt a few moments ago, is Miliband's heartbeat.

"Um-"

David keeps his eyes on the children. Elwen is holding onto Nancy's shoulders while his daughter peddles slowly, so the three little ones on the scooters can keep up. David consciously slows his own speed, so he doesn't overtake them.

"Do you ever think we're weird?" Miliband's voice is almost defiantly quick.

David frowns, brain jumping a little at the question. "I'm sorry?"

He can picture Miliband's grimace, his silent wish that he'd never brought the subject up. "Do you-" He clears his throat, his arms tightening around David a little self-consciously, sending another jolt through him. "Think we're weird?"

David frowns. He can feel Miliband's cheek brushing his own. As they take a corner, Ed's cheek presses against David's, a sudden press of heat and skin, Miliband's cheekbone almost bruising his own.

"What for?"

"You know-" Miliband sounds almost painfully embarrassed, as though David's forcing him to describe his last full medical examination out loud. "Thith-s."

David feels him cringe at the lisp. It sends a protective pang through him.

"You mean riding bikes?" he asks glibly, trying to ignore his own heartbeat quickening.

Miliband lets out an audible huff and David takes pity on him.

"It's all right, I-no. Not weird. Why would it be-" His own tone is deliberately almost _too_ casual, as though in defiance of the heat flaring in his cheeks.

"Well-"

David then, of course, feels bad, as though he's put the onus of the conversation on Miliband, which is just plain stupid since Miliband _asked the question._

"You know-"

There's a moment of silence before Miliband wrenches the words out of his mouth as quickly as possible. "It's _uth-s."_

He blushes. David _feels_ him blush, where their cheeks are brushing, and something about that's-

David blushes himself. It's so near. Like watching him sleep. Or hearing him cry without him knowing.

David's heart's banging almost painfully. His fingers flex on the handlebars.

"Well-" and David's no idea how his own voice sounds so smooth. except for the fact that if it doesn't, he'll-

"You never used to mind."

Again, he feels Miliband's blush-really feels it. He feels Miliband's arms tighten too. "Um-"

David had been talking generally, but a sharp branch of memory jabs suddenly, snagging his thoughts.

 

_It was before he was an MP. Before the children were born, even. He'd been working at Carlton._

_He and Green were at White's, after a late lunch-Dad might have been meeting them there, though years later, those details might have escaped a little._

_He'd been taking another sip of wine, savouring the coolness of it, expounding a little upon what Annabel had been up to, when Green had nudged him. "Here comes Blair's worst enemy-"_

_David had glanced up, let a grin flicker as he spotted Gordon Brown stumping into the room. "Looking for his leadership bid."_

_Green had laughed softly, even as he waved, and David had rolled his eyes. But Green had shaken his head-presuming he knew what David was rolling his eyes at-it was New Labour's heyday. Carlton, like every other advertising business, needed to keep them onside._

_And then Brown had been there, all the Scottish grumbling bluster of him, shaking Green's hand a little too roughly._

_"Gordon. Good to see you-"_

_David had extended his own hand as Brown had pumped Michael's hand up and down, characteristically avoiding his gaze and muttering a "Hullo" deep into his chest. David gave him a grin along with his own hand. "Hi. David Cameron-Michael's PR boy-"_

_His grin had been met by a suspiciously cloudy look and a rough grasp of the hand. "Hullo-"_

_David had held the smile, but Brown had already dropped his hand, taken David's chair and gathered himself into it, pulling his suit around him as though he thought it might fall to the floor if he didn't keep hold of it. David permitted himself an arch of the eyebrow. Be like that then, he thought to the then Chancellor Of The Exchequer._

_Michael and Brown had only talked briefly, but it was long enough for David-rather keenly protesting the loss of his seat, albeit silently-to sigh and amble away for a bit, leaning in between them to put out his cigarette-he hadn't managed to give the things up yet-wondering whether to make a call and put Dad off a bit, when there'd been a scurry of movement at his side, an aide David hadn't noticed at all hurrying into the room catching his eye briefly as he accidentally brushed David's arm. David had glanced back over his shoulder only to see the aide hovering around the back of Brown's chair, tapping it nervously. David's eyes had lingered on the exchange for a moment, noticing smooth olive skin under too thick, rumpled dark hair. And glasses, which the man kept pushing up with his finger._

_David hadn't spoken to him, but then the aide hadn't spoken to him-just made a noise in his throat as he brushed past David, barely acknowledging that he'd just bumped into him. Something about that should have irked David, and it did, but the aide had barely seemed to look at him-barely seemed to notice or take in the rest of the room. Something in that had made David look at him a little longer, the irked feeling battling with a slight amused interest._

_He'd only looked for a second, and then headed towards the door, loosening his tie a little, but he'd just caught the sound of his voice-"Gordon, I was juth-st-" and the heaviness of the nasal tone, and the thickness of the lisp had made David's mouth twitch in a small smile._

 

He slams his hand down on the handlebar. "That was _you."_

Miliband jumps, and David feels his arms tightening nervously around him. "Cameron!"

"Sorry-" David aims him a grin over his shoulder. Miliband jumps a little. "Keep your eyes on the road!"

David grins, as he does as he's told. "God above, Miliband. You're a terrible backseat driver, aren't you?"

In the short silence that follows Miliband's impatient "Hmph", David reflects that that's oddly appropriate.

"What was me?"

"In White's." David's so surprised by the memory that he brings his feet down to the ground, bringing the bike to a stop-the kids are slowing a little, anyway. "I wasn't an MP. I was working for Carlton. But Brown was Chancellor, then. He was there-"

"Brown-"

"Brown-yes, Brown-and you were, you came to get him." David turns to stare at Miliband, still perched on the seat as if he thinks it might bite him. "I only saw you for a few, a few seconds. But it was _you."_

Miliband frowns, mouth wibble-wobbling in that way it does. David feels his own mouth twitch in the same way it did years ago, hearing that nasal tone.

He feels a grin break out over his face. "God, you were so-"

Ed's eyebrow arches. "What was I _th-so?"_ He stresses the last word challengingly.

David just beams at him, grinning, remembering something else from that day, something his memory had only just been vaguely grasping at until now, when it's caught it firmly between it's fingers, holding it tight and certain.

 

_He'd been lounging against the door into the room, hearing the muffled chatter of other members, keeping an eye out for Dad, idly smoking another cigarette-God, you could smoke indoors in those days-when a movement out of the corner of his eye had caught his gaze and he'd glanced up to see that aide again, marching back towards the door. He'd had a sheaf of documents stuffed under his arm, and one finger had been pushing at his glasses again, which were making another bid to escape down his nose. His hair looked even more rumpled than it had a few moments before. His pace slowing a little, he'd been glancing around the room, big dark eyes darting about behind his glasses mistrustfully-as though expecting everyone and everything in there to want to bite him._

_He'd given an odd, slightly haughty little sniff, and then promptly walked right into an armchair, spilling his documents everywhere._

_David had resisted the urge to laugh out loud. Most of the rest of the room hadn't been so kind. Even Brown, glancing up for the source of the commotion, hadn't been able to suppress a wry smile._

_David had avoided the aide's gaze as the younger man had crouched on his hands and knees, cheeks blazing, gathering up his papers. But no one else had been moving and something about the sight of him crouched there was so pitiful that David had pushed himself off the door frame and made his way towards him._

_"Here." He'd gathered up some of the remaining papers with ease, held them out to the other man. "Got them."_

_The other man's eyes had met his and David had been taken aback at the look. His dark eyes were glittering furiously, his teeth were gritted. He hadn't looked grateful for the help. He'd looked more like he might take a bite out of someone._

_"Thanks." He'd spat the word more than said it, gathering the rest of his papers up, stuffing the ones from David to the bottom of the pile and shoving himself to his feet. He'd almost stormed to the door, cheeks flaming._

_David had been left half-crouched on the floor, slightly taken aback. Wondering if an utter disregard for courtesy was somehow airborne and working for Brown left one infected, he'd straightened himself up, tugging at his own suit, moving his cigarette back to his mouth._

_"Oh, you're welcome" he'd half-shouted after the aide who'd just reached the door, not expecting a reply._

_He didn't get one. But the aide, who'd been pushing the door open awkwardly with one shoulder, had caught his eye over his shoulder. David had raised his eyebrow ostentatiously._

_The aide had just looked for a second, and then away like a flinch. He'd pushed the door open, nearly hitting himself in the face with it, and then he'd been through, leaving David watching his retreating back._

_"Unbelievable" he'd muttered loudly to himself, partly for the benefit of those around them listening._

_But as he'd turned back to-an empty-chair and taken his seat, smoking his cigarette with renewed vigour, that look the aide had given him had flickered like a punch-a defiant, hurting look, with something utterly petulant about it._

_But something about it hadn't been entirely unpleasant, and that had been the oddest part of the whole thing._

 

Now, just as David opens his mouth, Miliband sniffs hastily, as though reminding himself of just what kind of institution they're talking about. "Whiteth. _Elitist-"_

He trails off at the sight of David's amused grin. "What?" he demands, and when David doesn't say anything, just keeps grinning-"What was I like?"

It hadn't been entirely unpleasant. It had been what this is now.

Endearing.

 _"That-"_ and David's finger comes out and taps Miliband's nose. "You were like _that."_

Miliband stares at him. David stares back, grin still aching at his mouth. With the childrens' shouts echoing from further down the road, and the faintest hint of weak winter sunlight struggling through the clouds, Miliband uncertainly smiles back, and something cracks happily open in David's chest.

* * *

 

 

_David hummed happily to himself as he swung his legs in a chair that, he had no doubt, Brown had left there in the hope of making him feel like a schoolchild. David, in cheerful defiance, was fulfilling the role, therefore, swinging his legs and occasionally breaking into a cheerful whistle, giving one of the Garden Girls a grin when she glanced up at him that made her blush._

_There'd been a rumbling from inside the room that David might, if he hadn't known better, assumed to be the opening claps of thunder or a cow prolapsing but which, he knew from experience, was merely Brown yelling at some poor adviser presumably cowering in his wake. Whichever way you looked at it, getting to hear Brown's fallouts with his party could only be the icing on the cake of a day._

_David had just been wondering if he should ask one of the Garden Girls just how long the Prime Minister was likely to be-he was starting to get rather bored, waiting for Brown to tire of yelling-and was just debating over whether or not it was unchivalrously unfair to expect one of them to take her life in her hands-when suddenly, blackened by the bellow of Brown's voice, David had heard his own name._

_"Siding with fucking Cameron-"_

_One of the Garden Girls had winced. Another's eyes had flickered to David immediately, though whether it's because he's the aforementioned Cameron, the Leader Of The Opposition, or both, David couldn't tell._

_David had winked. She'd blushed. He'd tell Sam about it later, and she'd pretend to slap him._

_But David's ears had pricked, and after a few moments, he turned to face the door, deciding not to bother to disguise his interest._

_He couldn't hear the aide or adviser's voice, and Brown's too dropped after that. David waited, going through all those names read out gleefully by Steve in Tory HQ of those who are cheering Brown on at PMQs in public and screaming at him in private._

_David's grin had widened. If it was one of the ones they suspected, and if he knew Brown at all, it was no coincidence that Brown was having this argument now. Or-David had glanced down, amused-that this chair was where it was. If he knew Brown, the man had been hoping to see the look on David's face when Brown walked out practically arm-in-arm with whichever adviser or minister the Tories had been counting on patting Brown's shoulder in public and hating his guts in private, planning to have David sitting there like a schoolboy, a little demoralised ahead of their meeting._

_The mistake had, apparently, been not to inform his aide or adviser of this plan._

_David had been grinning to himself, already trying to make a mental bet about which it might be-or he could just text George, who soaks up gossip like a sponge-when, without warning, the door was flung open._

_David managed to only jump a little, but it hardly mattered. The other man didn't even stop to look at him, the door swinging behind him, as he almost took off running down the corridor. His glasses were hanging askew, eyes strangely blotchy._

_David had recognized him with a jolt. Ed Miliband. Mili Minor. Miliband Major's little brother. One of Brown's loyal little right-hand men. Much to his brother's displeasure._

_Though, perhaps, not so much anymore._

_David had told himself that it's only because he knew Miliband that it felt like a jolt._

_Well. Had conversations with._

_(Miliband had been interested in the huskies thing. Innocently too interested, with his big dark eyes, which had made David suspect him immediately of being one of Brown's little brownnosers, sent out to root around for tactics. Until he'd started asking questions, that is, and launched into a happy extrapolation about the dangers of greenhouse gases, which somehow became more interesting in his voice.)_

_"Miliband" David had said now, more out of surprise than anything else._

_Miliband had stopped, stood still for an almost comically long moment, and then turned to stare at him. His glasses had been hanging crookedly from one ear. His lip was swollen, apparently from being chewed. His hair looked as though he'd been running his fingers through it._

_ Siding with fucking Cameron. _

_Miliband had stared at him for a moment-then, abruptly, made an impatient sound, turned around and walked on, running his hands through his hair again as though he hadn't known he was doing it. David, staring after him, had become aware that he'd ended up standing up without realising it._

_Only the clearing of a throat at the door had him turning round. Usually, Brown would have been thrilled to catch David in any state of surprise. Today, he'd hardly looked better himself, grey hair dishevelled, eyes bloodshot, his eyes too skittering after the door through which Miliband had just stormed._

_"Cameron" was all he'd said, and David hadn't even managed to feel triumphant for a few moments, casting another long look down the corridor, before stepping slowly into the room that Miliband had just vacated._

 

* * *

 

"So-" David says, a few minutes later. He's leaning against the fence, watching the children play a few feet in front, their wellies occasionally requiring a firm yank in order for a child to extricate themselves from the determined mud.

Miliband is perched on a sort of makeshift stile next to him. He's wearing gloves-David had checked before they'd left after the chill on the walk to the restaurant-but he's still blowing his fingers every few moments or so.

"Th-so-"

David gives him a sympathetic look. "They'll get fed up in a bit. Then I'll be able to take you back. We can warm up."

He might be imagining it, but he thinks he spots Miliband blush slightly at those words. Perhaps in simple defiance of this, David sits down next to him. "Here-"

He takes Miliband's hand by the wrist, and lifts it into his pocket.

Miliband blinks, looking comically stunned. "C-Cameron!"

"What?" David manages to sound nonchalant, even as his cheeks burn a little at Miliband's tone. "It's warmer." He levels Miliband with a firm gaze. "Isn't it?"

Miliband blushes, which David takes as a "yes".

"But aren't you-"

Even when trying to show concern, Miliband manages to come off as petulant, David thinks fondly.

He blinks. Fondly?

"Nope. Country boy, remember? Used to it." He waves his own gloves at Miliband, and thinks but doesn't say that it's nothing compared to the Heatherdown dormitories in the depths of winter. Instead, he reaches into his other pocket for an E-cigarette and takes a puff.

Miliband stares at him. "Are you... _vaping?"_

It's just the word in Miliband's voice that makes David crack up laughing. He can barely speak for a few moments, putting a hand on Miliband's arm to reassure him, shaking his head. "Oh God, Miliband-"

"What?" Something twinges fondly in David's chest at the sight of Miliband's pout.

"Nothing" he manages, pulling himself up straight. "Nothing, just-gave up smoking a few years ago, sometimes want to do something with my hands-" He eyes Miliband with interest. "Want to try?"

Miliband gives him an almost affronted look, which makes David laugh more. "I don't _smoke."_

David thinks, with another bout of rueful laughter, that nobody would need to be told that.

"I know" he says, recovering himself more quickly this time. "That's why I offered. This won't do you any harm." _And I bet you never sneaked cigarettes at school._

Miliband blinks. "I-well, I-I don't think-"

 _"Miiii-llllliband."_ David stretches out his name, singsong. "It won't bite."

Miliband stares at him, then, curiously, reaches out to take the E-cigarette. David laughs, guiding Miliband's hand up to his mouth. (Miliband's hands are so soft. It always surprises him.)

"Here-you put it up-" Miliband's fingers temble a little in his own-"And-just take a breath in-"

Miliband frowns a little distrustfully at him. David grins. Miliband keeps frowning. David softens his look.

"It's OK" he says, instead.

Miliband frowns more, brow crumpling-and then takes in a cautious quick gulp.

His eyes widen a little. David laughs softly. "OK?"

Miliband shakes his head. "You're a bad influenthe" he mutters (he doesn't let go of the E-cigarette, though.)

David eyes him steadily. "You're not the first to say that" he says, a little more quietly. "Especially about you."

Miliband stares back at him, the faintest hint of colour pinkening his cheeks.

_"So-" David had muttered, stepping up behind Ed Miliband in the queue in Portcullis House. "Brown not eaten you alive, then?"_

_Miliband had stiffened for a moment before he'd remembered it was David he was talking to, and sniffed. "I don't know what you mean."_

_He'd positioned his sandwich fastidiously on his tray, and sniffed again. David had sighed, lounging casually against the counter._

_"Hmm. Siding with fucking Cameron not a crime in the Cabinet these days?"_

_Miliband had flushed furiously. He'd huffed, grabbed his tray and turned away, colour still rushing into his cheeks as he went. David had watched him go, an odd tugging sensation in his chest._

_He'd have thought that would be enough, but, a few moments later, he'd found himself picking up his own sandwich and following him._

Now, David takes the E-cigarette back and takes another drag. "So, enjoying sharing your first cigarette?"

Ed eyeballs him. "Who says it's my first?"

"You" David informs him cheerfully. "You don't have a clue how to smoke."

Ed sighs."It's hardly a desirable th-skill."

David holds it out to him. Ed takes another cautious drag, eyes widening sweetly again.

"Still a bad influence on you then, Miliband?"

Miliband gives him a very long, steady, annoyed look. David grins.

"Terrible" Miliband manages. "Awful. Appalling." Something about the purse of his lips is hilarious.

David snorts. "I'll remember to repent later." He turns back, keeping an eye on the kids. "So. How come you never learnt to ride a bike?"

Miliband looks affronted. "I _can_ ride a bike!"

David grins. Miliband glares at him.

"Have a go, then."

Miliband blinks. "What."

"Have a go. On my bike."

Miliband blinks again. "No way."

David steps towards him. "Go on."

Ed's hands scrabble at the helmet, pulling it off frantically. "Can't ride without a helmet." His eyes dance with something-the mischievous glint that David sometimes catches at PMQs.

David dives for it. Miliband ducks, laughing, and David grabs him-half by the shoulder, half by the arm.

"C-Cameron!" Miliband gasps his name in a sort of helplessly amused disbelief. "Get-get off-"

David's foot slips and, with him leaning his weight on Miliband, they both stumble, managing to angle themselves as they fall and half prop themselves up so they only half-land, and on their sides, so neither of them gets a faceful of mud.

Ed's shaking with laughter, high-pitched giggles breaking free every few moments, totally different from the slightly canned laugh he does in interviews. David's arm is caught halfway around his back.

When he turns to look at Miliband, their faces are almost pressed together, their noses an inch apart. David's breath catches. He can still hear the childrens' laughter echoing, but it seems further away now.

He rolls over, trying to angle himself above Miliband instead of being so close next to him, but his elbow slips. They're lying on the slightly muddy grass and he's got hold of Miliband's shoulders from the playfighting and somehow-

Somehow, his hands are digging into Miliband's shoulders, holding him down gently. Miliband thrashes, his legs tangling with David's own, but his cheeks are flushed, as he lies there, panting with laughter, making David laugh too, but quieter, his eyes moving to Miliband's big, dark eyes.

David's heart is beating very, very fast. Miliband's eyes are huge. His chest is rising and falling. David can almost feel it against his own. If he leaned in a little further, he could.

Miliband laughs uncertainly but the sound dies away. His eyes are on David's. David could count his long eyelashes. Something's falling away inside his chest.

David's hand moves slowly up to Miliband's cheek.

A shout from one of the children makes David look up, snatch his gaze away from Miliband's, choking air back into his lungs. His gaze searches for them, his heart too rapid until he spots them, as merry as before-the shout was of laughter, nothing else. None of them are looking at either of their fathers. David wonders why he noticed that.

But he still shouts "Everything okay?" as he pulls himself upright. And he still keeps his gaze studiously away from Miliband's as he half-pulls him up too.

And he still doesn't notice Miliband's flushed cheeks and long eyelashes and big dark eyes , as they stand, Miliband dusting off the retrieved helmet, David clutching the E-cigarette, watching their children play in a field covered in winter, with Miliband's sleeve brushing his own, their hands a breath away, where they could just reach out and link their fingers around each other.

He doesn't notice.

* * *

_Playlist_

 

_Ask-The Smiths -"Shyness is nice and/Shyness can stop you/From doing all the things in life you'd like to/So if there's something you'd like to try/If there's something you'd like to try/Ask me, I won't say no/How could I?/Ask me, ask me, ask me/Ask me, ask me, ask me/Because if it's not love, then it's the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb that will bring us together"-so this just suits this sort of period of time in the fic perfectly-that sense of David and Ed wanting to try something more but not quite being sure how to._

_ Desire-The Gaslight Anthem _ _-"What does it feel like inside?/Does it hurt you at night?/Or does it keep you alive and set you on fire, on fire?/I would give anything for the touch of your skin/Yes, I would burn here for years/Up in desire, desire"-so....this one's pretty self-explanatory. Though "Does it hurt you at night or does it keep you alive" pretty well fits Ed's feeling torn between whether his newfound affection for Cameron's a good thing or not._

_Opening The Gates-Chequerboard- this is one of Nancy's recurring themes-it's an instrumental, and I just think it suits her pretty well, especially with the sense of the world opening up around her and becoming slightly less the safe, sheltered world that she's known._

_Deer In The Headlights-Owl City-" Tell me again, was it love at first sight?/When I walked by and you caught my eye/Didn't you know love could shine this bright?/Well, smile because you're the deer in the headlights"-this both suits Ed's slight culture shock walking around Chadlington and his original slight jolting of his world view when he first met David years ago. It also just suits the pair of them falling for each other at this stage._

_The Nicest Thing-Kate Nash-"_ _All I know is that you're so nice/You're the nicest thing I've ever seen...I wish you couldn't figure me out/But you'd always wanna know what I was about/I wish you'd hold my hand/When I was upset/I wish you'd never forget/The look on my face when we first met..Look, all I know is that you're the nicest thing I've ever seen/And I wish that we could see if we could be something/Yeah, I wish that we could see if we could be something"_ - _again, pretty self-explanatory, but it totally fits Ed reassessing his view of Cameron a little and imagining him in a new light, even if he doesn't realise that's what he's doing, as well as his reimagining of Cameron in a light that isn't political._

 _ The Painting-Rhian Sheehan _ _-this is one of Ivan's recurring themes, and just suits the scene in Ivan's room with Samantha._

 _ Treacherous-Taylor Swift _ _-"Put your lips close to mine/As long as they don't touch/Out of focus, eye to eye/Until the gravity's too much..And all we are is skin and bone/Trained to get along/Forever going with the flow/But you're friction...This slope is treacherous/This daydream is dangerous/This hope is treacherous/But I, I, I like it"-this perfectly suits the scene at the end where Dave ends up nearly on top of Ed and they end up having another "almost-kiss" moment. It also suits the whole timbre of their relationship at this point._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you liked it!  
> Notes:  
> The picture Florence shows Sam of David and Samantha with Ivan and baby Nancy is this : https://goo.gl/images/MLjkG6  
> Incredibly-which I found out today-Ed Miliband and his sons were-and still are-frequent guests at the Cameron family's constituency home in Chadlington, IRL. They frequently visit David there, with their children having sleepovers, etc. br />  
> Chadlington is the l village in Oxfordshire that's David's family's constituency home, where they often go at weekends & during holidays. (These days, he's no longer an MP, but as he bought the house, it's still theirs'.) Elwen played for Chadlington Under 9s, the local football team: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/mar/24/the-charm-of-chadlington-home-of-country-boy-cameron  
> Nancy's secondary school choice was a big headline: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11456423/David-Camerons-daughter-Nancy-to-attend-state-secondary-school.html  
> Sarah did take her daughter's phone away: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2634496/SARAH-VINE-Why-I-taken-daughters-phone-away.html  
> David did disclose that Nancy was keen to get her ears pierced during the election campaign.https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/103755/my-kids-take-mickey-out-of-me-but-want-blue-team-to-win/ . Samantha revealed that Nancy was "mortified" by her dad being in PM mode when they did school tours and that they had counselling after Ivan's death, as well as talking about her tattoo: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-3023033/Samantha-Cameron-s-major-interview-Dave-runs-country-school-run.html  
> David Miliband was a keen footballer as a child, much to his brother's consternation, as their father used to insist on the family going to watch him. Ed claimed that the reason he wasn't good at football was that he had "problems with his feet."http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2914876/Bombshell-memoir-Miliband-s-former-ally-reveals-Ed-set-fire-carpet-bought-prayer-mat-cover-asked-think-brother-better-looking-me.html  
> This is the restaurant Cafe de la Post that they go to-it did used to be a post office. http://cafedelapost.com/  
> This is Horseshoe Lane, the lane that Nancy and Ed walk down. There was an image of the steps they sit on too-if I find it, I'll post it. https://goo.gl/images/3f863T  
> Plum is Plum Sykes, a close friend of Samantha's, & Tess is her daughter. Allie and Venetia are two of Samantha's other close friends.  
> Ed shared a flat with Yvette in the 90s, when they worked for Gordon Brown: https://www.newstatesman.com/uk-politics/2011/04/shadow-home-cooper-cuts-labour Catherine is Catherine O'Rawe, one of Ed's friends at university, who used to give him makeovers.  
> Daniel and Sam used to be taken to leaflet for the Labour Party on their scooters by Ed or Justine. Despite their parents insisting they enjoyed it, Daniel claimed they didn't, but got cut off by his mother, here, at 02:37 : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDIERzB467o  
> Duncan Enright was the Labour Party candidate for David's constituency in 2015. The Bake Off references were after he challenged David to a bake off and David jokingly responded that Nancy (a keen baker) would beat Enright.http://www.oxfordmail.co.uk/news/11759189.Election_tensions_begin_to_rise_as_Cameron_tells_rival__My_daughter_is_a_better_baker_than_you/  
> After Ivan's death, Nancy reportedly took it very badly for a while (she was only five). Samantha did shut down for a while after Ivan died-the restaurant incident at the villa on holiday is one that is said to have happened. https://blogs.spectator.co.uk/2016/02/samantha-cameron-the-ice-queen/ (The basement was renovated to become Ivan's bedroom and the kids' playroom, so Ivan didn't have to be separated from Nancy and Elwen.)  
> David Cameron did first meet Gordon Brown at White's-an elite men's club-when he was working for Carlton in the years before he became an MP, when Brown was Chancellor-David was there for lunch with Michael Green, the man who was his boss at Carlton. (Green was friendly with Annabel Astor, Samantha's mother, who recommended David for the job in 1997.) In those days, Ed Miliband was a close aide of Brown's and was constantly with him, so it's likely that's where David and Ed would have first met. Ed Miliband did used to get into arguments with Gordon Brown because Brown accused him of "siding with Cameron too much" when Brown was PM and Cameron was LOTO, particularly on issues like climate change (which is one of the initial conversation topics David and Ed found they had common ground on), which Ed mentioned here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5bV0HFHYzg  
> The "Garden Girls" are the affectionate name given to the young secretaries in Downing Street because they work facing the Downing Street gardens. David did used to smoke but used E-cigarettes to give up.


	28. Fajita Fraternization, Retroactive Recognition And An Involuntary Intertwining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which salsa is used to form facial features, one should never see one's opponent's baby photos, and The Great British Bake Off has unusual effects on hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this has taken aaaaages, but hopefully it's worth it. :) Sorry for how long this chapter took, HOPEFULLY the next one won't take as long.  
> Once again, this is a chapter where some of the dialogue is IRL-you can see the IRL dialogue taking place in Justine and David's flashbacks in the videos linked at the end!  
> The Ocensa pipeline was a high-profile environmental law case Justine was working on, often referred to as a David and Goliath case-around complaints by Columbian farmers. The case took over 2 years-Justine's side, representing the farmers, lost: http://hsfnotes.com/litigation/2016/08/11/judgment-handed-down-in-long-running-class-action-regarding-the-ocensa-pipeline-in-colombia/  
> They did choose to know Sam would be a boy:https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/ed-miliband-on-wikipedia-it-says-i-was-lead-247814  
> https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/ed-miliband-interview-labour-leader-256939  
> If you want to read any of the articles and can't, send me an ask on Tumblr!  
> Thanks so much for all the comments-keep them coming if you like the fic! (And thanks so much to superangsty, who was sweet enough to re-read and comment on every one! Hope you enjoyed it! :))  
> Remember, if you want to chat about the fic or ask me anything about this or other fics, you can find me on [Tumblr! ](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask)  
> Leave a comment if you like it-oh, and for everyone who's asked, YES, they will kiss SOON! :)

_Therese (on the phone): I wanna know. I think. I mean, I wanna ask you things. But I'm not sure you want that._

_Carol (crying): Ask me things. Please._

_ -Carol _ _(2015)_

 

_"I honestly thought" he said, as I finally stopped talking. "You were like..just some quiet, work-obsessed, study machine person. Not that there's, like, anything wrong with being that but, er, I don't know. I just.... thought you were really boring. And you're not."_

_The way he said it was so frank that I almost blushed. Almost._

_He shook his head, and laughed at himself. "Sorry, that sounded way less mean in my head."_

_I shrugged and sat back down on his bed. "I thought you were boring too, to be fair." -Radio Silence, Alice Oseman_

 

_"I took him to see the play for the same reason I wrote, deleted and then rewrote the description of him in the first sentence of this piece, first abandoning the too-plain descripter of friend, then the overly-sentimental designation lover, before settling on the vague description of a boy. He was special to me."- Tova Benjamin, "The End Of My Rope", Rookie Magazine_

 

 

* * *

 

The shower is blissfully warm after the winter day. One of the advantages of Cameron's house being so large is the number of bathrooms-Nancy and Elwen had each been granted the use of a warm shower-Elwen in the main bathroom, Nancy having commandeered her parents' ensuite-while Cameron has taken the downstairs bathroom, allowing Ed to use his own guest room's ensuite.

Ed sighs in relief at the warmth of the water, enjoys the spray drenching his shoulders, warming him to his bones. He hadn't realised just how cold he'd been until they stepped into the warmth of the cottage. He lets his fingers comb through his hair gently with the shampoo, relishing the sensation. Slowly, it occurs to him that right now, Cameron might be doing the same thing.

The idea jolts pleasantly in Ed's chest and stomach. He lets it sit there, tries to just skate around it. But he finds himself staring at the soap in his hands, turning it over as it slides about his palm, wondering if this is the same soap Cameron uses. He closes his eyes, wondering if this is the same shampoo.

He wonders if Cameron's ever used this shower. Ed closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of the soap, wondering if it's that that makes Cameron smell so sweet.

Ed's eyes snap open.

What the-

What was he-

Ed shakes his head.

It doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't mean _anything._

He carries on scrubbing with renewed vigour and tries not to wonder if Cameron's doing the same thing right now.

 

* * *

 

 

When Ed's dressed in one of his softest jumpers and tracksuit bottoms, he begins to make his way down the landing, but stops, attracted by the sound of children's voices from the main bathroom.

He taps on the door a little nervously only to be greeted by the sight of his own sons, accompanied by Florence, in the bathtub, with David Cameron's back to him.

Sam spots him first, his dark curls dripping, but he just makes a wet gurgling sound and Cameron turns with a grin. "Oh, hi-"

"Hi." Ed tugs at his jumper sleeves. "So-we're all, erm-"

"Hey." David gives a grin over his shoulder as Florence wriggles like a little minnow in between his hands, splashing the water loudly. "We kind of thought the kids could do with a bath, before dinner-"

"No-yeah-no-" Ed curses himself, kneeling down beside David, reaching for Daniel, who he can see's had his shampoo rinsed, freshly damp hair slicked to his head with Loreal. "No, I-where'th Samantha-"

"Mummy downstairs" Flo says, while David carefully rinses her hair clean. Sam's is already glistening free of shampoo, curls combed and wet.

"Sam started the hair washing" David explains, off Ed's look. "I took over when she went down."

"Are we getting them in their pyjamas?" Awkwardly, Ed takes the shower head David offers him and sluices Daniel's head one more time with it.

He can't remember the last time he washed either of the boys' hair. He bathed Daniel sometimes as a baby-Zia showed him how to do it one Saturday afternoon, Daniel usually being in bed by the time Ed got home-but he doesn't remember bathing Sam during his baby days. Maybe once or twice. He remembers bathing them even less once they'd got to the toddling stage-maybe sluicing them down under a shower on holiday, giving their hair a quick rinse with the baby shampoo, fumbling his way through it. He'd wondered if one day he was supposed to teach Daniel and Sam how to do this themselves and if so, how.

Cameron, watching him, moves Florence over, all the wet, wriggling little inches of her. Ed takes her awkwardly, as Florence beams cheerfully up at him.

"Here, do you want to just entertain her while I finish the boys' hair-" David is carefully holding Daniel's shoulder, sluicing his hair again.

Ed stares at Florence worriedly, adjusting her so that she doesn't slip and knock her head on the side. "Um-"

He casts his mind about frantically for what to do. What entertains a four-year-old? Florence is too old to simply have a toy waved in her face that'll distract her with the colours. Ed's never been entirely sure what enjoyment children derive from throwing a toy off the side of a bath again and again-he doesn't remember doing it himself.

Suddenly, kneeling here, bathroom tiles digging into his knees, he realises that he has no idea how to entertain the little girl he's holding. It feels such a painfully inadequate thing to admit, even only to himself, that Ed's eyes prickle, to his horror.

He looks around frantically, blinking, only to find Cameron's gaze quietly resting on him. Daniel is lifting a Peppa Pig toy on and off the side of the bath, swooping it through the water.

"Well, she'll have to be careful" Cameron's saying to Daniel, even as he watches Ed. "Because those big blobs of shampoo might-pose a _bit_ of a problem for him-"

Daniel splashes loudly. "No, they're puddle of-puddles of _quicksand-"_

"Quicksand, right-" David's watching Ed again, even as he hands Daniel back the toy.

How does he _do_ that?

"Ed" David says very softly. "She won't bite."

His blue eyes hold Ed's, and then Florence puts her arms up, damp and warm around his neck.

Ed isn't used to being hugged like this. A child's hug is different from an adult's-they're sudden and fierce. An adult will be careful not to hold on too long; a child just doesn't want to let go. Maybe that's what the difference is; an adult balances the sudden surge of love with practicalities, decorum, comfort, filtering it through carefully; a child's love smashes straight through all of them and steals your breath.

Florence just hugs tight, Ed's face in her wet hair. His arms are around her and he gets a confused sweet scent of Loreal shampoo, and that unique childlike smell-warmth and sweetness, like their laughter leaving a scent. Florence's giggles are high-pitched in his ear, little bells dropping. Her cheek presses against his. It's only when she pulls back into the water that Ed realises that he's been hugging her back, caught her in his arms against his chest.

Florence is back almost immediately. "This is my Elsa" she says, holding out a small plastic figure with a long yellow plait.

Ed clears his throat. "What does she do?" His voice is oddly hoarse.

"Turns things to ice and-" Florence splashes, grabbing at a bubble on Sam's back. "But water warm so the ice is melted-ice is gone-"

David, over the boys' heads, smiles at Ed briefly.

"But" he's saying to Daniel, swooping Peppa through the air himself. "If she gets in the quicksand, maybe if she asks, someone can pull-pull her back out...."

 

* * *

 

The kids are curled up with Sam, watching a film when David wanders in to start dinner. It's only something simple-fajitas, which the kids all like-but he's joined, once the chicken is sizzling in the pan, by Miliband, who, when David looks up, is hovering nervously in the doorway.

"You can come in, you know." David says it a little too gently.

Miliband pushes the door wide and peers round, smiling a little. "Juth-st wondered if you needed any help" he says, with a small grin.

David returns it, the oil sizzling between them. "Not much. You can help me chop the peppers if you like."

Ed smirks a little. "Like the kitchen th-staff?"

David gestures round the kitchen. "Only staff's me."

Ed smiles a little, eyeing the peppers with interest. "Can you eat them raw?"

David manages to hold back a snort of disbelief. "Yeah. Course."

Ed's eyes widen and he lifts a piece of pepper slowly to his mouth. He bites at the end of it curiously, and his eyes widen a little.

David grins. "Told you."

He passes Miliband a knife and a red pepper. He can see Miliband reaching for another piece when he thinks David isn't looking, and David deliberately doesn't.

"How?" Miliband asks after a moment or so.

David nicks a slice of pepper himself. "How what?"

"How did you. You know. Cook?" Ed takes another slice of pepper. "I mean-I juth-st wouldn't have thought you'd-"

"Hmm?" David grins again. "Thought Old Etonians couldn't cook?"

Miliband rolls his eyes. "Does everything come back to Eton with you?" he asks waspishly, crunching another slice of pepper.

"Don't know. It certainly seems to with _you."_

Ed blushes. David winks.

"Anyway" he says, issuing Ed with another knife, and carefully sliding a pepper in front of him. "I just always liked cooking. Even when I was a kid. And in the common room at school-I always liked learning restaurant menus, that sort of thing. And so I just set out to try it for myself. And once I was at university, I just got used to it."

Ed watches him, head cocked to the side.

David cocks his own. "Yes?"

"What?" Miliband's smirking a little.

"What? _You're_ looking at _me."_ David nudges him, just slightly.

 _"You're_ looking at _me."_ Miliband nudges him back, and promptly nicks himself with the knife. "Ow!"

"Oh!" David grabs his hand, tugging him round. "Oh, shit, come here-"

The knife goes skittering over the work surface as David tugs Ed over to the sink, hand wrapped around his wrist. "Here-"

He tugs Miliband over gently, rinsing the tap until it runs cold. He guides Miliband's hand under the tap, holding it there. Now that Miliband's fingers are open, he can see that it isn't quite as serious as he thought-it's a small nick, but blood wells up into a ruby blot.

"You OK?" David's holding Miliband's hand still under the tap for him. They're both breathing hard.

"Yeah." Miliband bites his lip. "Just-hurtth-"

Something odd happens in David's chest, then-a slow squeezing sensation. His chin's nestled just over Miliband's shoulder, and he's holding his hand gently under the tap.

"My hand'th really cold" Miliband murmurs, which makes them both laugh a little too loudly.

"I know, but we just need to make-make sure the cut's clean. Here, only-only a minute more-"

They hold it there, while David tries to tell himself it's normal to count Miliband's breaths. His chest presses against Miliband's back, warming him a little.

He wraps Miliband's hand carefully in a piece of kitchen roll, turning the heat down on the chicken bubbling in the pan. He sits Miliband down at the table, squeezing his hand tight, trying to stop the bleeding. Miliband hisses.

"Sorry-" David pats his wrist, and gets up, rummaging through one of the cabinets. "Here-we've got a first aid kit somewhere-"

When he sits down again, Ed chews his lip. His eyes are huge, dark. David notices the paleness of his cheeks.

Before he knows what he's doing, he reaches out. "Let me see-" His hand closes tentatively around Miliband's, coaxing at his fingers. They slowly open, letting himself see the small cut on Miliband's palm.

Miliband draws in his breath, wincing, and David winces too, for him. His fingers close around Miliband's hand again, his thumb stroking his palm a little.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to nick you-"

"It'th not your fault-"

"Looks sore-" David strokes more slowly, rubbing Ed's hand gently, noticing the length of his fingers. His hand is soft, warm, as David's thumb traces his palm.

Ed's eyes catch his own. They stare at each other. David's breath catches in his chest.

He looks away, quickly preoccupying himself rummaging through the first-aid-kit. Ed clears his throat a little too loudly.

"I think we can get away with a plaster" he says too quickly. "I don't think you need stitches or anything-"

He reaches for the wipes, the plasters. "Here, let me-"

He tries to ignore his own rapid heartbeat. He focuses very hard on just wiping carefully around the edges of the cut, but the bleeding's already mostly stopped. David examines it carefully, which of course, means he has to keep hold of Ed's hand.

"Here-" He doesn't let himself look up instead, reminding himself how important it is never to take your eyes off first-aid. You never know what might happen, without anyone meaning it to.

He smoothes out a sparkly plaster, and senses Ed's eyes narrowing without even looking up. He smiles a little.

"They're Flo's" he says, to the silent question.

"Right."

David carefully unpeels the plastic. "Yeah-yes, not some-glittery Chipping Norton special set of plasters that only the elite know about-"

He feels Ed's laugh shake through him. "You bring everything back to Chipping Norton."

"Pot. Kettle. Black." David smoothes out the plaster over Ed's cut, runs a finger over it, flattening it gently. Then, he sits, looking at the silver sparkles, just holding Miliband's hand between his own.

_"Come on." The boy was lying on his side on the rugby pitch, arms wrapped around himself. As though, if he curled hard enough, he might disappear into himself. "Come on."_

_"Can't breathe." The boy was gasping. "Can't breathe-"_

_The other team-Harrow or St Paul's, David can't remember which-were sending the ground thundering under their feet. Tom spat furiously, dragging his hand through his hair, his cheeks flushed. "Fuck-"_

_He'd looked at David. "They're going to fucking murder him-"_

_David looked down at the cringing kid, footfalls shaking the ground under them. The boy was lying there, arms wrapped around himself. Like he was asking to be kicked. A lamb to the slaughter._

_David could feel his bedsheets twisting around him, a hand rough on his shoulder, voice in his ear. Fucking look at me, you fucking faggot._

_He looked down at the boy. He heard the footfalls of the other team._

_He kicked the boy in the ribs. Hard. "Get up" he said._

_The boy whimpered._

_"Get up." And David kicked him again. "Get up." He'd been shouting it. "Get up. Fucking get up. Fucking get up and deal with it before you get us fucking-"_

"Cameron?"

David jumps, sensing Ed's wince before he sees it. He's squeezing Miliband's hand. Hard.

"Shit" he manages. "Sorry-" He loosens his grip.

Miliband eyes him oddly. "Are-are you all right?"

_Fucking get up and get on with it._

David blinks, shakes his head hard. "Yeah. Sure. Course I am."

"Why courthe you are?"

"What?"

Miliband blinks. "Why "course you are?" Why _course?"_

David blinks. "I-"

He pauses, searching for the words.

Miliband blinks too. "Um-th-sorry-I was juth-st-"

"No, no, it's-"

"Ignore me." Miliband shakes his head, cheeks pinkening, still looking a little stunned at himself. "I just-I wath just-thinking-"

David shakes his head. "It's fine, I-" He still has hold of Ed's hand.

He touches the plaster again, and then his fingers slide away from Ed's. They both look away from each other too quickly.

"Thank you" Miliband blurts out all of a sudden.

"What for?" David begins tidying the first aid kit away with renewed vigour. "Just-just a plaster, really-"

"But thanks." Somehow he's met Miliband's eyes again. And Miliband's gazing at him more intensely now, those eyes big and dark and-

"Thank you." Miliband's voice is lower, now. "For-thith."

David's heartbeat is suddenly very, very rapid.

He busies himself, fiddling unnecessarily with the first-aid-kit. "No need to be flattered" he says flippantly, before he looks up, meeting Miliband's gaze with a small jolt in his chest. "I just didn't want you ruining the peppers."

Miliband stares at him for a long moment, before a slow grin breaks out over his face. "Bullingdon Boy."

David bursts out laughing at the same moment as Ed dissolves into a sound remarkably like giggling. "You can't stop bringing that up" he remarks, pushing himself to his feet. "If you're not careful, I'll be starting to think you like that picture, Miliband."

Miliband's mouth twitches and he sniggers again, shaking his head. "You're such a-"

He doesn't finish but he's watching David with a slight smile as David turns to put the first-aid-kit away, a small, softer smile that makes David's heartbeat quicken again.

 

* * *

 

 

"Sorry" Ed manages again, plaintively, as David places another pepper in front of him.

"I said, don't worry." David's stepped up behind him, and Ed waits, expecting him to step away. "Happens sometimes.

_Probably not to you._

Ed's cheeks burn, but David still doesn't move. Ed swallows hard.

"I'm all right" he says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. "You know. I know how to-"

He trails off as David's fingers wrap slowly around Ed's hand. Ed can't breathe. He stares down at his hand stupidly, as if it might be someone else's hand he sees there.

Then David's hand lifts his and moves it to the knife. "Told you." David's voice is a breath in his ear. "I'm worried about the peppers."

Ed can hear the smirk in his voice. He laughs, too loudly. "Typical Tory."

"What?" Cameron's breath tickles his neck as he pulls a pepper towards them. "I wasn't aware that it was a particularly Conservative trait to be protective of peppers. Maybe I should put that as one of our pledges in the manifesto. _To continue to uphold and preserve the rights of vegetable produce-"_

"You're not half as funny as you think you are, you know that?"

Ed doesn't mean his voice to sound so soft.

He definitely doesn't mean it to sound so _fond._

But it does, and Cameron stills against him. His chest's against Ed's back.

Ed becomes aware that both their hearts are thudding.

David clears his throat. "And how funny do I think I am?" His voice is low, but he steps back a little, his hand still on Ed's arm, but the warmth at his back gone. Ed feels an odd lurch, as though he's reaching out for the contact again.

He blinks. Drags his mind back.

"Um-more than you are-"

He can sense Cameron's grin. He rolls his eyes.

"You took a while to come up with that one." Cameron nudges him playfully. "Were you trying to think of what conceivable amount of amusement I could possess-"

"I really don't need to-"

"Do you not-"

"No, and it wath me who told you-who _asked_ you-"

"Who asked you-?"

"Th-shut up, I'm-"

"Who asked you-?"

"Th-shut up." Ed can't stop laughing, shaking a little, even as Cameron's arms fasten around him, carefully lowering the knife.

Their laughter trails off, Cameron's arms still encircling him. Ed can feel heat creeping up his cheeks.

"Anyway-" Cameron taps the knife, his own hand a little less steady than usual. "You-um-might want to be-"

"Yeah-"

Cameron manages a smile. "Though no doubt you think we sadistic Tories would want you to get, get hurt-"

He winces a little as he glances, apparently unconsciously, at Ed's hand. Only the tiniest flicker, but Ed notices.

"Th-sadistic Torieth-s" he manages, his voice a little fainter than usual. "G-good campaign slogan-"

Cameron's eyes hold his own for a second too long. "I'll suggest it to Lynton."

Ed manages to laugh. The sound's high-pitched. Cameron's hand is wrapped around his own, and he carefully reaches for Ed's other hand, moves it to hold the pepper.

Ed becomes aware that his heartbeat is far, far too rapid. He takes a deep breath.

He's being ridiculous.

_He is._

"There-" and David manages to bring the knife down through the pepper in a short, sharp sound, fingers lingering at Ed's wrist.

Ed searches for words, but can't find any. He gulps, fixes his eyes on the peppers instead.

David gives him a curious look. "Don't you cook at home?"

It's one of the questions interviewers use. It adds colour, paints a picture of family life.

_Just say you cook something basic. Sounds like you pull your weight, but not like you're overcompensating._

But this isn't an interview.

Ed shrugs. "Well. I can do a th-stir-fry. And potato latkes. But-" He chews his lip. "Zia usually cuts the food though. She does the cooking."

Cameron gives him an odd look, and Ed braces himself for the line.

But instead, Cameron just tilts his head. "Can I ask you something?"

Ed feels as if he's just been shoved under a microscope. He fixes his gaze on the peppers.

"You juth-st did" he says flippantly, instead.

Cameron nudges him. "Can I use that one at PMQs?"

"You alwayth need my help at PMQs."

Cameron nudges him again. This time, Ed meets his eyes. "What?"

Cameron takes a deep breath. "How come you have a nanny?"

Ed blinks. "You have a nanny-"

"No, no, no-" Cameron's hand lands on his arm for just a second, before it jumps a little too quickly to his hair. "No, it, I meant-you're against all this privilege-privilege and stuff, blah blah blah-you go on about the evils of the rich, all that-"

"I never th-said the rich were evil, I th-said it's about morality-"

 _"But-"_ Cameron raises a finger, talking over him. "You talk about the immorality of the rich, blah blah, etc, all of that-" He tilts his head and stares at Ed. "But _you_ live in Dartmouth Park and _you_ have a live-in nanny."

Ed's already rolling his eyes, but Cameron's hand lands on his arm. "No, no, hear me out-listen-"

Ed sighs impatiently, the words already scrabbling at his mouth.

"You're against ingrained privilege, the ruling elite, nepotism, all the rest of it-" Cameron's voice is lower now, his eyes seeming a slightly deeper shade of blue than usual. Ed stares at him, the peppers forgotten. "But how come you're so willing to have it yourself?"

Ed blinks. "With all our own money, th-so-"

Cameron just arches an eyebrow.

Ed lets the knife skitter onto the sideboard impatiently. "Oh, for Chrith-st's sake, if it's about that again-"

"Miliband-"

"We've paid all the taxes we're meant to pay, so I don't th-see how that's any-"

"But so have we" Cameron points out, suddenly very keen. "So do we. So do my Cabinet."

"Congratulations. I never th-said otherwise-"

"But you imply it." Cameron taps Ed's hand. So quickly they could pretend it never happened. "Or that the background we come from affects it, when you come from much the same-"

"I've never th-said-"

_"Cabinet Of Millionaires-?"_

"I don't write the headlines, Cameron-"

"But you give them the lines."

"I can't believe _you're_ giving _me_ complaints about getting bad headlines." Ed grabs at the pepper and chops at it viciously, staring at it but not seeing it.

"Is that the reason?"

Ed takes in a long, shuddering breath. He lifts his head to meet Cameron's gaze.

"I don't have any problem with where you went to school." He tries to keep his voice calm, not let it waver. "The-the only beef I have is with-"

"The only _what?!"_

Ed blushes.

Cameron splutters into incredulous laughter. "The only-"

Ed huffs, tearing his arm away from where it's been lying against Cameron's. "Typical of you to-"

"But honestly _, beef-"_ Cameron, abruptly, holds up a hand. "Look, just forget it. I don't want to argue. With you."

Ed snorts before he can stop himself. _"You_ don't want to argue?"

Cameron's mouth twitches. "That so hard to believe?"

 _"Yes."_ Ed laughs before he can stop himself. "It'th what we do."

The words hang between them. Cameron's eyes find his own.

Their gazes hold. Ed's breath catches in his throat.

Cameron's mouth twitches again, slightly deeper. "Maybe" is all he says, before he turns back to the peppers.

Ed stares at him for another moment, before he turns back and resumes chopping the pepper himself, a little more slowly. The silence between them is odd, slightly huffy, slightly amused. And something else too, something that confuses Ed a little, something that's pushing at the edges of the silence, making his fingers curl a little tighter around the handle of the knife.

His cheeks are very warm. His heart is beating very fast.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time her parents had left them alone, Alex had started to cry.

Justine hadn't known what to do. She'd tried giving him one of the Marathon bars their parents had bought for them. She'd tried to crouch down and speak slowly, the same way Dad did when he talked about his lectures or Grandpa did whenever Mum was telling him that crying wouldn't change the situation. She'd tried going through the list their parents had left them item by item, so that Alex could see that Mum and Dad had written very clearly that they weren't going to be calling from their hotels until Saturday night, and it was their job not to be crying then because Mum and Dad had to do their jobs.

Alex had kept crying, his little face crumpled and wet and red. Justine had stared at him, exasperation rising, pulling tight in her chest, and she'd crouched down, putting her hands on his shoulders, to hold him at arms' length.

"Alex" she'd said firmly, making her voice louder than Alex's crying. "Mum and Dad are away. They need to concentrate on their work so they can help people. They're making a difference" she'd added, because that was what Mum and Dad talked about when they talked about the lectures they had to give and the conventions they had to go to.

"They're important" she'd said firmly, holding Alex away from her a little stiffly "and they can't just stop because you're crying."

Alex had just kept sniffling. Justine had stared at him, mind scrabbling for the next words, stringing them into the correct order-she pictured it like sliding a key into a lock and turning it, Alex's tears sliding back into his eyes, the red draining from his cheeks.

"There's nothing to cry about" she'd said eventually, the way Mum used to tell her when she was little, holding her out in front of her so that Justine couldn't quite touch her. "We've got everything we need. You're not hurt, so it's silly to cry, isn't it?"

Alex had looked away from her, tears sliding down his cheeks. Justine had let go of him and stepped away in relief, her hands curling a little, relishing not having his shoulders under her hands.

"I'm going to go and do my homework" she'd said, nodding a little to herself, and then she'd turned and walked up the stairs. Alex would be OK.

Upstairs, she'd dragged her clothes basket up against her door and sat down at her desk. When Alex had started to cry again on the landing, Justine had stared at her maths homework, until the black ink had wavered in front of her eyes, and the sums had started to chant themselves under her breath. She'd traced the numbers over and over with her pen, making sure they fitted in the squares just right.

When she'd heard Alex sit down against the door, she'd started chanting the numbers out loud. Alex had sat outside her bedroom, little whimpers creeping through the wood, and Justine had sat at her desk, staring at her homework, the answers wavering in her little voice over and over in the darkening bedroom, making sure she'd got every one right.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Flo inspects the plate carefully, then glances at Nancy. "Salsa smile?"

Nancy shakes the salsa bottle obligingly, and manages to eke out a wobbly smile on Flo's plain wrap. "There. Dimples."

Flo promptly tries to inspect herself in the back of a spoon, trying to push her own face next to the wrap for comparison. Nancy turns to Daniel, automatically adding a smile to his too.

Daniel props himself up to try to examine the face. "It's smiling" he says, tracing his own mouth so that Dad has to wipe him clean.

"Yeah" Nancy says, trying to scrabble past Elwen's arm for Sam's plate. "You want it to smile bigger?"

Daniel tilts his head, trying to get another look at the face. "It's smiling" he says again, looking confused.

"So Auntie Venetia and Uncle Chris might be able to come down in the next-over a weekend soon" Mum says, tucking her hair back and dabbing at Flo's mouth carefully. "And bring the boys-"

"Chrith?" Mr Ed Miliband nudges Dad gently-they're sitting next to each other, with Mr Ed Miliband cutting his fajita up carefully. Dad grins when he catches him.

"Yes. Lockwood."

Mr Ed Miliband does an odd quirk of his eyebrow, which makes Dad laugh, and Mr Ed Miliband's fork send a chunk of pepper flying into Sam's head. Nancy manages not to snort.

"So Xandie's coming?" Elwen asks, biting into a piece of chicken. Nancy manages to cut her own wrap, while Flo's kicking her legs back and forth in her chair. Xandie's her age, but looks two years younger, with a mop of bright golden hair.

"No, he's planning to die in a car accident halfway there."

"Nancy." Mum gives her a tap on the arm. Nancy shrugs. "It was a stupid _question-"_

"Don't call your brother stupid-"

"I didn't call him stupid, I called his _question_ stupid-"

Mr Ed Miliband is watching the conversation with an odd look. It reminds Nancy of the moment earlier when, bored with Florence accidentally kicking her in the side every time she leapt up to execute one of the dance moves to the Disney music on the screen, she'd wandered into the kitchen to see if Dad could show her how to cook chicken-Mum won't let her touch raw meat yet, which leaves the array of meals Nancy can cook awfully small.

She'd been too late-the meat was already sizzling in the pan. Nancy had turned to frown.

"Sorry." Dad had ruffled her hair, carefully moving her out of the way as he seized a pepper and chucked it to her to catch. "You were too slow."

"What if I cook something, and I poison you because you never taught me how to cook?" Nancy had glared at the pepper, as though it held some personal responsibility for said hypothetical poisoning.

"Then I'll have you prosecuted, Nance." Dad had squeezed her shoulder. "And thrown in jail."

"Wouldn't it be your fault?" Nancy had pulled herself up onto the work surface, crunching the pepper. "Technically, it'll be your-your fault for not teaching me-ow-" She'd moved the fork digging into her leg as Mr Ed Miliband scrabbled to remove it, patting her shoulder awkwardly as he did so. Nancy had managed not to laugh, especially when she spotted the slightly bemused look that had been crumpling Mr Ed Miliband's forehead.

Reconciled to the fact that she wasn't going to be learning how to avoid food poisoning, Nancy had contented herself with watching Dad tilt the pan back and forth. Mr Ed Miliband was watching too, his head tilted, his forehead creased again.

"I didn't know I was so fascinating" Dad had said, without looking round.

Nancy had rolled her eyes, nicking another slice of the leftover pepper, but Mr Ed Miliband had just grinned, his eyes lingering on Dad's back.

"Typical" he'd muttered, or something like it, almost too quietly for Nancy to hear. There'd been a tiny smile on his face, the crease in his forehead smoothing out.

Dad hadn't even turned round to look at him, but he'd muttered "Pot, kettle, Miliband."

Nancy's quite used to adults making pronouncements that they find hilarious, so had carried on crunching the pepper. But Mr Ed Miliband had just stared at Dad hard for a moment, and then laughed, very softly. But his cheeks were a little flushed and a small dimple had dented his cheek.

It's the same smile Nancy notices again now when Dad gives him a nudge, but she's distracted by Elwen yanking the salsa out of her hand, squeezing it, and sending a spray of red drops over her shirt.

"You _idiot."_ Nancy grabs the bottle out of her brother's hand and smacks him in the arm with it.

 _"Ow!_ Mum-"

"Nancy-" Mum tries to wrestle the bottle out of Nancy's hand, as Nancy manages to send it into Elwen's shoulder again. "Stop _hitting_ him-"

"He's _wrecked_ it now, _look-"_

Daniel and Florence are creased in laughter, Dad throwing his hands up as he gets up, Mum already dabbing at Nancy's shirt. "Jesus, it would have to be white-"

Elwen's still sniggering even as he takes a gulp of juice and nearly manages to spit it all over Sam. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Why did you grab the bloody bottle, El-" Dad manages to haul Florence back into her chair, quietening her down with "Shh, please, Flo-"

"She was taking all the salsa-" Elwen's still giggling a little. Forgoing the bottle, Nancy manages to land a punch on his shoulder, twisting in her mother's grip.

_"Ow!"_

"Were you _dropped_ when you were born?" Nancy asks him, prompting her mother to seize her shoulder. "Oi. That's enough."

"He's-"

 _"That's enough."_ Mum grabs Elwen's shoulder and pushes him back down into his chair. "Here. You sit down and shut up for a bit."

Nancy fumes, plucking at her shirt. Salsa is blooming slowly, like a bloody flower. "It's got to be _washed-"_

"Here-" Dad throws his hands up. "Just-go and take it off, and I'll wash it for you-"

As Nancy heads for the door, managing to whack Elwen again as she goes past his chair, she notices Mr Ed Miliband glancing about the room, with an odd, fascinated look, as though he's watching a new TV programme. He looks happily bewildered, and then, blinking hard, glances at Dad. "I'll give you a hand."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ed had asked her if she wanted to come this weekend. He'd tried to seem sincere as he said it, threading his fingers, shifting from foot to foot. It had reminded Justine of the first times she'd seen Ed, when she'd spotted him standing alone in the middle of Stephanie's living room, shuffling awkwardly, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. Justine had watched him then that night, fingers curled around the glass of too-warm orange juice she'd held.

"It'll be fun" he'd said, shooting her a worried look, as if she was a stream he was trying to navigate his way around. "The kids'll be there."

But his voice had sounded tired, as if he was too busy trying to sound excited to feel any excitement for the prospect.

Justine had thought about it, the whole idea seeming vaguely unreal, the way the idea of going home to see Daniel and Sam sometimes seems, when it creeps, unwanted, into her head at work.

"I've got to finalise that brief" she'd said slowly, trying to give the impression that she was feeling her way to this conclusion reluctantly. "I'll need to be in court again soon, and it's important we get more of the evidence submitted."

Ed had nodded too quickly.

Justine's not entirely sure what they'd have mentioned outside of the trial. The trial and the campaign seem to occupy most of their thoughts at the moment. Usually, it's work that's always in the back of Justine's mind. A the moment, work creeps in over everything, like a blanket that's too big, but Justine wants to pull it in, the same way she'd recited her homework answers over and over again that first night alone as Alex lay curled up asleep, cheeks still flushed and damp, and Justine stood, with her cheek pressed into the door frame, her eyes fixed on the staircase, her fingers gripping the handle of a kitchen knife tightly, until it had nearly carved a groove into her hand.

Their first few meetings, she and Ed had talked about work. It's what you talked about; what you were meant to talk about. What you were meant to be looking for-someone like you. Following a recipe.

And so they'd talked about work. Ed, it had turned out, wanted to work around climate change.

"I've juth-st alwayth thought it was a little known crisith" he'd said earnestly, on their second or third meeting. His hands had been gesticulating a little too much, eyes overlarge and overearnest. "It just seems like not enough people th-see it" and Justine had had to stop her head snapping up, grabbing onto the words like a life raft.

When she had been in Brussels, it had been one of her mentors who'd said to her-almost a throwaway remark, tossed over her shoulder as she went by, "Environment's really the poor man in law when it comes to voices, though."

Justine had stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, hearing the woman's footsteps recede, and then she'd spun round, and asked, her voice tight and wavering, "How do you work in that?"

Her mentor had stopped, glanced over her shoulder. "Sorry?"

Justine's fingers had curled tightly around the folder she was carrying. "How do you progress into that career?" She'd cleared her throat, already folding down the sharp stab of feeling she'd felt at the word _voice._ "You know-what qualifications would I need to work towards-I mean, more than my Law degree or-"

Her mentor's face had bowed into a frown as she'd stared at her, as if trying to work out whether or not Justine was serious. "Well-I can get the information over to you later-you wouldn't need any further qualifications, but it would be wise to read up on the areas involved-but you-you would be one of the very few-"

Something almost painful had risen in Justine's throat, then, without her being quite sure why. "No" she'd said, when she could speak again, clutching her folder tight to her chest. "No, that's-I want to do it."

"Well, make sure you're clear on what's involved" the woman had been saying, but Justine's thoughts had already been fixing on digging her fingers into her folder, to swallow down the pain in the back of her throat, but she'd already known she'd study it, even before her mentor turned around, with her voice hanging around the word _environment_ , in the casual throwaway tone and look that sounded and looked exactly like Justine's mother when her parents left for a conference.

That first weekend, when her parents came home, Justine had told them that they'd been fine. Her fingers had been curled into Alex's shirt, digging into his ribs, until he'd said it too.

If their parents had noticed, they didn't say anything about that or the fact that Alex's pillow was soaked through or the dark circles under their eyes or the knife that hadn't yet found its' way back to the knife-box, where it belonged.

 

* * *

 

 

Several minutes later, dressed in her pyjamas and still glowering, Nancy carries her shirt back to the utility room.

She stops, shaking her shirt out a little, and it's then that she catches Dad's voice from inside the utility room. "Have you never done this before-"

There's a snort, then Mr Ed Miliband's voice. "You're one to talk."

"As you can see, Miliband, I am able to use the washing machine-"

"Well, I could-"

"Go on, then."

A pause, then "Wouldn't want to intrude."

Dad laughs. Nancy hears one of them thud something. Then the sound of the washing machine door opening. "Honestly, it's like herding cats some days..."

"Muth-st be quite like your party, Cameron."

"This is coming from the Leader of the Labour Party, Miliband-"

Mr Ed Miliband laughs again, and there's another thud; the sound of someone fiddling with the washing machine.

"Might be you could be grateful to learn something-"

"Oh, how kind of you. Maybe you could be leth-ss resistant to absorbing information every week, then-"

"Well, if-since you're so keen on asking questions, you could ask one right now-"

"I don't want to have you have to answer, and then have the th-sky fall in, or th-something-"

""The sky fall in or something?" _That's_ all you came up with-"

"Th-shut up-" There's a giggling sound, and then another thud.

"Ow!"

"What the hell did you do-"

"Did you bring me here to try-try and injure me-"

"Judging by tonight, I don't think anyone has to _try_ and injure you-"

"Ath concerned ath ever-" Mr Ed Miliband's voice is breaking into laughter, when Dad says, a little quieter, "What did you want to ask me?"

There's a short silence. Nancy leans against the wall, knotting her hands in the shirt.

"What do you mean?" She can hear Mr Ed Miliband moving, a couple of footsteps that seem too loud in the winter evening. The chatter from the dining room seems further away than it did a few moments ago.

"You said I never answer your questions. Why don't you try asking me one?"

There's another laugh. "What, you mean like I try to every week-"

"Might surprise you."

Nancy frowns. There's something odd, pushing at the edge of the conversation, something that Nancy knows without quite knowing that or how she knows, is something she can't quite grasp yet. It's got a weird tingle of grown-upness to it, something that makes Nancy frown, uneasiness edging at her stomach.

"Ask me."

There's a long silence. Nancy grips the shirt tightly, her ear pressing very hard to the door.

"Why did you invite me this weekend?" Mr Ed Miliband's voice is very quiet.

There's another silence. Nancy tilts her head, trying to see through the crack in the door. She can just see Mr Ed Miliband-half of his face. He's looking up at Dad, but Nancy can't see her father's face. All she can see is Mr Ed Miliband, and his eyes are huge and dark.

"Because I wanted to." Dad's voice is different from how Nancy has ever heard it before-lower. Something about it makes Nancy want to cover her ears, and something about that makes her want to wrap her arms around herself.

There's another silence, then "Did that provide you with a sufficiently detailed answer to your question, Miliband?"

Another silence. Then, "More than usual."

"Did it provide you with your de-desirable levels of insight? The one you constantly remind me-"

"Maybe."

"Learning from me?"

This time, Mr Ed Miliband's voice breaks into laughter. "You arrogant-"

He doesn't finish, but then says, in quite a different tone, "I never said I didn't want to learn from you."

There's a silence. Nancy hears one of their shoes shift a little, as if they've taken a step.

Something about the silence means she pushes the door a little too quickly, letting it hit the wall.

Dad spins around a little too fast, and Nancy holds out the shirt. "Here-"

She doesn't notice at the time-and won't remember until much later-but Mr Ed Miliband has stepped back a little too fast, and when Dad's eyes flicker to his, his flicker away.

 

* * *

 

 

Justine looks between her two selections of work, carefully spread out on the brown couches around her-getting some furniture that was too decorated, felt too showy, too materialistic, and that's what they aren't-weighing up the words. She knows the trial-knows the ins and outs of the complaint, the degree of erosion measured in the soil, the exact date of each stage of installation of the Ocensa pipeline, the type of dirt spread in each area. She knows the names of each farmer, the themes of the complaint. She knows the arc of the case, the rise and fall of each argument, the David and Goliath sewn through the middle of each line.

(With them being the David, of course, the underdog, the one that always, always comes out on top in the end, if you just put in the work.)

The other work is the photographs.

Ed had brought a selection home from the office but they were mostly just of Daniel, from that year before Sam was born. Justine doesn't remember most of them being taken. One of them's on Hampstead Heath, Justine thinks, but she's not sure.

It was Bob who suggested they find some photos. "For when they do the at-home interviews. We've managed to get some of his office pictures in in the past when he's been filmed in his office, but a few unseen family photos would look good to get in the shot..."

It was a good suggestion, but they'd run into a problem when they'd discovered that they don't _have_ many photos of the children. Ed had that couple in his office that he'd taken to use as part of the backdrop when they'd realised how often he'd need to be filmed in his office. They've had to ask Zia for any photos of the boys she has, as well as the posed shots they have of them at conferences and the wedding.

The one photo Justine's managed to pick out that seems to be one of theirs' is one of the boys in a park. She can't remember which one or if it was them or Zia who took it but it looks like summer. Sam's a baby with curls, dangling in the baby chair they used to use. He looks similar to how he did when they'd had them photographed on the train going to Manchester for the conference, when Justine had insisted on running the comb through his hair again before they stepped onto the platform, because curls could make him look more appealing. So it must have been around summer 2012.

Daniel's leaning back, behind the seat, hands gripping the arms on each side. He's not smiling, his head tilted back, chin jutting out stubbornly. He looks as though he's halfway through saying something. Or frowning. Or both.

Justine looks at the photo, squinting at it. She tilts it, trying to see it from each angle. Although they usually tell the kids to smile for photos, maybe it could work for something a little more natural.

Something about Daniel's look jolts Justine's memory-something about the day they were walking to the Brunei Gallery, when she was still getting used to the idea she was pregnant with Sam-and perhaps deliberately, her mind scrambles away from that day and back to when she'd found that out.

She'd been worried about the timing. A perfect timing for two children would have been two years, maybe two and a half. 17 months was too soon, really; not for a nuclear family.

Justine had wondered, what with the leadership contest, if it was really the right time; but she'd gone over the dates enough in her head and with the IVF, it would have looked odd to want to get rid of the baby she'd insisted to the doctors they wanted to have-she'd insisted on starting the treatments again once Daniel got to three months old, based on all the warnings the doctors had given them.

"It'll take a while" one of the doctors had told them the first time, while Justine had made sure to nod in the right places and Ed had glanced at her a couple of times, hand hovering once as though wondering whether he should take hers'. "You need to really be sure this option is for you. It can be emotionally gruelling for couples-you need to know there's a good chance it'll take several cycles to work, and the wait can be difficult, emotionally."

They should probably hold hands at a moment like that, Justine had thought, so she'd picked up Ed's hand without looking at him and placed it firmly in her lap. "We know" she'd said firmly. "But this is the best option. And the sooner we start, the more chance we've got."

She'd been 37 when they'd started the treatments. That already put her in the "geriatric pregnancy" range. A part of her seethed quietly when she thought of it. She'd told Ed, two years in, that they should be trying, but by that point, the chances of conceiving naturally were minuscule, and they'd always been small for them anyway. A part of Justine seethed even more at herself for not recognizing earlier on that she should make more of an effort with Ed; that they'd make a good combination. That would have meant they started trying a year earlier, or more.

It had taken a while with Daniel, and so Justine had insisted, once they'd got into a routine with Zia, and the weather was creeping towards autumn, that they try again.

"Look" she'd said to Ed on her birthday, Daniel plonked in his high chair at the end of the table, grizzling quietly. Justine supposed he was a bit too small for it, but she wasn't sure what else to do with him. She'd tried waving a toy at him a few times, but he hadn't stopped. Eventually, she'd just pushed his dummy into his mouth, which would muffle his sounds at least, until Zia could take him downstairs for a bit. "I'm 39. If we leave it a couple more years, we're going to find it doesn't work."

Ed had stared at her, frowning. "But they can do things these days, and-"

"That would be harder and take longer and by the time we got there, there'd be too much of, of an age gap-" Justine had already marshalled her arguments, gone over them in her head so that their dinner conversation was planned out, the way she does on the tube home from work sometimes, so they'll have something to talk about when they see each other. "We can't have them too far apart."

Ed had looked between her and the baby, bemused-the way he often did around Daniel. The first time Justine had given the dummy to Zia to put in Daniel's mouth, Ed had asked what it was for.

"Well-" He'd swallowed, chewing at his lip. Justine had known what he was thinking-the election was less than eight months away. If Labour didn't stay in power, there'd be a leadership contest.

Justine had debated whether or not to say anything then, watched Ed stare at his plate for a moment, but it wasn't the right time. Two birds with one stone was all very well, but two lines of attack can get confused, knock each other off course, so they both end up missing their targets altogether.

Ed had glanced up. "Isn't Daniel already a lot of work for Zia?" He'd patted their baby son's head nervously almost as though asking his permission. "He might still be a baby really when the th-second one was born."

Justine had tried not to sound impatient as she sighed. "But he'd be older by then. Remember how long it took to work with him? And say-just say it took that long again, he'd be two-two coming up to three or something by the time the, you know, the other one arrived." She'd taken a sip of her wine-she usually hates wine, but it had seemed like the sort of thing you should drink on your birthday, so she always makes herself have one. "And I've read that that's a good-a good age gap, you know. It's good for their separate development, two-two or three years. I was nearly two when Alex was born."

Justine had left out the fact that David had been four and a half when Ed was born. She wondered if she should have left out Alex too.

Ed had worried at his lip, but Justine knew that he'd leave it to her. All he had to do was produce the required sample-which she's never seen Ed do in any other circumstances, and she imagines he applies the same approach to it as he does when signing off documents-and then she could take care of the rest herself, and somewhere along the line, there'd be another baby-hopefully a girl; one of each matched a little more-and that would be a nice, contrasting pair. Dark and blonde would be even better. Daniel already had a few strands of blond hair which was a pity, Justine had thought, looking at him-a dark little boy and a blonde little girl would have been a good set, though Justine had supposed it was a happy chance that blond hair had appeared at all.

And so they'd agreed-Justine had made sure to ask Ed that, to be certain. "So we're agreed?" she'd said expectantly, with another sip of wine, her eyes holding his.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah" he'd said too quickly, fumbling with his own glass of wine, in what he clearly felt was an appropriate moment. "Yeah. We can start-we can book an appointment, if you want-"

Justine had smiled, knowing they should be able to save this as a happy moment, the moment they decided to have another baby together.

They'd eaten a little more, their forks clinking too loudly. Ed had tried to chuck Daniel under the chin a couple of times, while Daniel had strained away, eyes not settling on either of their faces, even when Justine had waved the toy at him again half-heartedly. And they'd both been too relieved when Zia came and took Daniel back downstairs.

 

* * *

 

 

The room's warm and dark, a fire crackling in the fireplace. The kids are curled together over two armchairs, Nancy idly stroking Florence, Sam or Daniel's heads every few moments, sometimes all together. Elwen's legs are draped across the arms of the chairs, which have been pushed together to create a makeshift nest, his own hand alternatively patting Florence's arm when she waves her toy rabbit at him, one or other of them toddling over to the couch with their arms up for a hug. Samantha's half-asleep at the other end of the couch in her dressing gown, with her make-up wiped off, eyes occasionally fluttering shut in a doze. She looks younger, almost as young as Nancy, her arms wrapping around whichever of the three younger children toddles up in a sleepy cuddle. Her feet are in David's lap, with her almost curled up, her head on a cushion.

Ed can only glance at her every few moments, because looking at her means looking at Cameron. And he doesn't need to look at Cameron because he can feel Cameron, can feel the heat of his body pressed up against him, even as he tries to fix his eyes on his screen, his heart beating uncomfortably fast.

They're watching _The Great British Bake Off_ , but Ed's lost track of whatever's going on on the screen. He's not sure why or how he ended up sitting next to Cameron. He's not sure if he's cursing himself for that or not.

Cameron's leg keeps pressing against his own just slightly. Ed isn't sure if he's noticed. Maybe _Ed_ shouldn't have noticed.

Every time Cameron leans forward to take a few kernels of popcorn, his arm presses into Ed's. How did he get so close? When did he get so close?

Ed feels a rush of heat as Cameron's shoulder brushes his own, sending a strange tingling shiver down his back. Cameron settles back into the couch, his arm stretching out, and Ed almost lunges forward to grab a handful of popcorn, just so he doesn't have to feel Cameron's arm, which could almost be around his-

Ed stares very hard at the screen and tries to ignore the odd look Cameron gives him. He crunches the popcorn, not tasting it, his mouth suddenly far too dry, his heart thumping hard enough to hurt. He feels odd, taut, plugged in. Every time Cameron moves slightly, his leg presses slightly into Ed's own. Ed can smell his aftershave. Every time he moves, his arm nudges Cameron's.

Ed's breath is caught in his throat. He shifts nervously, folds his legs.

Maybe he should just-he unfolds his arms-maybe if he wriggles out a little-maybe if he lifts his arm a little-

Cameron shifts closer and Ed freezes, because in a moment, his arm's going to be around Cameron's-

He snatches it back with a mutter of something and feels Cameron nod.

Right against him.

Where he's ended up nudged into Cameron's chest.

Ed can't move again. He squeezes his hands together in his lap. He tries to look at the screen, but now all he can focus on is the rise and fall of Cameron's chest right next to him.

_God, what's he doing?_

Ed doesn't get a chance to reconsider this because right then is when the back of Cameron's hand nudges his own.

It sends a small jolt through Ed. He only just manages to hold still, to not pull away.

(Or he thinks, pull away.)

Cameron's hand only lies against his own for a second, but Ed's aware. His whole body prickles, alert to every inch of the heat down his side, of the slight press of Cameron's knee against his own.

 

* * *

 

 

David just keeps his eyes focused on the screen, trying to keep his breathing slow and steady.

It's Miliband. That's why he keeps glancing at him.

It's just Miliband, and it's-

He can feel Sam's hair tickling his shoulder as she sleeps, curled up like a cat. He can still hear Nancy and Elwen muttering to each other, occasionally shoving each other out of the way to grab a handful of popcorn. Every so often, he'll hear himself call out a warning if the shoving's getting too vigorous, but he can barely focus on his own words, he's trying so hard not to notice every time Miliband moves next to him, every slight brush of their arms.

It's ridiculous. He's overthinking it.

He's sat next to Miliband a hundred times before. At events and ceremonies and-

He's sat next to him.

It shouldn't matter.

It shouldn't.

Miliband's hand touches his again. This time, just for a second, before it pulls away, and David senses Miliband's gaze flicker to his own.

David keeps looking away, furiously trying to focus on the cakes. The fact that this, of all things, is not easy does nothing to settle his mind.

But he leaves his hand where it is.

Where there's nothing _wrong_ with it being.

It's his couch. He can sit exactly how he likes.

He just wonders what Miliband will do, a little.

David tries to swallow, his mouth unaccountably dry. His heartbeat is far too fast. He feels Sam shift slightly against his shoulder and, for a wild moment, prays she'll wake up.

Miliband's hand touches his again.

 *

He moved away last time, so he waits for Cameron to this time.

Ed waits, trying to ignore the prickles of heat racing up his arm, the tingling sensation in the tiny places that are pressed together.

He waits.

Cameron's not moving.

Ed's stomach swoops. He bites his lip hard, keeping his eyes on the screen, because if he-

If he looks at Cameron right now-

His heart's thundering. He can feel sweat dampening under his arms, heat reddening his cheeks. He almost curls his hand into a fist, but doesn't.

He-

He-

He puts his hand back a little, and feels a wave of relief that makes him exhale shakily, feeling oddly off-kilter.

He doesn't look at Cameron, but he knows, just knows somehow, that Cameron hasn't moved.

Ed stares at the screen, heart pounding, an odd irritated itching in his chest, because Cameron hasn't moved an inch, and he-

He-

Cameron doesn't move. Ed can't look at him, but he pictures that Cameron smirk denting his cheeks, that-

Ed almost holds his breath. Slowly, so slowly he's not even sure he's doing it deliberately, his hand crawls an inch closer.

He doesn't look.

Another inch.

Another.

His hand touches Cameron's.

Ed's breath steals out of his lungs at the warm touch. He sits very still, trying to breathe steadily, blink steadily, sit steadily, just not _move._

He waits for Cameron to pull away.

Cameron doesn't pull away.

 *

David can't move.

Miliband's hand is touching his. He pulled it away, and now-

Did he-

Is he doing this-

Is he-

David's breath catches.

He keeps his eyes on Sue Perkins on-screen. She's a Labour supporter, isn't she? She must be. Maybe not. Maybe-maybe-

Miliband's hand is still against his.

David tries to swallow, to adjust his weight slightly without pulling their hands apart. His hand presses harder into Miliband's for a split second.

He feels Miliband tense. He stares harder than ever at the screen, but even without looking, he can _feel_ the rigidity of Miliband's shoulders, the unnatural stiffness of his chin tilted towards the TV. He's not sure if the too-loud breaths are Miliband's or his own.

He shifts again, just slightly. It's just the sides of their hands that are touching. Just there, and it's enough to send David's heart throwing itself against his ribs, his shoulders wanting to shake with his breathing, his cheeks burning in the dark, and how can they be the only ones noticing this, how-

He shifts a tiny bit, and his little finger nudges Miliband's, just slightly.

Miliband tenses. David can hear his breathing, too loud in the dark room. He feels Miliband's leg tremble slightly, and fight to keep itself still against his own.

He can't look. He can't.

Slowly, very slowly, Miliband's finger nudges his back.

 *

Ed's thoughts are gone. His face seems to be getting hotter with every second. The crackling of the fire is only making it worse. He shouldn't have worn this stupid jumper.

He doesn't know why he's letting his finger move. But it is. Like a jostle to the shoulders in return in a corridor. But smaller, quieter.

But a jostle doesn't send Ed's heart into his mouth, leave him trying to ignore the way his breathing's slowly quickening. Trying not to notice Cameron's leg, nudging slightly against his own, or trying to notice.

Ed doesn't know what he's doing, or if he means to do it, or if it's just some long-buried innate impulse to just respond whenever Cameron does something now-

But his finger nudges the tiniest bit.

Their fingers are touching, almost overlapping.

Ed stares at the screen, heart thumping so hard he feels sick. He stares straight ahead, no longer trying to focus on the programme, no longer trying to focus on anything but waiting, waiting for the moment he knows Cameron will-

Cameron's finger moves very slightly over his own.

For a moment, Ed thinks he's going to scream. Or cry. Or burst out laughing. Or throw up. Or jump up and run out of the room.

He stays sitting exactly where he is.

His heart is going to break out of his chest, he thinks wildly, a drop of sweat meandering between his shoulder blades, and then he bites his lip, trying to tell himself to _calm down, calm-_

He doesn't know why he's doing it. But his finger moves very slightly. Very, very slightly.

Under Cameron's own.

He feels Cameron tense very slowly. Ed stares straight ahead, every inch of his body taut and still, fighting to pull away, fighting not to. Held taut in a silent dare.

The entire room, under the burble of the TV, feels silent, as if the whole world's taken a breath.

 *

David can't breathe. Sam's head is heavy on his shoulder. He can feel her hair tickling his skin, smell her shampoo. He wants to turn his face and kiss her head, bury his face in the warmth of her sweet-smelling hair that's as familiar to him as his own.

His finger is on top of Miliband's.

He can't look at him. He absolutely cannot look at him.

He doesn't know what he's doing. It's like he's waiting for the next words of a conversation. For Miliband to fling an argument back at him across the House. It's falling into that rhythm.

David's heart is climbing into his throat. He's holding his breath, or it feels like it. The rapid fluttering in his chest is growing, swelling like a balloon, until David thinks he might just explode.

His finger moves, as though it can't take it a second longer. It curls just slightly.

His finger settles over Miliband's.

David's heart's breaking through his ribs. His breath stutters into a tiny, shaky little gasp. His entire body is electric, almost quivering, as though he's very slowly lighting up all over, as though he might open his mouth and have light just pour out.

His finger's curled around Miliband's. They're sitting in the dark, legs pressed together, fingers interlinked.

David can feel every inch of Miliband that's pressed against him. He can feel Miliband's breath, taut and held. He can feel the tiny hairs on his arm, one of them brushing David's wrist, sending an electric whisper through him. He can feel that electricity, that stillness, that Miliband being as alert of him as he is of Miliband.

Their fingers are still interlinked.

Miliband's seems to move the slightest inch, pressing deeper into David's.

David's curls a little tighter.

Their fingers are curled around each other.

David's sure he's not breathing.

They sit there, the clatter of dishes being put into ovens and the soft chewing of popcorn and the crackling of the fire too loud and too quiet at once. They sit there, neither of them seeing the screen they're watching, legs pressed together, hearts pounding, stomachs hollow with a strange, swooping longing, fingers curled around each other.

Ed feels Cameron's finger tighten around his. His head swims for a second.

And like he always does to Cameron, he responds. His finger squeezes just gently.

Slowly, pressed up against him, he feels Cameron's shoulder start just slightly to relax.

Neither of them looks at the other. Neither of them breathes.

Their fingers are curled around each other.

 

* * *

 

 

 

"It worked" she'd told Ed calmly, sitting on the settee. Zia had taken Daniel out for a walk. It was important for Daniel to get regular exposure to fresh air. It would help develop his intellectual potential, the research said.

"The treatment."

Ed had stared at her blankly. They only had an hour or so-Justine had checked his calendar very carefully to check that this hour would be free, and then Ed would be back to the office, to carry on writing the manifesto. Justine still had governing proposals to look over for Brookfield. (It was a good idea, she'd decided, to apply to become a governor when they'd moved here. It had the right touch of a progressive ethos-it would be handy for ensuring Daniel was exposed to the right amount of diversity. And it was never too early to improve his chances of getting a place.) If she looked over her latest brief afterwards, Zia might be able to put Daniel to bed. She had already known they wouldn't see Ed again until the next day once he left for work.

Then, Ed's head had jerked slightly. "Oh. Oh. So. You're-"

Justine had nodded, running through the dates again in her head to be sure. "I know we're supposed to wait until we do the test at the hospital, but I decided to take one at home to be sure. Since it's the February cycle that worked, it means I'm a couple of weeks along, but I'll have to tell the doctors to be sure."

"R-right." Ed had nodded to himself, staring off into the middle distance. "Right. Well. That-that'th fabulous news, I-" He'd tugged at his fingers, slid them in and out of each other, eyes wandering around the living room as though he might find a response there. "I-well done."

The words had hung there, ringing, sounding faintly ridiculous. Justine hadn't done anything to be praised for. She'd lain there, and an embryo had been placed in her womb. Nothing more or less. It was like how sorry the doctors had looked when they'd been trying to conceive the first baby, with each test that showed up clear of a blue line.

"I'm sorry" the doctor had said, dropping the third clear stick in the bin, watching the way Ed bit his lip and glanced at her, then away, as though waiting for her reaction. "I know how upsetting this must be for you."

Justine had frowned. She wasn't upset. It was irking, of course, that it was taking so long-they'd need to work out when to get the second one, after all. But she wasn't upset. The embryos hadn't survived, hadn't implanted. Discard them, create more.

"For couples, this is normal. It's perfectly usual to go on to conceive after many failed attempts-"

"I understand that" Justine had told him too calmly. "We'll just have to start again. The embryo that was fertilised didn't implant, did it?"

The doctor had looked at her very gravely. "No. I'm afraid not."

"Well. We'll just have to discard the embryos from this cycle. We knew some would be-be defective, it's best to get it out of the way, I suppose."

The doctor had stared at her, but only for a second too long. Justine had reached for Ed's hand, placed it firmly in her lap, where she put her own hands around it, like holding a stone.

"I thought it probably wouldn't happen thith fast" Ed had said suddenly, that day in the living room.

Justine had taken a deep breath. "I know. It's not ideal. I was hoping these cycles would just be the practice ones, but...it worked."

"Well-when-when are you due? You know, when will the baby be-"

"I don't know yet for sure, but I worked out that if it was February, then around October-October, November, it should be-"

"So Daniel will be-16, 17 months-"

Justine had taken a deep breath, the same way she had in the bathroom when she'd first done the maths in her head, fingers pressing into her temples. "I know. It's not ideal-but we had no way of knowing it would happen so quickly, and-"

"It'th a close age gap-"

"Yes, I know." Justine had snapped the words out, because it was _too_ close. It should have been one of the later cycles.

It _should_ have been. After all the trouble David and Louise had had had, Justine had almost been relying on it. Two years was a good age gap-two or three. And now they'd be too close together.

"Well, why did you want to-th-start so early-"

"Because I didn't _know."_ Justine had been more and more infuriated by this thought, that'd niggled and niggled under her skin all day, jabbing at a throbbing _It worked_ over and over again. She'd done all the research, she'd planned it so carefully, and yet she hadn't _known_ and it hasn't _worked._

For a moment, her hands had clenched, wanting to grip at her stomach, her fists wanting to pound. Because it was in there even now, growing and thriving, and too _soon,_ jolting everything out of plan.

"We won't have an abortion" she'd said to her stomach, barely realising she was speaking out loud. "We pushed too hard to start the treatments."

Ed's head had jerked up violently, his face almost twisting with shock. "We don't need an abortion!"

The shocked reproach in his tone had been enough for Justine to stare at him and then quite suddenly, her hand stiffening at her side, to want to slap him.

He wasn't the one who was pregnant. He wasn't the one who'd been planning it all carefully, right from when they'd been together about a year and Justine had noted quietly that they made a good combination.

When she'd stared at the third pregnancy test in the bathroom that afternoon-one for each cycle that _shouldn't have worked_ -she'd found herself drawing deep gasps of air, her hair yanked hard between her fingers, the flare of pain in her scalp a quiet little scream, not enough.

It was ruined. It was too soon, wouldn't work properly, and it _wasn't how it was supposed to be._

Justine had dug her nails hard into the back of her hand, the ledge next to the toilet digging into the back of her thighs, forcing herself to breathe slowly. It wasn't a disaster.

There would be two. That had been the first priority, getting two. She'd squeezed her eyes shut, finishing up, washing her hands slowly, clenching them when they shook.

It wasn't the plan, but they'd work around it. They'd work around it.

She'd felt her shoulders shake a little, drawn in a long, quavering breath. _It's all right. It's all right._

She'd looked down at her stomach, picturing it in there, growing. Growing and growing, until it was a baby curled up, ready to come out, but early, just a few months too _early._

She'd been drawing deep gasps of air, her hands digging into the cabinet. _It's gone wrong. It's gone wrong._

Justine had pushed herself upright slowly. She'd stared at herself in the mirror, taking in her flushed cheeks, the muss of her hair. Her eyes, too wide and frightened, grasping for what came next.

Justine had looked at herself for a long moment, forcing her eyes to roam every inch of her face. Then she'd taken a slightly deeper breath, straightened her shoulders, stiffened her hand at her side and, staring into her eyes staring back from the mirror, she'd lifted her hand and slapped herself once, hard, round the face, sending her gaze snapping round, the room spinning around her.

She'd managed to stay upright, hanging onto the edges of the sink, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths, one by one. She'd stayed there, standing still, until she was sure she wasn't going to fall or cry or both.

Then she'd run the tap carefully. She'd splashed her face with cold water, blinking it out of her eyes, taking deep, slow breaths, until she could stare straight back at herself in the mirror and not cry, her left cheek stinging bright red, the shape of her own hand burning back at her.

 

* * *

 

 

Ed tries to turn over, but his cheek presses too deeply into the pillow. He tries lying on his back, but he can only lie like that for a moment before something itches or he kicks at the covers and then he's uncomfortable again.

He can't sleep, which is ironic since this is one of the most comfortable beds he's ever been in.

Brilliant. Now if he can't stay awake at breakfast, he can add Cameron worrying Ed doesn't think much of his hospitality to the list of things to dwell on-and _bam,_ he's back to Cameron.

The same way _every other thought_ has been since-

Ed still doesn't know how they let go of each other's hands. He's still not sure how he managed not to _faint_ when the episode was over, when Elwen switched the lights back on, making them all squint in the sudden brightness, throwing Cameron's face into sharp relief. Ed's eyes had caught a startled, stolen glance of the soft lines under Cameron's eyes before he'd yanked his gaze away, fixing it on the floor, his entire body trembling very slightly, as though he'd been plugged into something.

Thank God that they'd let go before the lights came back on.

Thank God, or whatever, because-

Because-

Ed can't think about it without his heartbeat drumming in his throat.

He feels _plugged in_. He lies here, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, trying to keep his mind empty and calm and so not let it touch that lightning-flash moment of Cameron's finger bumping into his own.

Not to touch that tingling, fluttering-heartbeats moment of the heat of Cameron's finger creeping over his own. That key-in-a-lock feeling, a key being turned by Cameron's finger settling around his own, like it was meant to be there all along, opening up-

Ed takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut.

His heart's pounding hard enough that Ed's stomach swoops with each beat.

He feels plugged in. Taut. Wired. Even though his eyes are heavy, each time they close, his brain seizes that moment in a shriek of wakefulness.

Cameron's finger wrapping around his own.

Ed shrinks back from it, while prodding at the edges of the memory nervously, like a cut he's not sure will hurt or not.

He digs his fingers into the duvet, tries to think.

It doesn't have to mean anything. It-

It could have been-

He tries frantically to think-

Maybe Cameron was just-

_What?_

Why would he-

Maybe Ed had imagined the whole thing.

A part of Ed soars wildly with hope at that thought. Maybe-maybe it's just-

But-

The way his heart's pounding-

The electric, taut, awake feeling-buzzing through his entire body-

Just imagined-

Maybe-

Maybe it had just been automatic? Maybe Cameron had felt Ed's finger touch his and just-just automatically gripped back? The same way he glances at Ed when Ed glances at him-

It could be.

It _could_ be.

Ed doesn't feel any better.

But why else would Cameron-

Ed feels Cameron's finger tighten around his own again. His own curls.

Why would _Ed-_

Ed turns over firmly, staring into the dark. It's nothing, he tells himself firmly. It's just-

Just one of those things.

They'll never talk about it again.

But-

Ed nearly punches his pillow.

_Why-_

_Why_ did Cameron-

Why did _Ed-_

He feels his own finger, circling around Cameron's again.

Ed shoves his head into the pillow with a groan.

He-

He didn't mean-

He just _did_ it.

Ed drags his thoughts back from the press of Cameron's leg against his, from the warm nudge of his hand-

Why did Ed-

He didn't even _think-_

He just-

 _Did_ it.

Ed flops over onto his back, stares up at the ceiling. His eyes prickle.

 _Why?_ Was it just automatic-Cameron did it, so-

Was he-

Did he-

Ed can feel that swooping in his stomach. That balloon swelling in his chest as their finger brushed, then flinched back from each other.

Did he-

Did he want to-

But why would he-

Ed sees those lines under Cameron's eyes again. He can picture that Cameron smile deepening them, creasing them into his skin with each grin.

Is he picturing or is he remembering-

And that just reminds him of-

Did he _want-_

Ed's breath rises in a swift, hard sob.

He squeezes the pillow hard.

Shut up. Shut _up._

It's _stupid._

All Cameron _did_ was-

 _He's_ probably not lying awake worrying.

It's probably just a _Cameron_ thing. _He_ didn't act any differently after.

Maybe he-

Maybe he just-

Ed rolls over, presses his face into his hands.

God, what the hell was he _thinking?_

Ed yanks the other pillow over his head, groaning. What does it-how can it-

Why didn't he just yank his bloody hand _away?_

Ed groans, flops over onto his side. But his heart's beating rapidly, thinking about that moment, the moment Cameron's finger tightened around his own, the way something soared in Ed's chest, the way his cheeks had burnt, he-

Ed opens his eyes, lying very still in the dark. His heart is pounding. His stomach is swooping. His breath catches in his throat, his skin prickling as he feels their fingers tightening together, both at once, and the jolt in Ed's heartbeat, Cameron's skin pressed against his-

This is ridiculous.

Ed sits up, knowing it won't do any good, but too restless to carry on trying to sleep. He needs something to occupy him.

He'd asked Cameron about any alarms they put on at night, so he knows they don't need to worry about heading downstairs. (The alarms, apparently, can be left off when kids are staying, the security guards outside providing ample protection.)

Ed almost curses at how cold it is as he makes his way down the stairs-even wrapped tight in a dressing gown, his bare feet flinch at the cold of the flagstones, so he almost hops as he makes his way over to his coat. It takes a couple of seconds of cold rummaging before he finds what he's looking for, and then he hurries back up the stairs as quickly as he can.

He reaches the landing, glances down at the little bundle in his hand, and someone's hand touches his arm.

The only things that prevent Ed from screaming out loud are the sheer cold still aching in his bones and the fact that at the exact same moment his chest almost smacks into the other person's. As it is, he manages only a shocked little gasp before he hears the voice.

"Miliband, it's me."

 _"Cameron-"_ Ed smacks his hand over his heart. _"_ Jesus _Christ,_ Cameron-"

Ed can make him out in the dark now, the light from the window giving him an almost ghostly look.

"What?"

"You almothst gave me a fucking heart attack!"

Cameron's mouth twitches in the Cameron smirk, familiar even in the half-darkness. "Think I was a ghost, Miliband?"

Ed glares at him. _"Wish_ you were a ghost" he mutters, and Cameron's smirk deepens, hand still clutching Miliband's wrist.

They both look down at the same moment and pull apart instantly. Ed stares fixedly down at his hand, while David clears his throat ostentatiously and tugs at his dressing gown.

"Um-"

"So-what were you-"

"You th-said the alarm was off, th-so-"

"Oh-oh, yeah, course, I just meant-you know, what was-"

Ed's shivering. So's Cameron, even in his dressing gown. "Um-I-er-"

He's cold and his teeth are chattering, which is the only reason Ed can come up with for what he does next.

Which is manage to stutter "D-do you want to come in?" while pointing towards his half-open bedroom door and for the sound of the words only to hit him a few moments later.

Oh.

"Um-" He can feel himself blushing furiously. One of his feet hits Cameron's, and he pulls it back, nearly clashing their heads together in his haste.

"Um-th-sorry-"

"N-no, it's-"

"It'th your house-"

As if _that's_ the most objectionable part of what he just said.

"Ah-" Cameron falls silent and Ed fixes his gaze on his feet, wishing he could sink into the carpet.

"Um-" Ed looks up to see Cameron glancing at his room meaningfully.

It takes him a moment to click-

"Oh-"

He feels himself blush again at his own tone and awkwardly gestures Cameron in ahead of him. Cameron gives him the quickest of glances as he goes by, a look that makes something jolt pleasantly in Ed's stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

Justine is always thankful when Ed's away because it means she can carry on with some work in bed. It never feels right to be sitting there, reading or listening to music, when she could be getting more work done. Plus, Ed seems to glance at her sometimes, when he's sitting on the bed still fully-dressed, marking at one of his speeches, as though thinking they should talk about things, and it's a distraction. It's a relief when he stays downstairs working, doesn't think he should try and put an arm around her, making her have to fight not to tense up, pushing her head deeper into the pillow.

Tonight, her work's been productive. She's managed to narrow down a couple of photos that they might be able to use in a backdrop. The one of the boys in the park seems to be the best one-it looks natural, and maybe that will overrule the worry about them both not smiling.

Justine places it on the bedside table cautiously, as though it might bite her, before she hastily sweeps the rest into the plastic bag, dropping it down beside the bed out of sight with a sigh of relief. She looks at the photo again, eyes holding her sons' faces for a moment before they dive away.

_They'll be listening. Make sure you talk to him about something innocuous. Safe._

Justine had wondered just how that would work, but it was all right as long as everyone thought that it had.

She'd tried to bring the conversation round to it, telling Ed as they walked down the street that day, the cameras just coming into sight. "It looks better" she'd said, and he'd given her an odd look, but then she'd already been talking. "Daniel's with Zia" she'd said, which he'd known already, but she wanted to give him some impetus.

She hadn't been nervous that day. She'd known Ed thought she was and so she'd let him think that. It was easier if he thought it was her who was nervous.

She'd still been getting used to the idea that she was pregnant with Sam. They didn't yet know that he was a boy. Justine wonders what she'd have thought then if she'd known what would happen less than two months later, when she'd wondered too late if Ed should have held her hand, while she turned her face away, dealing with the indignity of having the cold jelly rubbed on her stomach, telling herself it was a means to an end, the way she would say calmly and firmly to a witness before she put them on the stand to save her case.

 _It's a little boy_ , the doctor's face splitting in a smile, and something hadn't thudded exactly in Justine's chest-more like the echo of a thud. A door slamming shut almost out of hearing range.

Not a girl. Not the right pair. Not a contrast.

She'd lain still for barely a second, fighting down the prickling at the corner of her eyes. Not a pair.

"Right" she'd said, brightly, with the smile she'd already been unfolding deep in her chest, waiting for the cue. She'd turned to look at Ed, with that big, too-wide smile she's seen new mothers give, that she's practiced a few times in the mirror. _What do you think, honey_ the look always seems to say, as if either the woman's brain is so frazzled with happiness that they need to experience it together or it's left her utterly stupid. Justine has no idea what either of these would feel like.

Ed had been looking at her as though waiting for some instruction. Justine had wanted to shake him, just for a moment.

But then he'd managed to do a half-crumpled, half-bewildered smile and she'd realised he was looking at the picture of the baby, Sam's head mostly a blob, then. Justine had forgotten to look before, and she'd turned her head and focused her gaze on the blob on the screen, trying to arrange her face into the rapt gaze necessary, and for once, she'd followed Ed's lead.

She didn't know Sam was a boy, but she could feel him in there, despite the fact she knew it must be imagination at this stage. The baby was a few cells jammed together, barely a blob inside her-there was no way she could feel it jostling inside her with each step she took as though it was already determined to remind her how well the treatment had worked. Maybe that was what had been making her grit her teeth slightly, her jaw wanting to tense as she ran through the list in her head once again of the foods she was supposed to eat at this stage in the pregnancy to maximise the child's potential for intellectual capabilities, and the thought of the maternity leave she'd have to take, jabbing at her over and over, and of how awful it had been last time she'd stood at the window of her office, hearing Daniel bellow angrily, his little fists beating over and over on the bars of his cot, pulling her hands up over her ears, willing it to just shut _up, shut up._

She'd go, lift him under the arms, holding him out in front of her, so the hot, wet force of his outraged crying couldn't smack her in the face, checking his feeding times, patting his nappy, checking the thermometer for the room temperature, yanking up his shirt with one hand, pressing his stomach for signs of bloating or discomfort, ticking off the list before almost pushing him back down into the cot, plonking him down, backing away to the door, turning and almost stumbling in one movement to the door, so she was spared the sight of his angry, crumpled little face.

"He's there for now, with-"

"Where?" Ed had been asking, one eye already on the reporters ahead.

"The farm, because it was last time-it's the City Farm-" off Ed's confused look, making sure to smile, aware of the camera lenses ahead of them. "They went there last time, but it was shut-"

In her mind's eye, she'd seen her own hand almost slap at Daniel's, smacking it away from the bars as he reached for her, his little face red and hating.

"So I said-she might do that-"

"Ed, are you going to stand?" The reporter's voice had been close, much too close, and Justine had clutched her brown handbag tighter automatically, her head ducking hastily, reconsidering the long blue shirt she'd put on. It was in fitting with Ed's genuine, no-spin message, but she wasn't sure how it would look on camera.

Ed had done that awkward smile of his back, trying to see past her. "Looking forward to my speech" he'd said a little too quickly, and it had been all Justine could do not to let her shoulders sink in relief as he gave the answer she'd needed to hear.

"Are you going to _win?"_ the reporter's voice had asked, teasingly, but Ed had ignored this, and so Justine had followed suit.

"Or-" she'd said as they split apart to round a tree, forcing themselves closer together as they came back round for the benefit of the group of cameras now flanking the steps up to the Brunei Gallery.

"Yeah-"

"To, erm-the park-that's where they always go-" before Ed could give her that confused look again-Justine couldn't afford to let it be as much of a mystery to her as to Ed how Daniel spent his days with Zia. She had the odd feeling she was meant to know more than she did, no matter how irking it was. "So, erm-"

She'd been snappish when she'd told Zia that she'd need to take Daniel out that afternoon, having bundled him over as quickly as possible, so that he mewled a little as he was jostled, his chubby arms wrapping around Zia's neck. The sight of him cuddled into Zia, smile denting his chubby baby cheeks as she cooed, had made something clench tightly in Justine's chest.

"He needs fresh air" she'd said, rummaging too fiercely in her handbag "It's meant to help his intellectual development."

"Sure" Zia had said, bouncing Daniel on one hip effortlessly. "We love Hampstead Heath, don't we, Dan-Dan-"

Daniel had made a loud, mewling, happy sound. Zia had cooed at him, pressing her lips to his cheek, and snuggling him into her side.

Justine had pressed her lips together, wondering at the ease with which Daniel cuddled in. He held himself stiffly when she tried to cuddle him, tried to pull his head away when she pressed a self-conscious kiss to his cheek. For a moment, she'd been tempted to ask Zia what she _did_ with Daniel. Justine had tried taking him to the park once or twice, the pram feeling awkward and unwieldy under her hands, Daniel's eyes drifting around, never meeting hers'. She's tried talking to him, commenting vaguely on the weather or pointing at the trees, but Daniel had just glanced around, occasionally burbling vaguely and Justine had given up. She'd seen other mothers pushing their babies like she was, smiling at them like she was trying to, talking to them like she was trying to, but it was working for them. It was working. They didn't have to try.

Justine had looked at them, and then pushed Daniel out of the park and home, jostling the pram too hard so that he made a loud, wailing noise of protest, and Justine had just gripped the handle tighter and looked up and past him, so she wouldn't have to not know what to do, and she hadn't brought Daniel back to the park.

Ed had been tilting his head then, no doubt imagining he was distracting her attention from the cameras gathering ahead. "And what-was he feeling-?"

Justine had tried to clamp down the sudden stab of annoyance that had lanced through her chest. She knew that Ed imagined he was trying to protect her, keep her eyes away from the cameras, because in his pre-scripted, pre-planned picturing of this scene, he's always imagined himself protecting someone-not her, but someone. Justine's never needed him to tell her that-the sheer _wanting_ of it pours out of him like sweat, clinging to him like a stench.

She'd brightened her voice, but the bile had almost spluttered out in a little laugh, anyway. "Well, basically, he couldn't get to _sleep_ -I mean, she just said, er-I got him up-

They were nearing the steps, cameras flashing a little faster. "I got him up, and, er- particularly-"

They'd needed Zia to work later than usual, and so Justine had taken on the job of watching him that morning. She'd made herself smile when Ed suggested it, her nails already carving grooves into her palm as she thought of what she'd do with him. Of what she was meant to do with him.

In some ways, it would have been easier when he was tiny, when all he needed was the basic necessities, plus sleep. When she could leave him in his crib and tell herself it was good for him to sleep.

So that morning, she'd got Daniel up half an hour earlier than usual, fumbling awkwardly as she lifted him, still half-asleep, out of his cot, trying to smile as his cross little face swam into consciousness, wondering whether to try to jolt him awake a little more, consoling herself as she awkwardly unfastened his nappy, tried to give him his bottle, juggled him back and forth in her arms.

Once it was time for him to sleep, she'd be able to put him safely back down.

But he hadn't slept when it was time. Not when Justine tried to rock him back and forth, not when she tried prising open his fingers and folding them closed again around his toy rabbit. Not when she'd tried singing to him, mouthing songs she half-knows but doesn't remember ever being sung to her.

Daniel had just stared back at her, eyes big and grey-blue, long lashes blinking, and something about it had made Justine almost shudder.

He wouldn't sleep. He was awake, his eyes darting and alert, and just too open, and she'd have to stay with him.

Justine had heard herself make a half-frightened sound in her throat, holding Daniel out in front of her as far as possible. She'd taken a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, and Daniel, slipping a little in her grasp, had mewled with fright, indignant at being allowed to slip.

Justine had taken a deep breath, and then another. "Daniel" she'd said, her voice firm and steady and low, because if she let it wander higher, it'd crack. "You need to go to sleep now."

Daniel had made a wet, angry sound, blowing bubbles, little legs kicking slightly back and forth.

"Daniel. This is an important day for Daddy" she'd tried, gripping him harder, even as she held him at arms' length, stopping his hands from reaching her.

"You need to go to sleep for Mummy." Even then, she hated calling herself _Mummy_ -it was like honey flooding her mouth, stoppering her throat, slowly crushing the air out of her in sticky sweetness.

Daniel had made a grizzling sounds, hands curling into fists, and Justine's eyes had fallen on her own doing the same, fingers digging into his little baby-dungarees, both of them clenching at the same time. Daniel's eyes had found hers' again when she looked up somehow, staring back at her. Justine usually thought of babies' gazes, especially her own baby's, as vacuous, empty, drifting from one thing to the next like an object buffeted by the world. But right then, Daniel had stared back at her, watching her hold him out in front of her and feeling her hands shake and watching her mouth quiver because he wasn't _working._

"I got you up" she'd said to him, her voice low, though she didn't realise until later it was shaking. Her hands gripped him tighter, as though she could squeeze exhaustion into him. "I got you up early. I know you're tired. So _sleep."_

She didn't realise how loudly her voice had pealed, how hard she was gripping him until Daniel's grizzles peaked suddenly into a small wail, his little face scrunched up, his eyelashes spiky wet, his little legs thrashing.

Justine had stared at him, the sobbing angry little mess of a baby, and through the tears smearing his cheeks and the red, angry little cave of his mouth, he'd looked back at her, grey-blue eyes wider, grabbing her own so she couldn't look away. She used to try to convince both Ed and herself that Daniel's eyes were like her own.

"You need to rest" she said, and though she loosened her grip on him because good mothers didn't squeeze babies, her voice had stiffened as though she was holding herself in a freezing wind. "You need to go to sleep, Daniel." Because she needed to get work done, because she needed to go to Ed's speech, because she needed to make sure he got there, because he needed to make his announcement, because they needed to get it done.

Daniel's wail rose suddenly louder, almost in defiance of her eyes. Her eyes and her hands and her voice, and he was seeing and hearing and drawing them in, and she couldn't put him down, she had to be there, had to hold him, had to watch him, because she and Ed needed to get this _done-_

"Daniel, be quiet" she tried, but Daniel was wailing now, louder and louder the more she spoke, and she was saying, almost through clenched teeth "Shut up. Shut up. _Shut up"_ like her own heartbeat, louder and louder until the words were clashing with his cries, hitting him in the face as she shouted, squeezing his eyes shut as he screamed, still louder than her.

She wasn't sure how long it was before the works sank in, before she was taking a deep breath, feeling it teeter in her chest as she turned very slowly around and walked up the stairs, holding Daniel out in front of her, hearing his screams bounce off the walls, feeling them bounce off her and bounce away, and there'd be another one and another one and another one, beating with her pulse through her brain, leaving her dizzy.

She'd walked into Daniel's room, already scrabbling frantically for the baby monitor, flipping the slight buzzing into silence as she strode across the room. She plonked Daniel down a little too hard in his cot so that he screamed even more angrily at being jostled, and she'd walked out of his room without looking back, slamming the door shut too quickly behind her, leaving him alone with his screaming, away from her.

Then they'd been at the bottom of the steps, outside the Gallery, and Justine had known then that they were there, that Ed was here, that she'd got him to the speech, to the announcement, and she wouldn't have to pretend to be nervous, not the way Ed thought she was.

When Zia arrived, Daniel had fallen silent and Justine was sitting on the couch, working. He'd fallen asleep a while back, she explained. He was a little fussy beforehand, but she'd got him down all right. She'd been able to get some work done, she'd laughed. And now, she had to go and get ready for Ed's speech.

And now they were here, turning up the steps, and the cameras were swinging round, ready to focus in on them, and it should have worked, it should have _worked,_ and so she'd said casually "I don't think he slept for about an hour."

She'd laughed, the sound high and too taut while her insides had pulled tight as a drumskin, but that laugh stretched its' way out.

It had been inside, once Ed had finally remembered to introduce her to someone after she'd been left to do it on the steps and at the door with _This is Justine_ , rushed out so quickly it sounded like just her name, with one stumbled gesture at her after she'd dragged her hand away from her hair, the same gesture it had perfected in those first few weeks at Cambridge when everyone else's hair had been smoothed and in place and _right_ , but not hers'. It wouldn't work.

Ed had started to walk away, with barely a backward glance at her, which felt better, familiar and Justine had taken a long, deep breath and felt her shoulders slump in relief and a smile spring to her face because he was here. She'd got him here and got him in and it had worked. She'd done everything she possibly could, no matter how many times she scanned her memory.

And now that he was walking away, she smiled because now she could stop and savour the fact that she'd got him here, all the way here, that she'd got him to think of it, that she'd got him in there, thinking that it was nervousness for herself that had made her chatter so determinedly. Not for him.

She'd been waiting for him to back away the moment she saw the cameras, hovering like black wasps. (When Justine was little, she'd watched her hand once as a wasp sat on it and waited and waited, her heart thudding, and when the sting had lanced through her hand she'd screamed, her head back, mouth shrill with pain and shock and the sweet, sweet relief of knowing that someone would have to look now.)

That day, she'd known Ed was waiting, that heart-trapped, trembling waiting, and then, when she'd stepped back to him, bringing them too close together, she'd pushed him gently forward without touching him at all.

Now, Justine gathers the photos up, piles them neatly on her bedside table. The one in the park will look good. Natural, unstaged. What they want to emphasise. She curls up on her side, switches out the light.

It's as her eyes catch the glint of light on the glass of the photo as she lies there, cheek pressed into the pillow, already counting herself to sleep, that she notices Daniel's eyes. She looks for a moment, then props herself up on her elbow, her eyes tracing the photo. Daniel's head's tilted back, face almost but not quite crumpled in a frown. His eyes are fixed on the camera or whoever's taking the picture, challengingly.

It's then that Justine realises why she remembers that day-why she remembers how Daniel wouldn't sleep. There'd been a moment when he'd cried, taken a breath in heaving fits of sobs, and she'd lifted him a little higher, further away, that she'd realised he was watching her. Even through the mess of red and noise and tears of his face, he was watching her, watching her stare at him, watching her get it wrong, knowing until she carried him up the stairs and placed him in the cot and closed the door on him, on him knowing and him crying and him _needing._ He didn't stop _needing._

Justine reaches out as slowly as she can make herself and turns her sons' photograph over. She turns away on her side, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, counting louder and louder, and knowing somehow, without knowing how, from that look in the photo, the same look he'd worn the day Ed made his announcement, that it was one of them who'd taken the picture.

 

* * *

 

 

Ed winces a little at the click of the door shutting behind him. He hurries to the bed though, almost scrambling under the duvet, letting out a shuddering sigh at the warmth that soaks into his feet almost immediately, creeping up his body.

He's so busy savouring the warmth that it takes him a moment to notice that Cameron's still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, shivering slightly, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Oh-"

Ed looks around for a blanket. Cameron's wearing a dressing gown, but-"Oh God, I-"

"No, no, no, I'm fine-"

"Don't be stupid, it's freezing-"

Ed tugs at the duvet on autopilot, wondering if there's another duvet and then Cameron steps towards the bed.

"Oh-" He freezes.

"Oh-" Cameron steps back.

Ed glances at the duvet, still reaching for it, and then it clicks. Heat floods his cheeks.

"Oh. Oh, God, I-"

"Erm-sorry-"

"Oh God-"

"Yeah, ah-no, I-"

"No, I-" Ed wants to dissolve into the mattress. "I juth-st-"

Cameron shivers again.

"M-maybe-maybe you-" Ed stammers, still so embarrassed he can't lift his head. "I meant-a blanket-a duvet-I meant-"

"I-I know-" Cameron's teeth are chattering.

Ed tugs at the duvet. Then he taps it again.

"Um."

His cheeks are burning.

"You can-you can-use-um-th-some of the duvet-to-you-"

He doesn't know what else to do, how to ask Cameron. So he just pats the duvet awkwardly, and stares at it as though he could disappear into it.

"Um-it's-"

"No-it'th-no-you're cold-"

"I can-"

"Cameron." Ed's voice is low and firm. He has no idea where it comes from.

He has no idea where _this_ comes from, come to that.

He doesn't know if it's his tone or his voice. He's staring furiously at the duvet cover.

He doesn't look, but he feels Cameron move. Feels him step across, lift up the duvet cover, lower himself to the mattress very slowly as though it might disappear if he blinks at the wrong moment, moves a little too fast.

Ed fixes his eyes on the envelope in his hands. He stares at it, making sure, stupidly, to notice the exact crease where the folds, the slight bump of the contents. He stares at it, while Cameron settles very slowly on the mattress next to him, tugs the duvet over himself.

Ed's heart's pounding so hard nausea wavers in his throat and chest.

He can't look at Cameron. He can't look at-

He can't not-

His head darts up and he grabs a glance.

Cameron's perched almost at the very edge of the mattress.

He's-

"Oh, for pity'th sake." The irritation in Ed's voice makes his heart slow, the nausea recede a little. It's familiar, welcome, like a blanket of its' own.

"You can move in a bit" he says brusquely, trying not to let his gaze roam too near Cameron's. "I won't-"

His voice trails off.

"Fine" he mutters, face flaming. Oh God, why hadn't he just kept his mouth shut-

He can't look at Cameron but he _knows_ his mouth is twitching, he _knows_ it.

The mattress lowers a little under him as Cameron scootches nearer. When Ed dares to glance up again, Cameron's sitting much nearer again. He can almost feel the heat coming off of him.

Ed hastily looks away, then looks back again.

Cameron's mouth twitches as their eyes meet.

Ed looks away, embarrassed. He can feel a smile twitching at his own lips.

He glances back at Cameron. Cameron's still looking at him, wrapped in his dressing gown. Ed doesn't dare look down at the T-shirt he's wearing. Oh God, what the hell did he choose to wear, he just thought it was for sleeping-

They stare at each other, and then, almost without warning, both dissolve into giggles.

Ed can't meet Cameron's eyes and can't not meet them. He's giggling, his cheeks burning. Cameron's in the same condition next to him.

"I juth-st meant-" Ed has no idea what he's going to say next, but he's giggling ridiculously. Cameron shakes his head, still laughing.

Ed rolls over, stuffs a corner of the duvet in his mouth to muffle the giggles. He has no idea why he's shaking with laughter, why the fact Cameron's in exactly the same condition makes Ed feel like a balloon is swelling in his chest again.

God, he can't stand what Cameron _does_ , but, but-

Slowly, he manages to calm his laughter, roll back over to face Cameron. Cameron's still sniggering a little, but he's on his side, watching Ed quietly. Ed watches him back, feeling that smile still pushing at the corners of his mouth.

They watch each other. Ed feels shy, almost like he's not sure whether he wants to keep looking or not.

"What's that?" Cameron points at the envelope.

"What? Oh-" Ed glances at it, then at Cameron. It's not as if it's a secret. He just didn't think Cameron would be-

Slowly, he pulls the envelope towards them and lets it fall open.

 

* * *

 

 

David tries keeping his eyes on the envelope. It allows him to avoid looking at Miliband's face.

Or that too-big T-shirt he's wearing. Or his too-dark eyes.

His leg twitches slightly, feeling the warmth of the bed soaking into him.

He tries not to notice how close Miliband's leg could be to his own, if he moved it.

But then his eyes fall on the contents of the envelope and he blinks, forgetting, for a moment, where they are.

"Is that _you?"_

Miliband blushes, and snatches the photograph back. David grabs at his hand. "No, no, no-please, it was-"

He doesn't know whether it's the _please_ that gets Miliband's attention or not. But after a moment, and a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, Miliband slowly relinquishes his grip on the photo, allowing David to get a closer look at it.

"Is that you?" he asks again, his voice softer now, and this time, he gets a nod in reply.

The picture shows a man who looks a bit like Ed, but taller, broader. He's wearing glasses, and even though he's smiling, his face has an odd, natural sternness about it, as though afraid to let itself relax into complete happiness.

But David's eyes are fixed on the baby.

Part-baby, part-toddler, the little child in the man's arms is at the stage where they could be counted as either or both. If David didn't know, he could have made an equal guess at the baby being a boy or a girl. The baby's hair is shoulder-length dark curls, almost a bob, and his chubby cheeks are creased in a nervous smile. His legs and arms and hands all bear the adorable baby chubbiness that fills David with an urge to cuddle the baby close, despite the fact that baby is now the fully-grown man fidgeting awkwardly next to him.

The baby seems to be in mid-baby-chatter to himself-David feels a pang of something- _typical Miliband_ -but he stares a second longer at the man's arms around the baby.

Not really arms. Hands. The man's holding the baby firmly, hands clasped around his waist, but not in the way David holds a baby, cuddled close into his chest or snuggled into his shoulder. The man's holding the baby against him but oddly firmly, like sliding a cog into place, and under the smile, there's a crease of confusion as if wondering quite what to do with it. He's holding it a little too tightly, like a parcel.

David takes a closer look at the photo. "Are those _underpants_ you're wearing?"

Miliband snatches at the photo. David grabs his hand, but holds it gently. "Hey-hey-"

"They were not _underpantth."_ Miliband purses his lips as he slowly relinquishes the photo, clearly struggling to salvage as much dignity as possible. "It'th baby shorts."

_"Baby shorts?"_

Miliband blushes ferociously.

He glares at David. David gives him a grin. "You are quite adorable."

He freezes. So does Miliband.

"I don't-I-" David points at the photo. "I meant in the-you know-"

"Y-yeah-" Miliband agrees too quickly. They both stare too hard at the picture.

Miliband clears his throat and reaches for another photo. This one makes David laugh out loud.

"Oh, Miliband-"

"What?"

"You're just so-"

The word hovers at David's lips. _Sweet._

But Miliband does look sweet, and it's quite clearly Miliband in the photo. He's much older now, about twelve, and with another look, David can tell it seems to be a school photograph or something like that. Miliband's head is tilted to the side, with a small, shy smile. His teeth stick out the tiniest bit. He's staring at the camera, eyes a little wide.

"How old were you there?" David turns the photo over, looking for a date.

"Um. Not sure. 11, 12?" Miliband moves over to squint at the photo. "Think it was for school, though-"

"Mmm." David smiles. "You look so-"

"What?" Miliband's eyes meet his.

David stares back at him. There's a long silence.

"Nothing. Just-" David swallows. "You look nice."

His voice is soft. Softer than he'd have expected.

He clears his throat, glances back at the photo. "Um-"

Ed shakes another few photos out, and David stares at them-

" _Oh."_ He pounces on one and Ed scrabbles for it. "Give that back."

"Miliband, is that _you-"_

"Shut _up."_ Miliband manages to successfully wrest the photo away, but David still gets another glimpse of the huge grin he's wearing in the picture.

"Oh, _Miliband-"_

"Where's the-" If Miliband was blushing before, it's nothing compared to what he's doing now. "Where-where are the embarrathing phototh of you as a kid, then-go on, get them out-"

"You want me to show you baby photos?"

Miliband pouts defiantly. "Yeah. If you're looking at mine-"

"All right." David claps his hands, swings his legs out of bed.

"W-where are you going-"

David winks. "Back in a minute."

 

* * *

 

 

When Cameron reappears, Ed finds excitement stirring a little in his chest. He has no idea what to do next, but somehow, that doesn't bother him.

"Here we are-" Cameron scrambles back into the bed. Ed shifts over for him, and inspects what Cameron holds in his hands.

There's a little boy staring out at him from the photograph. His legs are folded, hands resting on his knees. It's so obviously Cameron that Ed almost laughs. His face, with a child's chubbiness, stares straight at the camera, freckles all over his cheeks. He has floppy brown hair and a dimpled grin, dressed in a school blazer.

"Eton" Cameron says, in response to Ed's unanswered question. "Not sure how old I was-about 13-must have been my first year, after Heatherdown-"

Ed stares at the photo, mouth twitching. "Where-you're-"

He can't find the words.

"You're th-so-"

He trails off, embarrassed.

He pushes the photo away.

"Oh, come on, I wasn't that bad" Cameron says, a laugh still in his voice.

Ed shakes his head. "No, no, no, it'th juth-st that-"

He can feel Cameron's fingers wrapped around his wrist, earlier on the landing.

"Cameron." He says it, staring at the duvet. His voice is small, wavering.

Cameron's watching him. He can feel it. He can feel his smirk fading. "Yeah?"

Ed doesn't know. Doesn't know what, doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know what he-he-

"Cameron." His voice is wavering, weak. He keeps his gaze fixed on the duvet cover. "Cameron, I-"

David's watching him. "Yeah?"

His breath brushes the shell of Ed's ear. It sends a warm shiver down Ed's spine.

Ed's head tilts and then he's looking at Cameron, and Cameron's watching Ed back. His head is tilted, his eyes very, very blue. He's near enough that Ed can feel the heat in his cheeks, the warmth of his skin.

He's near enough that-

"C-Cameron-"

Cameron blinks. "Yes?"

Ed stares at him, his blue eyes just an inch away. If he tilts his head, his nose will brush Cameron's.

Ed stares at him. And then turns his face away.

"Nothing" he says, staring at the photo, his heart racing, his whole body seeming to just _sink_ with something. "Juth-st-how long were you at Heatherdown?"

 

* * *

 

 

David blinks. Not that the question's unusual, but-

He'd thought Miliband might be about to ask something-

Something-

It doesn't matter.

"Um-six years, I think, or thereabouts-I went there when I was seven, started at Eton the year I turned thirteen-"

Ed smiles. David knocks his arm gently. "Holding back a crack about _typical Etonian?"_

Miliband smirks. "No. Was going to ask which of them wrecked a restaurant with you-"

"And there it is." David taps his nose without thinking. Miliband jumps a little.

David stares at him, then drops his hand a little too fast.

When did he start doing things like that with _Miliband?_

Just casually.

When-

Miliband smirks at the sight of another photo of David-he thinks this one was taken in Portugal. He grins at the sight of himself, sitting shirtless at a table, eating breakfast.

"One of our first foreign holidays" he says, in answer to Ed's unspoken questions. "We were in Portugal."

"How old were you?"

David shrugs. "Teenager. Fourteen, fifteen. We hadn't really been abroad before." He squints at the picture. "Think that's Alex" he says, pointing to the older boy sitting next to him at the table. "We had to give that one to the press, that's why we cut him out, but I think that's him."

Ed smiles. "You look younger."

David nudges him. "So do you in yours. Everyone always thinks you're younger than you are."

Miliband snorts. David glances back at the photo. "If I was fifteen, you would have been-"

Miliband stares at the photo too. "Twelve."

David glances at him. "Hmm. How would you have seen me then?"

"What-"

"If we'd met then-" David nudges him. "What would you have thought?"

Miliband arches an eyebrow. "If you hadn't ignored me or whatever Etonians do-"

David sighs. "You know, it's OK for you to hate _me,_ but you are being rather unfair to the abundant number of others having their school's name used as an insult."

The words come out a little more harshly than he intends.

Miliband stares at him, but David has no intention of looking away. He stares back.

Finally, Miliband speaks.

"I didn't mean that like-" Miliband's voice trails off, and then "And I think you know by now I don't hate you."

His eyes are on David's now. David stares back at him for a long heartbeat.

This time it's him who looks away, back at the photos.

"That one-" he points at the photo of Ed with the big smile, sitting on his father's lap. "That-"

He points to the other little boy in the picture, sitting next to them on the couch. His hair is like Ed's-it's shoulder-length, but even darker. He's looking to the side in a blue zip-up jersey, as if talking to someone, lips slightly parted, not smiling at all.

"That's David, isn't it?"

Ed stares at the picture for a second, before his eyes wander away. "Mmmhmm."

 

* * *

 

 

Ed vaguely remembers the photo being taken, but he doesn't say that. He remembers the unfamiliar feeling of being perched on Dad's knee, the bones of his kneecap jutting into Ed's thigh. He remembers that David had had to sit next to them on the couch. Maybe that's what's making Ed smile in the picture. He's not sure.

Something about the picture makes something swell in Ed's throat.

He can feel Cameron watching him, and so he pushes the photo away a little too quickly.

He reaches for another picture and grins as he gets a look at another one of little Cameron. His hair's flatter in this one, brushed down, and he looks a little younger, but he's in the same blazer. Ed smiles a little. Cameron's not smiling in this picture, but something about his expression is endearing-he looks almost nervous, a way Ed's very rarely seen Cameron's face look in adulthood.

"How old were you there?"

Cameron glances at the picture and immediately stiffens. His eyes widen the slightest fraction.

"Oh." If Ed weren't used to scrutinizing Cameron's expressions, he might be fooled by the casual tone. "Oh. Um. About 10."

He moves the photo a little too quickly. Ed glances at him. Cameron's eyes flicker to his for barely a second, then away. Ed watches him.

"Um-"

He wavers. He's not used to asking Cameron things like this.

"Are you-are you all right?"

Cameron blinks. "What? Me? Yeah, yeah, fine-"

He smiles a little too widely.

Ed looks back at him. "You're not nearly as good at lying as you think you are" he says quietly.

Cameron blinks, looking away too quickly. "Who says I'm lying?"

Ed speaks quietly. "I do."

Cameron's eyes meet his. Ed looks back, feeling something swelling in his chest, something aching and making his eyes prickle.

He could just-put his arm up and around-

Cameron glances back at the photos, and Ed clamps his arm firmly to his side.

 

David hasn't seen that photo in years.

He's not sure how old he was, knows he was at Heatherdown when it was taken, but he can't seem to focus on anything other than the look on his own face.

Too-wide eyes. Blazer slightly too big. Staring straight at the camera. The grown man in front of him, shoulder almost brushing his arm.

David hasn't seen that photo in years. He pushes it away from him, a little too quickly, before Ed, next to him, lets out a muffled squawk.

 

* * *

 

 

"Is that _you?"_ Ed feels his own face split into a grin at the sight of Cameron, crammed into a row of other Eton students, dressed in tails with a moody pout on his face.

But it's the hair.

"Is that a _perm?"_

"Oh, very good-"

Ed cackles in delight. "You had a _perm?"_

" _No_ , I did not have a _perm."_ Cameron rolls his eyes at the sight of Ed in hysterics over the picture. "It was just a-"

" _Half_ a perm?"

"It is not _half a perm-"_

"Did you think you were in a band?"

"Oh, shut up-"

"You had a _perm-"_

"How old are you?"

"How old were _you?"_

David squints at the picture. "About-fifteen, there, I think." Off Miliband's smirk, David rolls his eyes. "Why? What was your big rebellion?"

Miliband's still laughing, but at David's words, something catches in his eyes.

"I-um-" He pushes his hair back. "I didn't really rebel, I th-suppose."

David gives him a mock double-take. " _No."_

Miliband glares at him, worries at his lip. "Actually, no."

David snorts, gives him a nudge. "You are such a geek."

Usually, this makes Miliband grin. Today, the look seems a little strained.

Searching to lighten the mood, David turns back to his own pile and places another photo in front of Miliband. "Here-"

Miliband glances at it, eyes brightening a little. "Who's-is that _you?"_

A fat, happy baby beams out at the camera, its' little fists drumming into the air. Ed stares at it, delight spreading over his face.

David grins. "Me. Baby David."

Miliband stares at him for a moment, then back at the picture. His lips purse as he ducks his head slightly.

"What?" David asks, trying for a joking tone.

"Nothing." Miliband shakes his head. "Just-you look-" He glances again at the laughing baby in front of him.

"Sweet." His voice is very quiet.

David swallows. His breathing suddenly seems far too loud in the quiet bedroom. Miliband seems far too close.

David looks away hastily, back at Miliband's pile of photos, and his eyes light on one. He grins, reaching for it. "What's this?"

 

* * *

 

 

Ed peers at the picture and his whole body cringes. Oh God.

"That-that'th me, I'm afraid-" Ed tries to laugh, but he can't help but cringe again as he catches another glimpse of the photo.

"Oh, _Miliband-"_ Cameron's voice dissolves into laughter. "Miliband-oh God, you were so-"

Ed tries to glare at him, ignoring the feeling of his cheeks burning. "I wath perfectly-"

"You look so-" Cameron shakes his head. " _Miliband-"_

Ed glares at the awkward, hideously huge glasses he's wearing.

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen" Ed manages to get out through gritted teeth.

Cameron grins, studying the picture. Ed winces once again.

"I can't believe that's you. Actually, I _can_ believe that's you-"

"Th-shut up-"

Cameron laughs. "You're so-"

Ed looks at the huge, plastic glasses frames and winces.

Cameron laughs. "Though, to be fair, you look rather passable for a 13-year-old."

"Oh, thank you th-so much."

"Nah. I mean, look at you. You look-you know."

Cameron's cheeks look distinctly pinker, even in the half-darkness. "Quite-"

Ed shifts awkwardly, his own cheeks too warm. They glance at one another, then away.

"I mean, you don't have acne or anything" Cameron says overbrightly.

Ed snorts so hard he actually jumps. "Oh, thankth very much."

"What? It's a compliment-"

"You muth-st have been fantath-stic with girls-"

"I was, actually."

"Is that the average line you use-"

"Why?" And Cameron's suddenly watching him closely in the dark, his eyes roaming over Ed's face. Ed stares back at him, the air suddenly a little heavier between them. "Are you saying you want me to use lines for girls on you, Miliband?"

The words hang there in the air, between Ed's heartbeats.

"Um-" His tongue traces his bottom lip nervously. "I-ah-"

Cameron's still watching him. The room suddenly seems far warmer than it did a few moments ago.

"Ah-" Ed's forgotten the words.

Cameron stares at him. "Miliband."

"Yeah?" Ed answers far too quickly.

Cameron stares at him for another moment. Then, abruptly, he shakes his head a little. "Nah, it's-"

"What?" Ed doesn't mean to speak so quietly.

Cameron glances at him. Ed's heart gives an odd leap as their eyes meet.

Cameron stares at him for a moment. Then he just reaches for the photograph. "Nothing. Is that your dad?"

 

* * *

 

 

David is careful not to look too closely at Ed, careful to keep his eyes on the picture. He tries not to let his hands tremble.

"Oh." Miliband lies back a little, still holding the photo. "Oh. Well. Yeah, that's, that's Dad-"

He props himself up a little on his pillow, the photo on his chest, still staring at it. David, watching him, unconsciously assumes the same position, holding his hands over his chest.

"How old were you?"

Ed considers, squinting at the photograph. "About 13, I think. It would have been the 1983 election, we were leafleting-th-so yeah, 13-"

David grins. "You mean for that lauded Prime Minister Michael Foot?"

"Th-shut up-"

David bursts out laughing, flopping onto his back. "Do you remember-"

He's remembering just last year in the House, leaning on the dispatch box, watching Miliband across the floor, feeling a strange wriggle of delight at the sight of Miliband's lips pursing.

_"In the, er-in the '83 general election-" David had had to tilt his head back to see Baldry, then peered back at his papers, Baldry taking his time with his words._

_"A 13-year-old boy delivered leaflets around my constituency, pledging that Michael Foot-er, would take Labour out of the European Union-"_

_There'd been a few "Hear, hears", but that had been enough to tip David off that something was coming. He'd glanced up, peering over his glasses at Baldry, whose eyes were already twinkling._

_"Erm-does my Right Honourable Friend find it strange that same boy-now Leader of the Labour Party-"_

_The laughter had rippled out like a wave. David had glanced at Miliband automatically, who was glaring at his notes, feeling a grin twitch at his own mouth._

_"Erm-isn't willing, er-" Baldry was clearly struggling not to laugh himself, over the growing peals of mirth around him. "Either to support, er-the renegotiation of Britain's terms and membership of the European Union, or to pledge to support to trust the people of Britain in a referendum on our membership of the European Union?"_

_Baldry was already sitting down, his last few words almost drowned out by the automatic waves of cheers rising, along with the laughter still bubbling along the benches. David had been grinning himself, arching an eyebrow across the dispatch box at Miliband, who'd been staring back, clearly trying to look as unruffled as possible, which was almost endearing._

_"Well, I-" He'd leant on the dispatch box himself, turning round to glance at the Tory backbenchers. "I-I've always thought it's terribly unfair to hold-hold against people things they might have done in their youth, and, er, you know-"_

_He'd paused, letting the little wave of outrage peak on the Labour benches, his own mouth twitching as he turned to stare at Miliband._

_"Er-I really, er, you know-" The gales of laughter were almost too loud to be heard now. He'd let his eyes linger on Miliband, trying to see if his mouth was twitching or not, but Miliband was now studiously avoiding his gaze._

_"If-um-if, if, er-" He'd had to take a breath to hold back his own laughter at the thought of what a young Miliband would have been like._

_"As a 14-year-old, if that was his idea of fun, then, ah, obviously, you know-"_

_The Tory benches had been in floods of laughter, by now-David knew without looking that even Nick's mouth was twitching._

_"We have to make room, you know-we have to make room for everybody!"_

_The laughter had swelled even more, and David, biting back his own, had glanced back down at his papers, determined to guide the exchange back to a point._

_"No, the point is this-it's in the interests-"_

_He could hear Balls shouting something-glancing at the Labour frontbench, he'd been amused to see Balls's cheeks getting more and more flushed, until his face looked like an especially stocky beetroot that had been plopped down on his shoulders._

_"It's in the interests of the British people-"_

_"What did you do for fun?" David just caught the words-echoed in two voices, one Balls', which was more like an irritating fly than anything else-and one, Miliband's, which caught David's gaze. Miliband's face was puckered in a frown, voice nasally indignant, and David had felt his mouth twitch, a pang striking in his chest at the sight. "What was your idea of-"_

_"To have a renegotiation-"_

_"What was your idea of fun?"_

_"What is my idea of fun-it is not hanging out with the Shadow Chancellor, that is my idea of fun!"_

_Behind him, the Tory benches had erupted into near-hysterical laughter, cheers rising to the ceiling. David had been shaking with laughter himself, casting a quick glance across the Chamber, only to be cheered even more by the sight of Balls now almost purple, pointing wildly at George, who David didn't even have to look to see was half-dangling off the bench, laughing._

_"My-and so-"_

_"What did he say?" he'd just caught Miliband saying to Balls, his forehead creased a little, which almost made David frown-Miliband had been staring at him with that same expression on his face for the past two minutes, there's no way he couldn't have heard._

_"Hanging out with me" he'd caught Balls saying out of the corner of his eye, but he was already launching into his next words, making them a little louder so that Miliband couldn't miss them. Miliband's lips had almost pouted in confusion._

_"I-I feel sorry for the Leader Of The Opposition, because he has to hang out with him all the time-he-"_

_Laughter was echoing around him now. Miliband was staring at him across the Chamber, blinking rather rapidly as though he was only just catching up with the conversation. Catching the look out of the corner of his eye niggled in David's chest, made him want to draw it out more._

_"What a miserable existence it must be, to have sitting next to you-" He could barely be heard now over the laughter, but he could feel Miliband's gaze fixed intently on him now, no matter how much Miliband tried to summon a smile, his eyes like a touch on David's face._

_"The person who wrecked the British economy and have to listen to them day after day as they say to the British people-"_

_He'd let himself turn slightly towards Miliband, just to spot him out of the corner of his eye._

_""We're the people who crashed the car-give us the keys back!""_

_The words had been carried higher on the cheers that had risen up as David sat down, Bercow already up again-"Mr Jim Sheridan-", and the phrases echoing from a few of the others-"What is your idea of fun?" already being called jokingly across the Chamber._

_But David had caught a glimpse of Miliband through his eyelashes as he glanced down at his own papers-the slightly pursed lips, the big dark eyes-and peering down at his papers, had felt his own mouth twitch slightly, trying to imagine those same eyes and lips on the face of a bespectacled, overly-earnest little boy._

Now, glancing at Miliband, he knows they're remembering the same thing. He grins as he watches Miliband's lips purse again.

"Hey. It was funny."

"No. It wath not."

David nudges him with his foot. Ed nudges back, but David's already looking away, his cheeks a little too warm. He'd almost forgotten until this moment that he and Miliband are _under a duvet together._

"When did you start leafleting?" he asks, grabbing for the first question he can think of.

Miliband blinks. "Oh. Well. About 10, I suppose-"

 _"Ten?"_ David can't quite keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"Yeah." Miliband blinks at him, as though _David's_ the odd one for his reaction. "Why?"

David shrugs. "I don't know. Just-do children-are you actually aware what you're leafleting for at that age?"

Miliband frowns in the half-darkness, chewing at a corner of his lip. "Well. I knew it was for the-but I was helping _Dad._ Daniel and Sam leaflet."

"Do they like it?"

David doesn't know whether it's his imagination, but he thinks he sees something like a flinch on Miliband's face. When he replies, his voice comes through the dark, a little quieter, guarded. "I think th-so."

David studies his face and decides not to push it. But he's curious.

"What if they grow up to vote Tory?"

He actually thinks he sees Miliband shudder.

David pushes back the slight stab of hurt in his chest. Instead, he waits.

"That'd be fine." It takes Miliband a few moments to say it.

David looks at him. "What if _you'd_ grown up to vote Tory?"

This time, Miliband stares at him as though he's insane. "That wouldn't have happened."

"Why?"

Miliband stares at him. "Because-because-"

David wonders suddenly if anyone has ever asked Miliband this before. If it's even been raised as a possibility.

"Well-what about _you?"_ Miliband bursts out without answering the question. "Would _you_ ever have voted Labour?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"You're one to talk-"

"Are you imitating me, then?"

Miliband scowls. David grins. "And that wasn't the question. I asked _what if you'd voted Tory_ , not _would you ever?"_

"Well, what if-"

"What if what?"

"You'd voted Labour." Miliband stares at him.

David shrugs, flopping back onto his pillow. "I don't know. My parents would have been fine with it. Tania votes Labour."

"Now?"

"I think she votes for me now, but she used to. She definitely voted for Blair, I'd think."

Miliband turns to look at him from his own pillow. "Th-so?"

"So what?"

"Th-so-that was OK?"

David frowns. "Yeah, of course." He turns over, propping himself up on one elbow. "I mean, I'm fairly sure my parents are Tories-but you know. They weren't going to tell us how to vote. The Dad was a pretty big Thatcherite, though."

"Right." Ed's watching him though the dark with that too-long stare he does. It freaks some people out, but David's grown to quite like it, he supposes. It's oddly Milibandy.

"Why? Wouldn't it have been OK if you'd voted Tory?"

Miliband does the shudder again, and this time, David can't help himself.

"Why do you do that?"

 

* * *

 

 

Ed blinks. "Do what?"

 _"That."_ Cameron does an odd, trembling motion. "The shudder."

Ed blinks. "What'th-"

"Whenever you talk about voting Conservative." David's voice is quietly firm. "I mean-come on, you must know you're doing it."

Ed feels the heat rise in his neck. "Um. No."

Cameron seems to flinch a little next to him, but he keeps watching Ed through the dark. "Well, you do."

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it. "I don't-" he starts, then stops again. "I-"

He props himself up on one elbow, so he's facing Cameron. "I don't mean to" he says, the unfamiliar honesty dragging its' way out of his throat. "I juth-st-"

The confusion of it fills his throat too. "I don't _get_ you, Cameron."

Cameon looks back at him. Ed's heartbeat is suddenly very loud in the darkness between them.

"I don't get you, either." Cameron says the words without letting his eyes wander from Ed's face. "I guess that makes us even."

The words hang there between them. Ed isn't sure if that's a good thing or not.

They watch each other until Ed flops over onto his back. "It doethsn't mean-" he tries, his voice sounding weak to his own ears.

There's a silence before Cameron says "That you hate us?"

The words flicker, the first flickers of pain after a punch.

"I don't" Ed manages after a long moment. He waits for an "I know" but doesn't get one.

"I don't hate you" he says, and then, sudden annoyance seizing tight in his chest, "I think it'th pretty bloody obvious that I don't hate you, don't you?"

Cameron very slowly turns to look at him. Ed feels the blush flood his cheeks, his face, his neck. But he doesn't look away. He stares back. Somehow, they've ended up lying on their pillows, facing each other.

"I hate what you _do_ " he bursts out, because Cameron's _looking_ at him, and-"But I don't hate _you._ I just don't _get_ it."

He can't quite make out Cameron's expression, but he can feel Cameron's gaze, feel Cameron watching him intently through the darkness.

"Well. I don't always get you either" Cameron says very softly.

Something about the tone is like a touch on Ed's skin.

"But how?" he says, perhaps a little louder to brush away that feeling. "How can you not th-see the problems-"

"It's not the problems we don't see, it's your methods of dealing with them we don't see working."

"But-"

"What I hate" says Cameron, quietly enough that Ed stops speaking. "Is when you want to punish people for doing well."

"I don't." Ed turns over sharply on his side to face Cameron. "It's-"

"It's?"

Ed closes his eyes. "It'th not punishing people. It'th wanting the people who've got th-stronger shoulders to carry more of the burden-"

He opens his eyes to see Cameron watching him, head tilted to one side. Ed stares back at him, even as he manages to feel a niggle of irritation that Cameron's somehow managed to interrupt him just by being _silent._

"Don't overestimate how strong they are" Cameron says slowly. "You might find they drop the whole thing."

Ed stares at him, searching for a rebuttal.

"Or" Cameron says, eyebrow arching slightly. "They might just throw it down."

 

* * *

 

 

David suddenly can't quite take Miliband's gaze for another moment, so he flops over onto his back. "How come you couldn't sleep?"

He doesn't know if it's selfish to not want to try to explain it any more, but maybe Miliband just isn't in the mood to listen.

Maybe that means he should try even more, but-

"Juth-st-thoughtth, I th-suppose." Miliband shifts next to him, so he too is lying on his back. David's suddenly very conscious of the heat of his leg, only a few inches away.

"What about you?" David turns his head to see Miliband's big, dark eyes gazing at him through the darkness. David gulps, those overlarge eyes sending a pang through him. (Gazes like that should be made illegal. He should make a law.)

"Um-a bit-" he manages, his voice oddly more muffled than usual. "But-woke up and couldn't-"

_Stop thinking about you._

He'd lain there, curling and uncurling his fingers, trying to feel and not feel that tiny curl of Miliband's finger around his own. He'd glanced at Sam, curled up asleep next to him, warm breath fluttering her hair every few moments, and a couple of times fought the urge to shake her awake, to ask her-

What?

How can he-

How can he be-

And then David had turned over, trying to push the question away, only to think over and over how Miliband was in a bedroom just down the hallway, how Miliband's eyes flutter in his sleep, how his cheek might be pillowed on his hand, his long fingers curling over the pillow, that finger curling around David's, and David had lain there thinking about Miliband's finger tightening around his own and the prickling heat of Miliband's breathing, until his own fingers were curled tightly around the duvet and his heart was pounding so hard David was sure it was going to break out of his chest.

Now, he finds himself staring at Miliband. His eyes roam over his soft skin. His hands curl slowly into fists, wanting to reach out and touch him.

"Yeah-I-ah-" David's completely forgotten what he was going to say.

Miliband rolls over onto his back again, curls up a little under the duvet. David measures the distance between them with his eyes. Slowly, his fingers uncurl.

"What were you doing?"

"Ah-looking at them." Miliband indicates the photos, his hand coming tantalisingly close to David's. "Juthst dug them out a few days ago."

David is trying to concentrate on what Miliband's saying, but all he can focus on is how if he just stretched out a few inches-

Miliband's staring at him.

David shakes his head. "Sorry-must just be-"

_Insane._

"Oh-right-" MIliband glances at the clock. "It ith quite late-"

"No, no-" David's suddenly anxious, scrabbling for any reason to stay. "I was just-ah-"

Their hands brush. Even in the darkness, David can tell Ed's blushing. He pulls his hand back. But his hand's sending prickles of sensation through his skin, his own cheeks burning.

"Um-" Miliband's eyes dart to his face, then away. David fumbles for words. He's saved from having to come up with any by Miliband's mouth stretching into a rather sweet little yawn, his back arching like a cat.

"You look like a kitten when you do that."

David wants to cringe the second he gets the words out.

Miliband blushes. Furiously. David could kick himself.

"Ah-"

Miliband clears his throat. David can't meet his eyes, somehow. "Um-I, ah-"

Miliband gives an odd jerk of the head, and David tries not to cringe all over. But before he can do anything more than wish he could thrust his face into a pillow and scream. Miliband says "I don't, anyway."

"Don't what?" David seizes on the apparent change of subject gratefully.

"You know." Miliband shifts, very determinedly keeping his eyes away from David. "Hate you."

David feels all the heat in his body rush to his cheeks again. He immediately wishes furiously he'd kept the conversation about kittens.

"Um-" David coughs, clears his throat. "Right."

"I-um-"

"Mmm-I know."

They glance at each other then David looks away.

"I mean-I don't _get_ it" says Miliband, perhaps anxious to convey this point, "but I don't-you know."

He chews his lip. David is sufficiently intrigued to stare at him. "What?"

"I mean-do _you_ get _me?"_ The words seem almost to be pulled out of Miliband's mouth, and he blushes.

David feels a smile twitch at the corners of his own mouth as Miliband looks anywhere but at him. "No. Not one bit."

Miliband's eyes meet his own shyly. David feels a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

Miliband slowly smiles back, and then, without warning, they both dissolve into a fit of giggles. David jams a corner of the duvet over his mouth, trying to muffle his own laughter. Miliband isn't faring much better, his dark eyes glittering, his leg colliding with David's under the duvet, sending a shock of contact through David.

He flops onto the pillow. Still, struggling to catch his breath, Miliband's chest is rising and falling rapidly, still shaking with giggles every few moments or so.

"Anyway" David manages through gasps for breath. "I bet you wouldn't have got me _then_ either." He jerks his head towards the photographs.

Miliband snorts. "Becauthe you'd really have got _me."_

"Really?"

"Really." Miliband's smirking, but the light in his eyes dims a little. "I mean, you'd probably have hated me back then."

David gives him a double-take. "Didn't hate anyone, back then."

"Well. You probably didn't know-know anyone like me, back then-"

David taps Miliband's arm gently. "You don't have a monopoly on being geeky, you know."

Miliband's mouth twitches. David grins.

"You thought only Labour got to be geeks?"

"You're saying you were a geek?" Miliband gives him his Question Mark look. It makes David have to look away for a moment, a grin pushing at his mouth, something far too happy tugging in his chest.

"No. But plenty of my friends were. Some were even Labour supporters."

David casts a quick grin at Miliband, and relishes the slight widening of his eyes. "Why? Does that shock you?"

Miliband glares at him. "'Course not" he huffs endearingly. "Doethsn't mean you'd have liked me."

"Well, why wouldn't I have liked you?" David asks, a little sleepily, curling up.

Miliband just gives him a _look._ David tries not to grin.

"Look at uth _now_ , Cameron." Miliband too settles himself on his pillow, curling up like a puppy.

"So? We-" David tugs at the duvet. "We get on. And we used to get on, too-"

He trails off, his eyes catching Miliband's. They watch each other, and David can hear his own voice again, stretching back into that August, the slam of the phone in the cradle.

_You might as well side with fucking Lovrov..._

Miliband's dark eyes are blinking at him in the darkness. David drags himself back to the present a little too quickly, tries not to notice how close their hands are.

"Anyway" he says, resisting the urge to hide his hands under the duvet. "Just because I didn't get you doesn't mean I didn't like you."

Miliband's eyes are a vague glitter through the darkness. But David senses the movement of his throat as he swallows and the quick burrow of his teeth at his lip and the slight breathy shake in his voice as he says "Th-seem to th-spend half my time _trying_ to get you, Cameron."

 

* * *

 

 

Ed blushes furiously as he hears his own words. Oh God.

He can't find anywhere else to look and doesn't want his eyes to just fall into Cameron's again, so he just lies back and fixes his gaze on the ceiling.

"Have you succeeded?" Cameron's tone is light, but risking a glance at him, Ed can see a crease at his brow.

"No" he says honestly, and Cameron arches an eyebrow. "Do you like trying?"

His tone is lower, huskier. Something about it sends heat prickling through his skin, leaves his heartbeat rapid. Cameron's eyes are roaming down Ed's face in the dark. Ed can almost feel his gaze like a physical touch.

"Maybe." His own voice is lower, softer. Cameron's eyes have found his, and Ed can feel the heat rising slowly in his cheeks. Cameron's eyes are lingering on Ed's mouth. Ed feels suddenly breathless.

Cameron leans back a little, his eyes suddenly darting away. Ed tries to remember exactly what they were talking about.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" Cameron asks the question softly, his own head sinking back into his pillow.

Ed blushes scarlet and thanks everything there is that it's dark.

_I was thinking about you taking my hand,_

_About your finger touching mine._

_Why did you do it-_

_Why did you-_

"Just thinking" he says quietly, with another yawn.

There's a moment of silence. Ed can feel his eyes growing heavier, even as he watches Cameron's profile in the dark.

It takes him a few moments to become aware of the slight humming. He frowns, turns to glance at Cameron. Cameron's eyes are half-closed, the hand behind his head. Ed watches him sleepily, feeling a slow grin creep to his mouth.

Cameron's humming grows gradually louder. Ed considers asking, but decides against it. Instead, he just lies there, listening, eyes growing heavier by the minute.

Abruptly, Cameron's humming comes to a halt. Ed's eyes open slowly with a jolt of disappointment.

"Oh, sorry-" Cameron's eyes barely open, his back arching a little as he stretches. "Was I doing-"

"Yeah." Ed's voice is softer. "You were."

"Sorry." Cameron rolls over onto his side.

"It's fine." Ed would never say what he says next if he wasn't half-asleep. "I like it."

Cameron stills. So does Ed.

"Oh" is all Cameron says quietly. Ed waits, heart thudding.

After a few moments, Cameron starts humming again, slightly discordantly. Ed can't help but smirk to himself, his eyes fluttering closed again. Cameron's very close, he thinks, thoughts hazy, sleepy, their legs almost brushing as he drifts off.

 

* * *

 

 

David rolls over after he's counted Miliband's slow, even breaths for a minute or so. He watches Ed through his eyelashes, watches the way Miliband's lashes brush his cheeks, the way his mouth twitches a little in his sleep. Miliband's hair is tucked under his neck.

David's hand lifts, then falls again. He stares at Miliband. His hand lifts again.

It's just-

He-

David tells himself very firmly that he's being ridiculous.

He glances at Miliband again. Then again.

Slowly, his hand creeps out. It settles on the pillow next to Miliband's face.

David holds his breath. His hand moves forward, then back. Then forward. Then-

This is ridiculous.

David yanks his hand back.

Then he looks at Miliband's face again.

He reaches out and tucks Miliband's hair quickly behind his ear. His hand slows, his eyes on Miliband's face. Miliband just sighs in his sleep. His cheek is softer still near his earlobe, which David's finger brushes, sending a slow shudder of sensation through him.

Miliband makes a soft sound in the back of his throat but his eyes don't open. David hesitates. His thumb's still brushing Miliband's cheek.

He could-

He could just-

Miliband's forehead is very close. David traces it with his finger. His thumb brushes beneath Ed's temple.

If he-

If he just leant down, he could-

He could-

David's heart's pounding.

He could-

He-

He leans down, his nose just brushing Miliband's temple. He can smell his shampoo. He can feel Miliband's hair tickling his nose.

He-he could-

Slowly, very slowly, David lowers himself down so he's stretched out next to Miliband. His nose nearly brushes his temple. David can feel them both breathing. If Miliband rolled over, his body could fit right into David's chest.

"Night, Miliband" he whispers, and lets his eyes close, trying to notice and not notice that his hand is still brushing Miliband's cheek.

 

* * *

 

_ Playlist _

_ Half-Asleep-School Of Seven Bells-" _ _One day suddenly time/Took a turn that once felt so brief/I blinked to see polite ghosts fading quickly/What begins as an unguarded/Train of thoughts slowly can become/An addiction to slumber/Of disconnection and the resonance/Of memory that no longer has a shape"-this is one of the recurring songs. It just suits the feeling of David and Ed becoming more and more aware of their feelings, and how that begins to colour how they interpret their past interactions, even if they're not fully aware of it. It also fits the moment when they're curling their fingers around each other, and trying not to notice curling their fingers around each other._

_ Heart Out-The 1975-" _ _Cos I remember that I like you/No matter what I found/She said it's nice to have your friends round/We're watching a television with no sound....It's just you and I tonight/Why can't you figure my heart out?"-this both kind of fits the moment when David and Ed are watching TV on the couch and their conversations in the kitchen. Plus their whole pretty obvious undertones of their conversations, and the moments when they're almost holding hands._

_ Appearances-Trent Reznor And Atticus Ross (Gone Girl Soundtrack) _ _-this completely fits all the Justine scenes. Obviously the title, but also the sound of the piece has the right slightly sinister, disconcerting tone._

_ So Contagious-Acceptance _ _-"Oh no, this couldn't be more unexpected/And I can tell you I've been moving in so slow/Don't let it throw you off too far/'Cos I'll be running right behind you/Could this be out of line? (Could this be out of line?)/To say you're the only one breaking me down like this"-this one's pretty self-explanatory. It fits the whole evening, but also especially David's and Ed's long held gazes, which seem to be becoming their conversation specialities._

_ Cleveland Is For Leaving-Spark Alaska-" _ _What were your nicknames back in high school?/What were your little brother's first words?/Who were the streets in your town named after?/Did you dream of my father?..."-this suits when David and Ed are looking at their photographs of each other, and reminiscing about their childhoods._

_ Dots And Dashes (Enough Already)-The Silversun Pickups- _ _"So you wanna mess with me?/Caught me in a silent scream/Heat filling up my cheeks/Not exactly what you think/See you in the room next door/Your feet float above the floor..I'm already cursed/I'm already dry/I'm already wondering what am I/I've already learned a bit of sin/Enough already, let me in...But if I don't like what I see/And my grip starts loosening/The edge of the big reveal/Could be the end of the story"-this fits both the scene in the bedroom and also the scenes beforehand, when they almost hold hands both are lying awake thinking about each other. It's a recurring song in the playlists-it fits the sense of something growing under the surface, but the lyrics already fit the situation._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David is a very keen cook, as is Nancy.  
> An ITV interviewer complained of Ed's PR team insisting on family photos being included in the background of interview shots: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2011/jul/01/ed-miliband-interviewer-shame-strike-soundbites. Ed's nanny does the family cooking: https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/84539/downton-eddie/  
> The tax David refers to was when Ed's parents used a loophole to circumvent inheritance tax in Ed's father Ralph's will: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/personalfinance/tax/11434504/Ed-Miliband-rewrote-his-fathers-will-to-cut-IHT.-Should-you-do-the-same.html  
> Ed's family photos were often posed shots. The photo Justine refers to of the boys in the park is one of the few unstaged ones, & can be seen here: http://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/news-footage/466422894  
> The memory Justine has of being photographed on the platform in Manchester can be seen here, Justine telling the children to wave to the cameras: http://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/ed-miliband-arrives-in-manchester-for-labour-party-news-footage/838780368  
> All the dialogue that takes place between Ed & Justine in her memory of them walking to the Brunei Gallery is genuine, & can be seen here: http://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/video/ed-miliband-arriving-at-the-brunei-gallery-england-london-news-footage/686696198  
> br />  
> Justine's parents reportedly used to leave her & Alex alone while they went away for work from young ages. Justine did panic if she didn't get 100%. Justine met Ed when Ed was dating Stephanie Flanders, at a dinner party:http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/ed-miliband/11526188/Ed-Miliband-was-dating-senior-BBC-economics-journalist-Stephanie-Flanders-when-he-was-at-the-Treasury.html  
> Their main conversations centred around climate change. Ed revealed even after they were together, their discussions centred around work & politics. She decided to go into Environmental Law when she was on scholarship at the European Commission in Brussels after a mentor commented that the environment was "the poor man" in law.  
> You can see the purple T-shirt Nancy mentions here in 2013: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2357471/Were-Barefoot-David-Cameron-chillaxes-sunshine-Poshstock-festival--whats-going-knock-sunglasses.html  
> http://bphillips.co.uk/commissioned-cornbury#gallery/aec39b2a5e7eabd3e5e895ae134e8a3d/730  
> Justine is became a governor when they moved to Dartmouth Park in 2009 after Daniel's birth to improve their chances of getting Daniel into the school: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/labour-elites-stamping-ground-moves-north-well-out-of-islington-jqm7n63sqcl/>  
> Ed and Justine's sons were reportedly conceived through IVF. Justine did very specifically want 2 children as a perfect nuclear family): https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/ed-miliband-marries-on-his-happiest-day-8mxzl2k9835  
> Ed's brother David & his wife Louise famously had a hard time conceiving children and eventually decided to adopt their two sons.: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/labour/7822844/David-Miliband-discusses-IVF-battle.html  
> According to Ed, Justine hated her maternity leave.  
> Chris and Venetia are Chris Lockwood & his wife, old friends of the Camerons. Chris became David's Head Of Policy in 2013:http://www.vogue.co.uk/article/samantha-cameron-fashion-label-cefinn-interview  
> The Camerons & the Lockwoods have been on holiday together, & the Cameron children consider the Lockwood's sons cousins. David and Sam do have an open fire in their cottage living room which you can see here: https://goo.gl/images/YSwjyN  
> The Camerons are huge fans of The Great British Bake Off. Florence does have a toy rabbit:https://goo.gl/images/zR9eZu David first went on holiday to Portugal as a teenager and refers to his father as "The Dad." The line about Lovrov is a refers to an argument between David & Ed had over Syria in August 2013, one of their most serious: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2013/aug/30/david-cameron-accused-miliband-siding-russia  
> Of the photos mentioned, the ones that can be seen are:  
> Baby Ed being held by Ralph- http://edmilibum.tumblr.com/post/62638916868/great-work-begins-awww-very-much-looking  
> Ed's school photo - https://goo.gl/images/tPMkfe  
> Ed on Ralph's knee- https://goo.gl/images/DwexKY  
> David's school photos- https://goo.gl/images/HEa1EC  
> https://goo.gl/images/cRmNpy  
> David on holiday- https://goo.gl/images/ms3MUz  
> David's perm photo- https://goo.gl/images/G22TSL  
> Ed's photo aged 13 out canvassing- https://goo.gl/images/RfiYy9  
> The PMQs referenced where David teased Ed about his days canvassing as a teenager is here- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mfMvCd5Zdf4


	29. Morning Moroseness, The Camaraderie Of Companions, And The Opposition Of Opposites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which Ed isn't the first person to ever debate David, the healing power of chocolate cake is addressed, gravel is not an acceptable food substance and Lorde makes everything better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am SO SORRY that it took this long. In my defence, there's been a LOT going on over the past few months-house renovations, illness, schoolwork, etc. Uhhh, it's been insanely busy. Thanks so much for all your amazing comments, they really kept me going! BUT HERE IT IS.  
> IMPORTANT NOTE ONCE AGAIN: This is a work of fiction. While it uses the identities of real people and corresponds with real events, it is not intended to be any reflection on their real-life personalities or on them as individuals. This is purely fiction and doesn't claim to be anything else.  
> OTHER IMPORTANT NOTE:  
> Now, there are a number of videos that correspond with this chapter that involve some of the dialogue in flashback scenes and I just want to put a quick note up here about that and the protests which are depicted.  
> The protesters that appear in this chapter are a genuine British protest group that are widely despised by politicians (and most of the country)-they are people who have been deemed a danger to their children and forbidden from contact with them who operate on the basis that there is a government conspiracy keeping their children from them. They pretty much manage to unite all politicians in that they indiscriminately believe all parties are involved in keeping their children from them. They took a dangerous turn when a fringe group of the campaigners were revealed in 2005 to have been involved in a plot to abduct the then Prime Minister Tony Blair's son: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/4622880.stm  
> The incidents remembered in this chapter are all genuine after the protesters followed the Camerons on holiday in Cornwall in August 2014 and then camped outside their home in December 2014, and resulted in the protesters being issued a harassment order by the police to stay a certain distance from the Cameron family and homes, partly because they had aimed their criticism at the Camerons' young children, including remarks about their late son. The scenes/dialogue between the Camerons and the protesters is genuine-the main ones took place over 27-29 December 2014-and can be seen in a number of videos in the end notes, as always. The reason for including the scenes in this chapter was that while this chapter depicts a lot of the privilege of the Camerons' children and other children like them, I wanted to depict the negative side of being the child of a public figure that goes hand in hand with the privileges. Here are some articles discussing the protest (and Nancy's Wilderness mention):  
> http://www.oxfordmail.co.uk/news/11694413.Campaigners_outside_David_Cameron_s_house_in_Dean_handed_harassment_order/  
> http://www.itv.com/news/meridian/update/2014-12-31/protesters-evicted-for-harassing-pms-home-vow-to-continue-fight/  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/mrs-cameron-keeps-me-sane-she-s-my-light-and-dark-my-everything-david-cameron-on-family-life-and-how-10113105.html  
> http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11478216/David-Cameron-my-house-is-falling-apart-due-to-protesters.html?fb_ref=Default  
> The reference made to "Anna and The Sun" refers to this: https://www.pressreader.com/uk/daily-mail/20140623/281784217175052  
> Torsten's emails refers to this:https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2013/nov/17/ed-miliband-fat-finger-email-ed-balls  
> Ed's kids being referred to as a secret weapon was this: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2431155/Labour-Party-Conference-2013-Ed-Miliband-Justine-Thorntons-cheesy-photo-stunts.html  
> I also had little space at the bottom for notes, so had to include one article up here: here is an article James (in this chapter) wrote about his and David's time at Eton:https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2007/oct/07/conservatives.comment1 />  
> If you can't access something linked and want to, just send me an ask on Tumblr!  
> If you want to ask me anything about this fic or let me know what you like about it, you can [send me an ask ](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr! Thank you so much to those who have got in touch with me there and to EVERYONE who has commented-it means a lot! Please continue to leave me comments and let me know if you're enjoying the fic!  
> Thanks and enjoy the chapter!

_She hasn't heard from Effy in well over a day, and it's beginning to bother her in a way she isn't comfortable with at all. It's fucking disturbing, is what it is, because Effy's infiltrated Katie's life so thoroughly that Katie misses her when she isn't around. It's the worst kind of realisation." -Elizabeth Gone, brocanteur (Skins fanfiction) _

 

_""You just say whatever you want, don't you?"_

_"Only to you." I shook my head. "Sorry, that sounded creepy.""- Radio Silence, Alice Oseman_

 

_"Just friends, then" she says, but when she reaches forward and rests her hand on Naomi's, it feels a bit too heavy, and when she squeezes it reassuringly, Naomi's throat closes up._

_It's dangerous, she thinks. To feel like this. -writing books through letters, majesdane (Skins fanfiction) _

 

* * *

 

 

When Sam wakes up, it's dark and warm and he doesn't quite know where he is.

He sits up and Florence's toy rabbit's poking him in the eye. He pushes it away and his hand presses into Florence's warm cheek. Florence makes a noise and turns over so Sam sits up more, blinking, looking towards the chunk of light spilling across the floor from the nightlight.

Sam slides out of bed and pads out onto the landing. The door seems very big and Sam can't push it back so he leaves it standing open.

Daddy told him which bedroom he was asleep in and Sam goes on towards it. His legs feel small and tired and the dark seems to be pressing into his eyes. He rubs them, takes small, careful steps forward, until he's pushing at the door where Daddy is.

The door pushes into the dark of the room, carving some of the orange nightlight glow into the carpet. Sam can see that Daddy's there, tucked up under the covers, but there's someone else there too. But Mummy isn't here. Sam wants to go and find Zia, but she didn't come. He chews at his lip, shivering a little.

He tiptoes to the edge of the bed, tugs at the duvet. "Daddy" he says, but Daddy doesn't say anything. "Daddy."

Then Sam remembers that last time he tried to get into bed and Daddy, Daddy got _angry_ , he said that Sam had woken him up, and Sam didn't know why.

But Sam is looking at the other person and he pads round the side of the bed, his bare little feet aching with cold. He stands on his tiptoes, trying to see, and then he puts his hand on the other person's arm.

The other person makes a grumpy, sleepy noise and moves a little. "Whatst-"

Sam stops but keeps his hand on the other person's arm, because the other person is a man and it is Mr Cameron.

Sam squeezes his arm slightly, not knowing what to do. He shakes again, a little harder and Mr Cameron makes a tired noise and pulls back the duvet. His hands come out and cuddle Sam round the middle. "D'you want to come in?"

Sam pulls himself up onto the bed with Mr Cameron sliding his hand round and pulling him up the rest of the way so that suddenly Sam's feet are very warm and he's against Mr Cameron's chest under the duvet, with Mr Cameron gripping him against him and then doing a little roll so that Sam's suddenly in the middle of Daddy and Mr Cameron.

"D'you need a drink?" Mr Cameron murmurs in his ear. "Or to go to the toilet?" Sam yawns, stretching into the warmth, and shaking his head.

"All right, sweetheart-" Mr Cameron squeezes his shoulder and Sam snuggles down under the duvet. Mr Cameron's arm comes around him, cuddling him up between Mr Cameron and Daddy.

Sam snuggles in, feeling Mr Cameron's arm there nice and warm, and curls his toes into the cosiness of the mattress. He yawns again and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

When David opens his eyes, he's warm and comfortable. His arm's slightly stretched and he adjusts it, snuggling closer to the warmth of Miliband next to him. He feels Miliband inch backwards, a little closer into him.

"Daddy-" He becomes aware of the word tickling his cheek. "Daddy, can I get up?"

David grunts, forces his eyes open. Florence's blue eyes are an inch away from his own.

David, for the second time in less than a month, finds himself struggling not to have a heart attack while his four-year-old daughter stares at him from an inch away. "Jesus, Flo-"

Florence just looks at him and David manages to turn his thoughts into a modicum of sleep-muddled sense. "You can get up as long as you stay upstairs. You can only go down if Nance or El is with you, Flo-"

Florence is already wriggling out of the bed, where she's obviously joined them at some point during the night. David manages to half-raise his head and glimpses Sam standing next to her, dark curls a rumpled mess, clutching what looks like Florence's toy rabbit.

"If they're not up, just play quietly" David manages, with a yawn. "One of them'll wake up soon-"

Florence is wandering to the door, tugging Sam by the hand and David feels the need to say "Quietly" again, before he flops down again with a little groan, stretching happily before letting his eyes close again. God, he's tired.

It's warm and comfortable and he lets his eyes close, happy to drift in a half-drowsiness for a few moments. He wriggles a little closer to Miliband, repositions his arm. "So much for lie-ins" he mutters, and Miliband makes an "Mmm" sound in his throat, barely audible. David opens his eyes slightly, watches Miliband wriggle deeper into the bed, eyes squeezing tighter before he rolls over to face David, eyes still closed, long dark eyelashes brushing his cheeks. David studies him for a moment. Miliband looks oddly delicate asleep, his eyelids fluttering. David feels like he might stroke them gently.

But he lets Miliband sleep, closes his eyes, then opens them again, wriggling a little closer, watching Miliband's face before he smiles and closes his eyes, one arm falling a little further around Miliband's shoulder. His hand brushes Miliband's hair, which is soft, tickling his fingers a little.

"Mmm.." He hears Miliband make the noise in his throat, barely awake himself. "Mmmoreminutes..."

David stretches lazily, and feels Miliband wriggle back into his chest and David's arms find their way around Ed's shoulders. "Mmm, sure, it's Sunday" is what he means to say, but it comes out as "Mmmkay" as his chin ends up notching itself over Miliband's shoulder.

"Mmm, nithe.."

David turns his head and just breathes in the smell of Miliband's hair, wrapping himself closer, his eyes falling closed again as he pulls Miliband close.

 

* * *

 

Sam knows before she opens the door what she'll see, and knows Dave would know. She knows Dave inside out.

She's heard quite a lot about that from other couples. She knows all too well the overly-smiling soft-focus interviews from every party, the rehearsed flickers of the eyes, the all-too-common phrases that litter their conversations like dropped, sweet-smelling litter. _She is my rock. We have an incredibly deep relationship. They're so much the heart of my life._ And then they remind themselves to take their children to school one day in a couple of weeks and they should really have dinner together sometime.

She and Dave have never been like that, which is maybe why Dave doesn't use those words at all.

 _I've never heard anything like it,_ Craig said once, after a couple of glasses of wine in the flat.

_What?_

_How he talks about you and the kids._ Craig's eyes a little unsteady, Sam wiping at the lipstick staining her glass. _You're his world._

The words oddly solemn, ringing in a way that should have been comical, but wasn't.

Sam doesn't know when it happened, but it happened. This strange heart-deep tug that means she knows David, can see each crease of his forehead, each thought flickering into life before it even reaches his mouth, before he can even fold his fingers around it. Nights of hospital bars pressing into cheeks, the beat of his heart against her back as though their hearts had become one rhythm, over and over through the nights.

When she'd rolled over this morning into the yawning space, her legs stretching into a mattress slightly cooled from the night air, her eyes had opened and she'd just thought _Oh._ Not even a thud, not even a jolt, just the calm answer to a question. Oh, yes, of course. Of course that's where he is.

She didn't even have to think about moving, just getting up and walking slowly to the spare room, as though she makes her way here every morning.

She doesn't feel a shock when she sees them lying in bed together. David's arm curled around Ed's shoulders, as though he can cover him more than the duvet.

But her stomach does dip slightly, her fingers tightening on the door frame, and she has to even her breaths a little, make sure she stays very still in the doorway.

She knows Dave, and so she knows he hasn't done anything more than this. Anything more at all. She doesn't even have to poke at the thought anxiously, ask herself the question over and over as she knows some women would.

(It's whether this is enough.)

Sam stands very still and watches them for a moment. Ed's eyelashes are brushing his cheeks. Dave's arm tightens around him slightly, as though he might wriggle away, as though he might leave.

They don't know, Sam suddenly thinks, without knowing quite what they don't know, but with the thought, a pang of tenderness rises in her chest, strokes gently at their hair and skin, almost pity, but better than that.

They don't know, she thinks.

She stands there, feeling oddly as though a long, long time has passed, even though she knows she's been there for less than a minute. She can hear Florence's and Sam's voices suddenly, a little too loud, and suddenly they seem to be bouncing off the walls, the too-too-awakeness of small children, that only they, too tiny for tiredness, can have on a Sunday morning and she notices that she's grasped the sound tight in her hands, it seeming unthinkable she hasn't noticed it before. You can't unhear children once you hear them.

She looks at Dave and Ed for a second more. For a breath, she could almost reach out, stroking the hair off both their foreheads. Slowly, she steps back, pulling the door shut behind her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

David wakes up before he opens his eyes. He's comfortable and warm and Miliband half-wriggles back against him with a contented sigh.

David cuddles him a little, before sighing, letting his eyes open, smiling a little at the sight of Miliband's hair, a strand somehow twined around David's finger. It's silky soft, even softer than David would have expected, and he smiles a little, tracing a strand between his fingers.

David blinks, becoming more awake with each second.

He stops dead, Miliband's hair between his fingers.

What-

Oh no.

David feels his heart swell into his throat.

Oh God.

Oh no. _Oh no._

He barely manages not to yank his hand away and accidentally drag Miliband's hair out by the roots.

Oh no. _Oh no. OH NO._

David's heart is slamming so hard in his chest that he's seized with the abrupt fear that he might throw up.

He takes a slow, deep breath. Then another.

All right. Don't panic. _Don't panic._

Miliband makes a mumbling sound in his sleep, wriggles back a little, and David's arm moves almost before he can stop himself. His arm hovers there while he stares at it dumbly, almost praying it belongs to somebody else.

But no, that's definitely _his_ arm that he's yanking back and that's definitely _his_ hand that was nearly on Miliband's shoulder, and this is most definitely _him_ who is lying in bed next to Ed Miliband _for the second time in a month._

Oh God.

David actually feels cold sweat break out on his forehead as he pulls his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist as if that will stop them from wanting to-

Oh God. Oh _God._

David shakes his head, as though that can mean this just-didn't-

Oh _GOD._

David's elbow slips a little on one of the photographs still littering the duvet, and then he remembers and OK. He needs to move. He needs to leave. Right now.

As David inches his way out of bed, his heartbeat far, far too rapid, he tells himself very firmly that Miliband won't care.

He's asleep.

It's not like he-

But as David makes his way to the door, his arms wrapping around himself in the early-morning cold, thoughts still slamming into each other as they try to drag themselves from the haze of sleep, something cold and heavy is sinking into the pit of his stomach, tugging his gaze down, aching sick at the back of his throat, his eyes prickling.

 

It's only when David's safely in the bathroom, back pressed against the door, that he presses his hands over his eyes and lets out a despairing little sound, that claws out of his throat like it's been waiting to breathe.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck..._

Oh _God...._

David pulls off his pyjamas as quickly as possible, as though just shedding them can get rid of the whole stupid night. He blasts the shower on and almost dives into it, nearly squealing at the shock of the only-just-warming water. It helps slap the thoughts out of his head, leaves his mind clearer.

For about seven seconds. Then the sight of his pyjamas lying in a heap on the floor brings back the sight of Ed's pyjamas-those geeky, odd little flannel things-God, what was he _wearing_ last night, typical Miliband-

And _bang,_ there's last night back again.

David leans his forehead against the glass door and groans.

How the hell has this happened _twice?_

And now he's just run out, and _fuck-_

Miliband will understand why.

He'll have to.

David just didn't want to run the risk of the kids-

Flo and Sam.

David smacks his forehead hard-managing to keep the presence of mind to use his hands, rather than the door, because while plastic surgery is one of the few areas he's fairly sure Lynton isn't an expert in, he's also fairly sure that come Monday morning, Lynton, with a glint in his eye as he inspects a freshly dented forehead, will be eager to help him find out.

In the middle of wondering just what plastic surgery would do for a dented forehead anyway, he catches himself wondering what the kids would make of it, and oh yes, that's what started this train of-

Oh, _fuck._

Flo and Sam.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

David takes a deep breath. Then another.

It's OK.

It'll be OK. There's a way around this. There has to be.

It's not even as though they were _doing_ anything. They-they were looking at those photos-which are still scattered all over Miliband's bloody duvet, David remembers belatedly-and they just-they fell asleep.

They fell asleep. David grabs for this like a lifebelt, despite the fact it was no less true five minutes ago. They fell asleep. That's all it was. They were tired and they fell asleep.

That's it. He can explain that. It's fine.

David takes a deep breath, steps back under the now warm water, letting it relax his shoulders, and tries his very best to remember that it is, in fact, fine.

 

* * *

 

 

"Why was Daddy cuddling Ed Miliband?" Flo asks again, shovelling another bite of pancake into her mouth.

Sam carefully wipes at her mouth, while at the same time tugging the younger Sam back into his seat as he attempts an over-zealous reach for the syrup.

"Because they fell asleep together" she says as cheerfully as possible, managing to laugh as Flo dabs syrup on the end of her nose. "They were up late, looking at photographs of when Daddy was little."

"There were _photos"_ Flo confirms, eyes stretching comically wide as Nancy reappears, sliding the plate back across to her. "They were there when I climbed _in-"_ Sam grabs her hand as she throws it up before it can hit Daniel's head.

Sam knows that the way she's reacting isn't how most people would. But then, most people wouldn't know. The way Sam does, a deep knowledge as natural as taking a breath in and out, that nothing's happened between them.

She knows it in the same way that she knew as a child, when Dad sat her and Emily down at a table in a restaurant, uncharacteristically finishing a glass of wine before the meal was even ordered.

Emily had been sitting next to her, a little older than Flo is now, forehead furrowing itself into a scowl, even as she worried at her dark braid at the corner of her lip. Samantha had glanced at her, automatically pouring Emily's fresh fruit juice for her, the way she'd taken to plaiting Emily's hair for her when Mum was getting ready to go to work, her hair bobbing in curlers at the breakfast table like it might melt into their porridge. The last few weeks, Samantha had had to leave her lessons to go to the changing rooms after Emily had gym to help her get dressed, because Emily wouldn't let any of the teachers help her, and otherwise she'd just sit there in her polo top and shorts, arms wrapped around her legs, cheek pressed into her kneecaps, and then they'd have to call Mum. Some of the teachers had given them the eyes-roaming looks that meant they wanted to remind them that Samantha wouldn't be at The Manor next year, but no one had managed to yet.

"Girls" Dad had said, and leant his head on one of his hands. "Um."

Emily had scowled and kicked the table leg. Dad had winced-he was never the parent to tell them off, even less since he'd been away from the house. It was Samantha who reached for Emily's knee, took it in her hand and held her leg still in her chair.

"What, Daddy?" She'd curled her fingers tighter while Emily, deprived of her kicking, had begun tapping her fork on one of the empty wine glasses, crystal tinkling over and over, like a lightly rapid pulse beneath the conversation.

Dad had looked at them both, and called the waiter over to order another bottle of wine. Emily scowled and went to knock over her juice until Samantha moved it out of the way. "Daddy?"

He hadn't been able to look at her and so she'd looked at him, letting him wait until he could look at her, already knowing what he was going to say.

There'd been a clatter and then Emily's glass had been over, crimson spreading deeply across the white tablecloth, even as Samantha scrabbled for one of the linen napkins, their chauffeur glancing up from the next table, one of the waiters already approaching them. Samantha had stood there, her fingers digging into the tablecloth, crimson spreading out under her grip, like blood.

Now, Dave walks into the kitchen and Sam knows in exactly the same way that it's OK, that they don't need to say anything, yet.

 

David navigates the breakfast table as cautiously as though it might be hiding a bomb. He glances at Sam, because she has to know.

She-

She knows. David knows it with a jolting certainty in his chest the same way he knows when she needs to sleep or when she's thought of a new cut for a dress or when she's got something Flo's scribbled in at school to show him.

Sam just watches him for less than a breath, with a slight tilt of her head, the way she looks at one of the children when they've fallen, skinned a knee raw or bruised an elbow purple. _Mummy, Mummy._ Her eyes hover on David the way they'd hover on the marks on any of the children, and for a moment, David's throat swells with a wish that he's about to tell her he's whacked his hand with the hammer or stumbled over one of the chopped logs, something she could soothe like she would with the kids, with her hands rubbing ointment into their skin, pressing kisses to their little heads.

He takes one deep breath, then another, and when he looks at Sam, he feels as though the world's tilted slightly.

 

* * *

 

 

It's a few minutes later that Miliband appears.

David's just got himself into a mindset that, if not quite there _yet,_ is something close to _resembling_ the state of normal-he's managed to ruffle Nancy's hair and eat a couple of forkfuls of syrup-drenched waffle (David knows it's not a serious crisis for that factor alone) and he's even managed to answer Flo's question-"Daddy, why did you go into Sam's daddy's room?"- with a shrug and "We were up late talking, sweetheart" in a way that means the kids shrug and turn back to their breakfasts-and David's never been so thankful for how young the kids are-and he's just started to convince himself that everything's fine, it's good, it's-it's OK, it's-he can _manage_ , it was odd, but they just fell asleep, it's not a big deal, of course it isn't-

When Ed appears in the doorway and all of those good intentions slowly dissolve into a puddle of liquid _ohGod._

"Um. Um-" He tries to grin at Miliband, vaguely aware that it doesn't seem to fit his mouth properly. "Hi."

What.

"Hi-um-ah-" David runs a hand through his air. "Um-um-morning, Miliband-you-you-um-"

Ed's in a jumper and jeans.

(Ed in _jeans._

Obviously, he was in them yesterday, but-)

(Ed in _jeans.)_

Miliband is watching him with his big eyes. David blinks. "OK. Right." His turn to speak. Right.

"Did you-did you-sleep-sleep well-you-"

_When I was in there with you._

His cheeks are burning.

(He was pressed up against David's chest. David could smell his hair.)

God, those _jeans._

Miliband-Miliband's legs actually look rather-

David shakes his head once. Then again, and looks down to grip the table slowly.

Leans.

He glances down. Oh. He's standing up. He's somehow ended up-standing up-

(Those _jeans.)_

David clears his throat. He sinks slowly back into his seat.

It's Sam who says "Sleep well, Ed?"

Miliband takes a moment to look at her, but his eyes hover on David's for another moment, big and dark and accusing.

Then he glances at Sam, blinking rapidly. "Uh. Yeth, thankth, i-i-I slept, I-"

Another infinitesimal glance at David, a flicker of those dark eyes-

God, he keeps noticing-

"I th-slept well-"

David feels the heat creep slowly but surely up his neck. He shoves another bite of waffle into his mouth without tasting it and tries furiously to develop some sort of fascination with his breakfast.

Sam's already gesturing to the plate of waffles set on the kitchen island. "Are you hungry, we've got waffles, porridge, pancakes-"

"Um-yeah, thankth-" Miliband smiles, gives that look up under his eyelashes-the one he does when he's about to ask something and then stops himself at the last minute. David's already pushing his chair back, ready to set out a place for him.

"Oh-oh, here you are-" Sam's already heading for the kitchen island, dark hair bouncing on her shoulders, encased in a dark green jumper as she heads for the coffee machine. "Do you want a-a waffle or a pancake, because Nancy worked on the pancakes today-"

"And Dad hasn't even _tried_ one." Nancy kicks at David's leg under the table. David barely notices. "All he's got is that w _affle-"_

David stares at Miliband's back, dimly aware that he's holding a forkful of waffle halfway to his mouth. He stares at Miliband, waiting for him to look round.

Of course Miliband does. (It'd take a braver person than Miliband to ignore Nancy.) He glances back, leans back on the counter, and then jumps a little as his elbow nearly grazes the coffee machine. Something jolts fondly in David's chest.

"Oh-" Miliband's eyes blink a couple of times in that way he has as he stares at Nancy. "I'll-I'll try one."

He sounds almost shy. Something in David's chest melts a little at the sight.

But then, even as Nancy grins, Miliband turns back to Sam, his eyes very deliberately not roaming anywhere near David.

(And David _knows_ it's deliberate.)

(Miliband _always_ looks at him.)

But now he's-

"I can-" David's getting up before he's even fully thought through the offer. "If you want to-"

"No, it'th fine-" Miliband doesn't even look round at him. "It'th-I'm fine-"

"No, honestly, it's no-"

"No, I don't want to put you out." Miliband almost glances over his shoulder but not quite, his head jerking a little reflexively. "I'm fine."

Sam just gently brushes Miliband's arm and David watches him give her that awkward grin, showing too many teeth, leaving David with no choice but to slowly sink back into his seat again.

"Right. We've got coffee, tea, juice, milk-" and that settles it, Miliband's ignoring him.

David considers the morning and feels an uncomfortable jump in his chest.

David watches Sam touch Miliband's arm lightly and something else crawls in his chest, an uncomfortable wriggle, his own hand wanting to-

He should not-

How is he sitting here feeling jealous of his own _wife?_

Wait, no. Back up. Reverse that immediately.

How is he feeling _jealous?_

David takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair. OK. He can sort this out. He just needs to-

His eyes flicker to Miliband's jeans and this time hover there. Miliband's got his back to him, now fiddling with the coffee machine with Sam's help, and-so David can look, just for a second.

David takes in the way those jeans hug Miliband's legs, encased in dark denim, the way they travel up, hugging his-his-

Um-

David turns away, shoving the fork into his mouth, chewing a gulp of waffle he can no longer taste.

_Get a grip._

He's just noticing-

(Why did it take him so long to notice those _jeans?)_

(Bloody hell.)

 

* * *

 

 

David takes a deep breath and steps up behind Miliband. "Um-"

Miliband's back remains firmly turned towards him. David swallows.

"Miliband" he manages, trying his best to sound as though absolutely nothing unusual has occurred. "Ah-"

God.

How would he act if last night _hadn't_ happened? If they'd just slept peacefully in their own rooms and not-

Well-

How would he be speaking-

But then Miliband probably wouldn't have sat at the other end of the table. Miliband probably wouldn't have ignored him the entire time they were eating, apart from the "Thank you" he'd offered when David had got up to hand him the milk, butter, syrup-

(David had rather impersonated a Jack-In-The-Box.)

But-

"So-ah-" David shifts from one foot to the other, completely unaccustomed to feeling this way, and not particularly enjoying the novelty. "Are you-ah-feeling all right?"

Miliband stiffens. David wonders if he's going to ignore him altogether.

"I'm fine, thank you" is all Miliband says, and David almost rolls his eyes at the attempt at a sniffily dignified tone.

(Honestly, it's _Miliband.)_

"Well, you don't seem fine" he says, almost rolling his eyes again as he feels himself sink into the biggest cliche in the book.

"Well, I am."

Apparently, David doesn't have a monopoly on cliched lines.

(God, _Miliband_ would say that.)

"Look, I didn't-" David swallows, because it _absolutely was not anything strange_ and he scolds himself fiercely because of _course_ it wasn't.

"Anyway-" He takes a deep breath. "I-um-I-"

Miliband's still not looking at him.

"Look, would you give me your _attention_ , please?" and David's hand's on Miliband's arm before he can think about it _because_ , hell's teeth, he's trying to make this _not seem strange_ and _Miliband,_ dammnit, _really_ isn't doing anything to help.

Miliband spins round to face him, his face flushed and his eyes darker than ever, and David feels a rush of something triumphant at the look-it's better than Miliband's eyes sliding over him as though David's become some sort of particularly uninteresting _chair._

(It's like PMQs and staring at each other across the chamber.)

(This is what he knows with Miliband. This is _his_ Milib-)

"What?"

David glares right back at him, his own cheeks pinkening. "Oh, you _spoke"_ he says, making the last word as heavy as possible. "That's a surprise. I was rather under the impression I'd become _invisible_ to you."

Miliband glowers back at him. Even as he does so, he mutters "Inaudible, not invisible."

Bloody Miliband.

"Pedantic" David mutters back.

Any other time, Miliband would crack a smile, but now he glares all the more fiercely.

Well, two can play at that.

They stand there, glowering at each other in silence. David arches an eyebrow.

Miliband gives him an ostentatiously wide-eyed look. _"I'm_ juthst-" He gestures to the sink.

"Yes, I can see you're _just."_

"What on _earth_ ith your problem?"

"What's _yours?"_ David half-laughs at the nerve of it. "You've hardly _looked_ at me all morning."

Miliband's lip quirks slightly, but when he speaks, his voice bounces with false bravado. "I didn't realise you were tho thenthitive to having attention on you, Cameron."

David shakes his head. "Don't give me that" he says, his own voice, in contrast, lower. "That's not it, and you know it."

Miliband almost flinches. "Do I?"

David hasn't let go of his arm yet.

He steps closer, eyes roaming over Miliband's face. "Yes. You do."

Miliband's eyes meet his own. David's forehead is almost pressed against his.

"Who thays?" Miliband's voice is almost a whisper.

"I do." David's voice is a little lower than before and he leans even closer. "I know you, Miliband. You're sulking."

Miliband, who'd been staring at him, now splutters into almost incredulous laughter.

"I'm _sulking?"_ He almost wrenches his arm free, but David steps in front of him and his other hand is fumbling and-

It presses against Miliband's hip. Miliband freezes. David lets go immediately.

"I-" He almost opens his mouth, but shuts it again.

Miliband's avoiding his eyes furiously, colour creeping up his cheeks. David's casting about for anything to say when Miliband suddenly pulls again.

"Your _photographs_ are on the pillow if you want them" he half-blurts, half-spits out furiously, and David rolls his eyes in relief, because at least Miliband's _said-_

_So much for it not mattering._

"So that's it." He steps in front of Miliband and Miliband glares at him, arms folding across his chest. "That'th what?"

David arches an eyebrow. "Stop it. And don't say stop what" he interrupts before Ed can say it. "You know what."

Miliband settles for pressing his lips firmly together instead and scowling.

David sighs. "Miliband. Look-this morning-"

Miliband's keeping up the silent glare.

(Thank God he's not got his back turned in those jeans again.)

(That could be-)

(Well.)

(Hmm.)

David blinks and realises he's been staring dumbly at Miliband for the last few moments.

Miliband widens his eyes ostentatiously. "You-?"

David groans. "Look, I just wanted to get _up,_ all right? And I-I didn't want to-wake you-"

It sounds pathetic, because it is.

Miliband just _looks_ at him, and for God's sake-

Because Miliband doesn't _get to do this._ One moment be telling David he's the scum of the earth and the next be acting offended that David got up after spending the-

Spending the-

"Look, it-it was just-we _fell asleep-"_ David bursts out with it and it's ridiculous that he has to remind himself. "We fell asleep and I-I just-it's not like you couldn't have _expected_ it, Miliband, I don't know what you thought-thought that it _mattered-"_

He stops, already regretting the words.

Miliband just looks at him.

David swallows. "That-that came out wrong-it, I-"

Miliband just stares at him with those big dark eyes.

"Miliband-"

"No, you're right." Miliband's voice is low, which is a hundred times worse. "Doesn't matter."

"No-that's not what I-"

Miliband steps past him. "I'd like to go outside" he says, with a pointed glance at David's hands, still wrapped around his wrist and holding his hip.

David doesn't let go. "Miliband, I-"

"It's OK. You made your point." Miliband won't meet his eyes.

(And why's _that_ what he notices more than anything else, that Miliband won't meet his eyes?)

"Miliband-"

"Can I juthst-" Miliband's eyes meet his then and maybe it's the catch in his voice or the fact that he doesn't finish his sentence or just that _look-_

(that's _far_ too-)

but David looks away and, after a second, slowly lets go of Miliband's wrist, his hand lingering another second before it falls away from his hip.

Miliband's arm barely brushes his as he walks past him. David shouldn't notice.

He waits until he's sure Miliband's gone and then thumps the cupboard door, which only succeeds in gifting him a throbbing pain in his fist, which he shakes, aggrieved.

When Sam comes in a couple of moments later, David's leaning his forehead on his fist, silently groaning as he replays the conversation over and over from five different angles.

"Did you talk to Ed?"

David makes a despairing sound in reply.

Sam's hand squeezes his shoulder. "Come on-"

"Ahh-" David lifts his head, lets it fall onto her shoulder. "I'm not even sure why he's so bloody upset" he mumbles into her hair.

It's to Sam's credit that her mouth twitches only slightly but David won't know this yet.

Sam strokes his hair gently. "You need to speak to him."

David lets out an exaggerated "Mmph." "I tried. He's-ah-not particularly-"

He sees Miliband's big eyes again and groans into Sam's shoulder.

"We were just looking at _photos"_ he says, hating how his voice trails off into a whine. "And then he-"

Sam is quiet for a few moments, her chin nestled on his head. David would say something more, the words almost pushing at the edge of something just for a moment, but he doesn't quite manage it. Instead, he just groans. "God. I'll have to speak to him at the match."

Sam squeezes his shoulder. "Well. That's why I needed to speak to you."

David's already lifting his head. "Oh. Oh. The police-they-"

Sam nods. "Yeah, they wanted to update us."

 

* * *

 

 

Nancy yanks her hat down further over her forehead, heading towards Elwen, who's kicking a ball against the wall of the house with Daniel. Florence and Sam are still inside, being coaxed into hats and gloves by Mum.

"Dad said you have to check first" she says, pointing at the wall that borders their driveway from the embankment that leads down to the road.

"I did" Elwen says breathlessly, pointing to one of the usual police officers that stands at the end of the driveway. "There's nobody there."

Nancy cranes her neck to see if the people who were here before New Year with their signs are back. But Elwen's right-she can't see anyone.

"It's all right" calls out one of the guards, seeing her peering. "They're not allowed to be here now."

Last time they'd been here, it was just after Christmas, and there'd been a bunch of people with banners. This, in itself, is something Nancy's used to-Dad sometimes lifts her up when they're in Downing Street so that she can see the protesters being held back outside the gates to make her laugh at the signs. He usually waves at them. Nancy does too.

But usually, they're gone after an hour or two. But these ones had stayed, and when they'd gone out for a bike ride the next day, they'd still been there.

It had been late at night when they'd arrived and Nancy had been so tired she'd barely looked up when she'd heard them shouting, Florence's head nodding against Mum's shoulder. But it had been the next morning that Nancy, wandering out to the car, with Dad tugging her slightly rapidly by the hand, had glanced down at the lane and noticed the signs still there.

"Why did I have to come out first?" she'd asked, annoyed, as Dad had lifted her up into the car, even strapping her in like when she was younger, Chris, one of their security guards giving her a cheery wave from outside. "Where's El and Flo?"

"They're coming out-here, give me a minute, Nance-" Dad had clicked her seatbelt into place, and one of the men had shouted something, though Nancy hadn't been able to hear what.

"Why didn't we all come out at once-"

"Because this way I can get you into the car quicker." Dad's jaw had tightened slightly and Nancy had glanced at the lane again. "Do they want to hurt us?"

"No." Dad had given her a quick kiss on the cheek, and squeezed her shoulder. "It's fine. Just sit here, and Chris and everyone'll watch you while I get Mummy and the others-"

Nancy had frowned, and, the second Dad had gone, had strained against her seatbelt, trying to see out of the window, but the car had been parked in such a way that she hadn't been able to make out any of the signs. She could see some of the police officers, though, standing by the gate.

Chris had given her a quick jerk of the head. "Here, Nance, lean back. Your dad doesn't want you seeing them."

"Who are they?"

Chris had sucked his teeth. "Just people who are angry."

"At Dad? Why?"

Chris had sighed, glancing at the gate. "They're not allowed to see their kids."

Nancy had pulled in her bottom lip, trying to stand in her seat. Chris had given her a warning look. "Your dad won't be happy if he sees you doing that."

Nancy had subsided, reluctantly, just in time, in fact, as she'd caught sight of Dad approaching, Florence in his arms, in the rearview mirror. A second later, he'd appeared, holding Florence out and placing her gently in her baby car seat.

"Pooh-Pooh Bear-" Florence had declared happily, holding her chubby hands out expectantly, as Nancy poked her cheek gently. "Pooh-Pooh Bear-Pooh-Pooh Bear-"

Dad, who was strapping her in, had reached out a hand to Nancy, who'd passed him Florence's beloved Winnie-The Pooh. Florence had shouted its' name joyfully as she seized it. _"Pooh-Pooh Bear-"_

Dad had given her a quick grin. "All right, Nance?"

"Yeah." Nancy had peered past him, but had only been able to get a quick glimpse of a flash of pink from one of the signs. "Where's Mum?"

"She's going to-come out with Elwen now-" Dad had given Florence a quick kiss on the cheek and patted Winnie-The-Pooh into her arms. "She'll be out in a tick-just let me check the map-"

Dad had ducked out of the car door, and Florence had continued her joyful recitation. "Pooh-Pooh Bear-Pooh-Pooh Bear-" Nancy had foreseen the car journey seeming longer than the bike ride. She'd kicked her legs against the seat, wriggling a little, eyes fixed on the back of one of the officers standing only a couple of feet away from the car, the jut of the black gun in his arms piercing the air.

"Where's Daddy?" Florence had asked, waving Winnie-The-Pooh through the air until he looked worryingly disorientated.

"Map" Nancy had said, not needing to check behind to see if she was right-Dad always has to go over a map with the security people whenever they go out anywhere.

"Where?"

"Behind us-"

There'd been a sudden shout, a man's voice, who Nancy didn't know, and she'd glanced past Florence to see the police officer walking towards their wall, gun in his arms. He'd been talking to someone, though Nancy couldn't see who.

"Daddy-" Florence had said, pouting, aware suddenly of the change in atmosphere, even as Nancy took her hand to squeeze it. "I want Daddy-"

"Dad's back there-" Nancy had tried to steer Florence's face round, to look away from the people at the wall, but Florence had held herself stubbornly still. "No, I want-"

"No, look, Dad's-"

"I want Daddy-"

"You two all right?" Chris's face had appeared, one hand gripping the door frame. Florence had stuck her bottom lip out at him, her soft brown hair falling around her face. "I want Daddy-"

Chris had cast a quick glance at Nancy. "Dad's just staying back there for a minute" he'd said, quickly, reaching in to pat Winnie-The Pooh. "That way, the people shouting don't shout at you."

Nancy had still been able to hear voices, raised now and clashing against each other, though she hadn't been able to catch any words.

"Why they there?" Flo had asked, her voice rising, high and plaintive. "Where's my-where'd Daddy go-"

Over the engine running, Nancy couldn't catch any of the man's words but she could hear his voice getting louder, and then Mum was there, fumbling with her phone, leaning in to see Florence quickly. "It's all right, Flo-"

"Mumma-"

"Nance, hold Flo's hand, a tick-" Mum had been pulling out her phone, and then Dad had been there, ducking round her, his hand catching Flo's cheek gently. "You got Pooh-Pooh Bear?"

Florence had beamed in relief, waving her bear in the air, and Mum had glanced up and in the direction of the house. Glancing back, Nancy had spotted Elwen, already heading towards them across the driveway, Mum meeting him halfway there.

"Pooh-Pooh Bear, look-" Flo had waved her bear in Dad's face, nearly hitting him with it, her little voice higher and louder even than the man's at the wall.

Elwen had scrambled into the car, but hadn't bothered to sit down, instead leaning against the door frame, peering with frank interest at the people with the banners. "Who are they?"

"How many are there?" Nancy had asked, envious from her sitting position, and already debating wriggling free of her seatbelt.

But this wasn't to be, as then Mum had stepped into the car, tugging at Elwen's sleeve. "Elwen, sit down, darling-"

"Who are they, Mum?"

"They're just-just sit down, sweetie, all right-"

"Where's Dad?"

"Back with the-"

"Map" Nancy had finished for her mother, as Mum had settled herself on Florence's other side, carefully adjusting Florence in her seat, who had kicked joyfully.

Elwen had taken the opportunity to hop back out of the car.

"Elwen-" Mum had reached for his sleeve, but Florence's hands had fastened on her other arm. "No, Mummy-"

"El-"

"Don't worry-" Chris had called out, and a second later, Nancy had been treated to the sight of her brother being marched back across the driveway towards the car by one of the police officers.

"Elwen-" Mum had hissed as Elwen was delivered safely back to the car, though he'd ducked out of her reach, still craning his neck to see the protesters. "I told you to stay-"

"You didn't, technically-"

"What are they saying?" Nancy had interrupted, eager to know whether these were also people whom it would be fun to wave at.

Elwen had shrugged. "Don't know. The guy yelled something about prison."

"Oh, right." This is commonplace. The people often yell about prison. At first, when Nancy was younger, it frightened her, but now, it's just boring.

"Here, I'll see what he's saying." And Elwen had hopped out the car again.

"Jesus, Elwen-" Mum had been fiddling with the belt this time, but Elwen had stopped only a foot or so from the car, just standing by the security.

"I will swing for him" Mum had muttered, yanking at her belt. "Elwen-"

Dad's head had poked through, holding a yellow cloth that he usually uses for wiping the windows down. "Everything OK?"

Mum had stared at him, incredulously. "You know we're missing something?"

Dad had frowned. "Oh, yeah." He'd stood up, already peering round, before ducking down again. "No, the bikes are on the back-"

Mum had made a furious sound in the back of her throat.

Elwen, perhaps knowing what was good for him, had already turned back to the car, but at that moment, the man's voice split the air, and one of the security's men's hands tightened ever so slightly on his gun.

_"Are you not waking up with a guilty conscience on every New Year's Day?"_

"Elwen." Mum's whisper was far scarier than if she'd shouted.

She hadn't needed it. The security guard had already been urging Elwen towards the vehicle, a couple of them stepping together to form a circle between Elwen and the people at the wall and then Elwen had been scrambling into the vehicle, one of the security people murmuring something to Dad, who'd pulled back immediately, his hand almost touching Elwen's sleeve but not quite.

"Daddy" Florence had declared loudly, her ponytail bouncing as she whipped her head round to see him, only for the car door to be slammed shut a little louder than usual.

" _Sit down_ -" Mum had grabbed Elwen's sleeve and half dragged him into his seat. Elwen had rubbed his arm with an aggrieved look. " _Ow-"_

"Do not give me _Ow."_

"It hurt!"

Nancy had risked another stretch in her seat, only for Mum's hand to seize her wrist in an iron grip. "Don't even think about it."

Nancy had slumped back down in her seat, rolling her eyes at Elwen.

"Who are they?"

Mum had shaken her head. Inside the car, the shouts had been fainter, but Nancy could still see a corner of a pink sign.

"They're just...people who are angry."

"Why?"

"They don't get to see their children, and it makes them angry." Mum had given Florence's bear a wave as Florence patted her chin with it, making it wave at her. "Mummy, Pooh-Pooh-Bear _smile-"_

Elwen, apparently deciding he didn't need to live a longer life, was peering again. Mum tugged him back into the seat. "What do they think Dad can do about it?"

"Nothing." Mum had tucked her hair behind her ears. "There's nothing Dad can do about it. It wasn't even Dad who was in charge when the decision was made." Mum had tugged Elwen back into his seat. "Stop standing up."

"Why?"

"I don't like them seeing you." Mum had jerked her head at Florence, who was still chattering away to her Winnie-The-Pooh bear, blissfully unaware, and Elwen and Nancy, with a glance at one another, had taken the hint, choosing not to point out that none of the protesters could see through their car windows even if they wanted to.

By the time Dad had climbed into the passenger seat and they'd driven out onto the road, the people had quietened down a bit, and it wasn't until they'd got back later that afternoon that Nancy had remembered they were there.

Mum had grabbed her arm when Nancy had gone to unfasten her seatbelt. "Hang on, wait a tick."

"What are social services?" Elwen had asked, scrunching up his hat in his hand and playing with the pom-pom as they pulled into the driveway. "They keep yelling about them."

"Things that look after kids" Nancy had told him.

"Ohhhh." Elwen had sucked his lips into a circle, before bobbing up out of his own seat and being bobbed down by Mum. Nancy had wriggled out to adjust her seatbelt and had found herself being yanked down too.

"Ow!"

"Nancy!"

"I wasn't even _looking!"_ Nancy had glared at her mother indignantly, rubbing her shoulder perhaps rather harder than the situation warranted.

Elwen had promptly meercatted out of his seat, and Mum's head had whipped round with a bark. "Elwen!"

"I was _stretching!"_

"Oh, for God's sake-" Dad had turned round, pushing Elwen back into his seat. "It's like bloody Musical Chairs-"

Florence, content in her child's chair, had tugged on one of her rabbit's ears and moved its' face to kiss Winnie-The-Pooh on the head.

They'd waited for a minute once the car had pulled to a stop, hearing the clatter of the bikes being lifted off the back, and Nancy had just been wondering if she could duck Florence's apparently-lively rabbit once more without ripping its' ears off when Dad had yanked his door open and walked round to theirs'.

"Right" he'd said, speaking even before the door was open. "Guys, we're going to have to-"

"Are they not-not heading off-"

Dad had shaken his head, Mum unfastening Florence from her seat as she spoke, while Florence wriggled happily. Nancy could hear the voices again, clattering against each other in the air.

"Right." Dad had glanced at Nancy and Elwen, who'd exchanged glances. "Here's what you're-you're going to need to just get out of the car and walk into the house with Mum and me, OK?"

There'd been a long silence. Elwen had tilted his head slowly to the side. "Isn't that what we do anyway?"

Nancy had snorted. Dad had rolled his eyes.

"No, I mean-" He'd sighed, gripping the edges of the door frame. "Look, just don't look over at them, OK?"

"Why?" Mum had been pulling Florence onto her knee. "Are there-could it be getting nasty-"

"No, no-" Dad had been shaking his head. "They're just a bit loud-"

"Right." Mum had wriggled Florence further onto her lap. "Right, just do what Daddy says-" She'd reached over to unfasten first Nancy's seatbelt, then Elwen's, though they've both been doing it for themselves for years.

"Make sure you don't look over at them-"

Nancy must have looked puzzled because Dad had caught her eye with a twitch of the mouth. "They take it to mean what they're saying is interesting-here, do you want me to go and get them round the other side-"

"Yeah, if you want to go-"

Dad had disappeared round the other side of the car, and Mum had tugged Nancy up gently, gesturing to the other side of the car. "Right, come on, kiddos-"

The other door had slid open and Mum had lifted Florence out carefully, helping her jump down from the car, Dad half-catching her, and Nancy, wriggling across, had only just caught Florence's delighted _"Daddy"_ as she wrapped her arms around Dad's legs, Dad already picking her up, before she'd wriggled her way across, dropping down ahead of Elwen, only for one of the men's voices to slap at her ear.

"Another 2 million children were refused close contact with their fathers-"

Florence had giggled, rubbing her face into Dad's chest. Dad had steadied Elwen's shoulder as he jumped down, shoes crunching on the gravel next to Nancy. "Right, come on-"

"-you _did_ break those promises-" a woman's voice was shouting, and Elwen bit his lip to keep from giggling, his cheeks flushing pink with suppressed laughter. Dad nudged him, and Nancy stuffed her own hands over her mouth, nudging Elwen hard in the side as Florence wriggled happily into Dad's coat, Mum coming around the car from the other side to meet them, the security people already at the door.

Nancy had angled her head away from the wall, trying to keep her shoulders from shaking with laughter, even as the woman's voice had been shouting again. "Social services break court orders-"

Elwen had nudged her as Mum and Dad shepherded them between them towards the cottage. "Do you think it's like those ones in London, when that woman started trying to lie down when they put her in the police van-" He'd bent double, giggles wreathing his mouth only for Mum to nudge him hard. "Shhhh-"

"Contact orders-" the woman was shouting, and Dad had tutted under his breath. "I wish I could give her a contact order."

Mum had whacked his arm, giving Elwen a gentle poke to make him hurry. "Come on, let's get in the house-"

Nancy had tugged Florence's ponytail, while Elwen had ducked forward, shaking with laughter, as Dad winked at him, but Nancy noticed he pulled Florence a little closer into his chest.

"I would like to take _my_ little girl for a cycle ride!" The voice had split the air, and Nancy had already started to look round when Dad squeezed her shoulder. Elwen had let out another nervous giggle, teeth nibbling at his lip, one of the other men's voice echoing under the woman's. "David, I'd like to go out for a cycle with _my_ children-"

"Last time I held my children's hands and walked down the street was _four years ago"_ one of them had been shouting, but a moment later, the door had been opening and Mum had pushed Nancy gently in the back to hurry her pace, and then a moment later they'd been inside, the door shutting firmly behind them.

Nancy had looked up at Dad, the shouting outside immediately muffled by the thickness of the doors and walls. She'd pulled off her hat, the warmth of the house already sinking into her little body.

"Don't think they liked us much" Dad had remarked, heading over to one of the windows to peer out. "They've certainly got uglier since last time."

"It's not _funny"_ Mum had said, as Elwen dissolved into laughter once again, Florence's giggles now joining his. "We need to get them moved on. I'm getting the security to get the police looking into a restraining order. They had their phones out there-"

"Yeah, I saw that-" Dad's jaw had tightened slightly again.

"And they're not meant to be filming-filming the kids-"

Now, Nancy kicks the ball back to her brother, watching Elwen try to flick it up with one foot and nearly fall over.

"What was up with Dad?" she asks, watching Daniel fumble with it.

"What d'you mean?"

"All that stuff about him and Mr Ed Miliband."

Elwen shrugs. "The stuff about them looking at photos?"

Nancy pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. "No, just-your brother was in their bed, wasn't he?" she asks Daniel, suddenly remembering. "Did he say they were there when he went in?"

Daniel shrugs. "He was just-they were just there when he got _in_ " he says, kicking at the ball again and missing.

Nancy sighs, pulling her lip between her teeth again. "Just-"

If Nancy was a little older, she would know why the morning has left her feeling-not worried. Something like interested, but with a sharp edge of something else to it, something she rears back from.

But Nancy isn't older and so she kicks the ball back to Daniel, and slowly, the morning crouches down, curls up into a tiny niggle at the back of her mind.

 

* * *

 

 

"You all right?"

Ed jumps at the touch of Samantha's hand on his elbow. He's somehow managed to end up lagging behind the others a little, hands shoved deep into his pockets, eyes occasionally fixed sulkily on Cameron's back up ahead, safely out of Cameron's sight.

"Oh-um-" His gloved hands scrunch into nervous little fists in his pockets. Ed curses them. "Yeah-juthst-" He tries for a smile. "Cold..."

Samantha gives him one of her smiles-the type that means Ed doesn't feel like he has to say anything. Which he's grateful for because right now, in between trying not to notice just how cold it is-how much colder it seems to be in the country than the city, less noise and smoke to wrap around you, wriggling under your coat like a blanket and warming your lungs, even as it fills them up-Ed's trying _not_ to remember how much his pillow had smelt like Cameron's hair and how Ed had found himself lying there, resisting the bizarre urge to thrust his mouth into it and promptly engage in some sort of ridiculous hormonal _tryst_ with the thing.

Which is just fucking _insane._

But he should say something. Ed remembers that morning with a stabbing lurch in his stomach and immediately feels even more that he should say something.

"Um-what-" He fiddles with his wedding ring, almost twisting it off his finger, then at the last moment, having to push it back on again. "You seemed worried thith morning-"

Samantha frowns, her dark hair shining as it bounces on her shoulders. It looks like hundred of little lights are braided through it, the way it glistens as it moves. "Did I? When?"

"When-er-um-when we were in the kitchen-when I was talking to-"

He can't quite say the name.

"And anyway, you th-said something about an update and I-th-sorry, it's none of my business" he says quickly, hating his own mouth.

"Oh, that." Samantha doesn't seem perturbed by the question or Ed's fumbling way of asking. "No, no, that-that was the police, just, just updating us on some extra protection we have, had-we had an issue over Christmas with a harassment order" she explains, off his blank look.

Ed blinks. "Oh-oh, God-was someone-"

"No, no, not like that-" Samantha's words are a warm cloud in front of her as she talks, her hands folding tight into the crooks of her arms in the icy morning air. "No, it was one of those Fathers For Justice lot, you know-"

"Ohhhh." Ed nods in sudden understanding. It all makes sense now-they'd nearly wrecked Harriet's roof, which she'd fumed about for three weeks after they'd finally been escorted off her property, still waving their banners and shouting about judges and conspiracies.

"Yeah-" Samantha stamps her feet a little as she walks, mouth twitching in a quick smile at the sight of Sam being carried happily on David's shoulders. "I mean, they've turned up before, but this time they were yelling at the kids and stuff, so we had to get the police involved, and get them out with an, an eviction notice-"

"Oh, _right-"_

"The police were just letting us know that the harassment order will still be in place, even though it was only a four-week order" Samantha explains, a little more cheerfully. "So even if they're allowed to come back, they have to stay down the lane."

Ed nods, not wanting to admit he doesn't understand.

"They have to stay down the lane and not come near us or the house" says Samantha, not making Ed have to ask.

"Ah." He nods, kicking a stone along the path, and his eyes fall on Cameron again. Florence is huddled into his side, held under one strong arm, with Daniel's head pressed into his side, Cameron alternating an arm around his shoulders or clutching Sam's knees, which are pressed against his cheeks.

Ed takes the moment to stare at Cameron again, his heart thudding. He worries at his lip, trying not to remember the scent of Cameron's hair. He pushes his hands deep into his pockets, curling his fingers as though he doesn't trust them.

"Were-um-are-the kids OK? I mean, about what happened-" he says, reminding himself to tear his eyes away from Cameron's back. "After-you know-"

"Oh, yeah." Samantha yanks her coat tighter around herself, watches as Cameron shouts to Elwen, guiding him in off the road as a truck rumbles down the country lane. "They were OK, once we explained to them it was a bunch of idiots who couldn't accept Dave didn't control the family courts. No matter what else you guys try to pin on him" she says, with a grin at Ed that makes Ed blush and fumble with his ring again. Samantha's hand touches his arm again gently.

Ed frowns, still blushing, but the name of the charity stirring a vague memory in his head. "Hang on-wait a minute, aren't they the ones who tried to-there wath th-some plot to kidnap Blair's son or th-something-"

"Yeah-or, no, actually, I think the groups were linked, but they were some-some kind of fringe group, I'm not sure-" Samantha pushes her hair back, her boots grinding the wet gravel deeper into the road as they walk.

"Right-" Ed pulls his coat tighter round himself, eyes flickering to the way Samantha does it.

"But we usually manage to keep them away from it-the kids" Samantha tells him suddenly. "And they were trying to film them, which is why we got the police in-"

Ed winces.

"He's-er-" Ed hadn't meant to bring up Cameron, and he almost laughs, because typical fucking _Cameron_ wriggling into his words anyway. "He's-he's protective of, of the kids, isn't he-"

Samantha glances at him and Ed hastily backtracks a little. "I mean-he always seems-"

Samantha watches him for a moment and Ed struggles to rid himself of the notion that she's examining him, her eyes scanning him a little more closely.

But then, abruptly, Samantha says "Yeah. The kids have always loved it here, as well, we've been here since before they were born-"

"It's your constituency ho-did you already have the house or-"

"No, no, we bought it when Dave was elected-we rented it beforehand, though, in 2001-"

"D-didn't-" Ed stumbles once again against his name. "He grow up around here-you know, in the countryside-"

For a blink, Samantha's smile twitches a little deeper, but then she says "No, but near-near here, he grew up down in Berkshire, in Peasemore-"

"Peasemore" Ed says, as though he knows where it is. "But didn't you-"

"What?"

Ed fidgets as they walk. "I thought you-grew up together or something-"

Samantha laughs. "Oh. No, we, we met a couple of times when we were little. But I don't think we remembered each other, really-I only met him properly when I was-I think I was sixteen-"

Ed feels something squeeze fondly. "Was-"

There's an odd pressing longing in his chest suddenly, a sweet ache at the back of Ed's throat, the way there had been when Cameron showed him those photos the night before.

_What was he like?_

Samantha's watching him and answers the unspoken question a little more quietly. "Cocky. But sweet." She gives Ed a long look and says, with a slight smile, "You _know_ how he is."

Her eyes linger on Ed for a long moment. Ed feels himself blush.

"We didn't get together for a few years, though. I was twenty-one, we were on holiday. Tuscany."

Ed stares at her and he wants to ask, wants to ask-

What did he say? What were his favourite foods? Did he like to lie by the pool and stretch out in the sun, the way he stretches back in his office chair sometimes? Did he clap his hands together when he walked towards you the way he does when he meets someone new? Did he run his hands through his soaking wet hair when he stepped out of the pool and shake his head a little, the way he does when it rains?

How did he breathe when he was lying next to you?

Ed already knows that. The thought sticks in his throat, floods his face with aching heat.

"What did you like about him?" he says, more slowly than he would have meant to.

Samantha watches him with her head tilted to one side, and for an awful moment that sends shivers of excitement down his spine, Ed thinks she's going to ask him the same question.

"That he was funny" she says, watching Ed with that small smile again. "Even when he argued with me, he made me laugh."

The heat in Ed's face grows until he can't look at Samantha anymore.

He gulps. He pulls his jacket further around him, steals another look at Cameron's back, tries not to look any lower.

"What-" He can't ask it, quite.

He doesn't need to. Samantha's hand brushes his arm, as he stares at Cameron's back, throat suddenly thick, heart suddenly beating fast and heavy and deep.

"That I argued with him about everything" she says, and Ed almost makes a sound in the back of his throat, almost, but not quite.

 

* * *

 

 

When he finds himself walking with Cameron a few minutes later, once they've arrived at the field and Elwen's disappeared into the pavilion to change with the other little boys and Samantha's headed over to chat to one of the coaches, it feels a little inevitable.

That doesn't mean Ed _welcomes_ it.

"Look" Cameron says abruptly, and Ed jumps a little, even though he's been standing right _next_ to him and how has that happened?

"Look" Cameron says again, and Ed's about to step away, but he doesn't. "Ed-"

Ed makes a small sound in his throat, trying to get absorbed in Nancy's turquoise bobble hat where she's standing a little in front of him, holding Florence's hand. Sam peers up a little at the field, knocking vaguely into Nancy's other side, clutching what, upon closer inspection, Ed can see is Florence's rabbit. Florence herself has several small bears wedged under her tiny arms, clutching the Winnie-The-Pooh one proudly. Ed blinks, looks around for Daniel.

"He's with Sam" Cameron says, watching him steadily, before Ed can ask. "She's got him."

Ed knows he should feel relieved, but it catches in his chest that he didn't notice Daniel going. And Cameron's watching him with that steady look and that just makes it _worse._

"Look" Cameron says, and Ed's eyes roll as he hears himself say "Can you _please_ stop th-saying that?"

The words crack out a little more loudly than he expected, splintering in the icy air. It's not a shout, but a couple of people look up. Ed immediately ducks his head down, shrinking into the collar of his coat. Mercifully, none of the children look round.

"OK" Cameron says, after a moment. And then, "Miliband, I know you're pretty irritated with-"

 _"Irritated?"_ Ed snorts. "No. _No. I_ am _fine."_

Cameron rolls his eyes. "Well, you're _not_ , are you?"

Ed huffs, and hates himself for huffing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Cameron doesn't say anything then. He just steps in front of Ed and stands still and stares at him.

Ed wants to look away very badly, but he can't. He looks back at David, stares at him.

Cameron stares back. Ed becomes aware they're standing very close to each other.

He blinks, suddenly sure Cameron's said something without him noticing. "What?"

Cameron frowns. His eyes seem bluer like this, though maybe it's just his cheeks being flushed, rosy in the cold.

"What?"

Ed blinks. "I-I thought-"

His lips are very cold. He wraps his arms around himself without realising it.

"I-"

Cameron's still looking at him. Ed wants to look away, but he doesn't. He looks back.

"Doesn't matter" he breathes, and Cameron's eyes widen a little.

Their eyes hold and Ed suddenly has the very odd feeling that they've just decided something without knowing it.

When Cameron speaks again, Ed looks away, but he can still feel Cameron's eyes holding him.

"Look, I should have woken you up this morning" Cameron says quietly, and Ed has to fight not to wince.

He half-turns away instead, Nancy's hat wobbling in the corner of his eye. "Why?" he says, his voice a little less steady than he would have liked, but not quite wobbling. "It'th fine."

He remembers the confused moment of warmth, his eyes cracking open to take in the morning light slanting into the room and then the dull thud in his chest, the heaviness of knowing instinctively what he hadn't quite realised yet.

Cameron's just looking at him.

"No, it's not" Cameron says very softly, lingering a little over the words and coaxing the heat back into Ed's cheeks. "You know it's not."

Ed's breath catches in his throat. His heartbeat seems to be humming.

"I-" The words swell in his throat and he turns his head away, unable to catch the words.

Cameron's hand finds his arm. Ed shouldn't be holding his breath, they're standing in public, in a crowd of people, about to watch a child's football match, it's Cameron, for God's sake, it's ridiculous-

Cameron's finger brushes the one soft bit of skin available between Ed's sleeve and his glove, and Ed stares at his arm as though it's not his own, breath catching in his throat at the warm tingle of Cameron's fingertip, feather-light.

"I'm sorry" Cameron says too quietly. "I didn't think you would-"

They both don't look at each other.

"I didn't think you-" Cameron trails off again. Ed almost wills him to shut up. Almost.

Ed can't look, so he turns away, stares at the field without seeing it.

"Hey" Cameron says, and then "Don't ignore me, OK?"

Ed laughs then, the sound ripped out of his throat, louder and harsher than he expected but when he speaks, his voice is quieter. _"Ignore_ you?" He stares at the field, but he's still too aware of Cameron at his side, in that jacket and those jeans and just-"When do I ever _ignore_ you?"

Cameron watches him. Ed can feel it as strongly as if it was him watching Cameron.

"Well" Cameron says, an odd forced lightness in his tone now. "I wouldn't like you to."

Ed makes a huffing sound.

"Ed" says Cameron, and the sound of his name makes Ed jump, and he turns to face Cameron then, turns to face him and-

Cameron's just _looking_ at him, and-

"You-" Ed's voice is strangled.

Cameron just stares at him.

 _Please don't make me say it._ Ed thinks it, not knowing quite what it is, but just knowing, knowing, _I'll die if you make me say it._

He turns away, the high cacophony of children's voices slamming back into each other, too high and young to be punches.

Ed stares at the field, not quite seeing it. His whole body's taut, waiting.

Cameron steps up beside him. Lets himself touch him. Their arms brushing.

Ed lets himself exhale once, breath a hot cloud shaking in the icy air.

Cameron's voice is soft. "You don't need to ignore me" is all he says, but it makes Ed tremble, a hot tremble all through his body.

"You don't need to ignore me" Cameron says again, his arm brushing Ed's own, his finger touching Ed's bare wrist, the small hot touch, and Ed lets himself feel it, he does.

 

* * *

 

 

"He's not answering."

Rachel waits for a response and, when none comes, kicks her husband's leg hard. "I _said_ he's not answering."

Stuart turns over and gives her an informative grunt.

Rachel glares at the back of his head. "You're irritating me."

Stuart snores contritely.

Rachel sighs. She swings herself up and heads for the door, letting her foot kick the bed hard as she does so.

It earns no reaction save for a blooming of pain in her toe, which, pettily, she refuses to reveal until she's outside on the landing, whereupon, phone already wedged between her shoulder and her ear, she contents herself with leaning over the bannisters and bellowing "FUCK!"

"Pardon?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. Trust Greg to pick the phone up at the first ring.

It's only then that she becomes aware of the distinct sound of the CBBC theme tune from somewhere downstairs and curses herself, remembering the swear jar that Grace has been pointing at all week, and that Rachel presumes will be overflowing by the time the election campaign is over.

"Fuck off, where's Ed?"

There's a pause, during which Rachel pictures Greg ostentatiously peering under the duvet. "He doesn't appear to be in my bedroom."

"He's not answering his Blackberry."

"Right." There's a pause, then "How long for?"

Rachel sighs, slumps against the door frame. "Couple of hours. I was going to ring Justine, but then I thought-"

"What?"

Rachel hesitates. "Well. You know how she is when they go on holiday. Maybe she made him turn it off."

She can almost picture the crease of Greg's forehead. "She wouldn't do that now. Not at home."

Rachel sucks her teeth for a minute, mind pushing at the idea with a cautious finger before lurching away as though it might burn.

"Where's Marc?" she says, pacing slightly, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror across the landing, her blonde hair already needing another smooth with the brush and go with the straighteners before she leaves the house.

"Can't bother him. The baby, remember? They had an urgent scan, they need to make sure everything's-"

"Shit. Yeah."

"Trying to make sure the baby's not breech, something like that-because it's their first, you know-"

"Stewart?"

"I could go for Stewart" Greg says, too quickly for Rachel's liking. "I could get him on the phone and-"

"Tom" Rachel says, glancing over the bannisters at a burst of canned laughter from the TV downstairs and lowering her voice.

There's a pause. "What?"

"Tom. I'll call Stewart" she explains, resenting the words even as she says them."We've known Ed longer. If we get there first, it doesn't matter as much."

"Get there-wait, wait, we're-" She can almost hear Greg's face crumpling. "We really need to go over-"

"You heard-"

"But it's only to go over notes, it's not even-"

 _"Yes"_ Rachel says, already scrabbling in her handbag for a brush, one eye on the mirror. "But Ed's not answering-"

Greg doesn't say anything. Rachel presses her advantage. "He _never_ doesn't answer."

Greg sighs. "Well. Are-are you sure it wouldn't be best if I talked to Stewart-"

"Sod off, Greg, _you're_ talking to Tom."

"But-"

Rachel's already hung up the phone.

She presses her hands to her temples for a long moment, takes a long breath.

  1. OK.



No need to overreact. Not yet.

No need to involve-

Rachel's pulled out of her reverie by the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. She turns to see Stuart staring blearily at her, leaning against the door frame, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "Did you say something?"

Rachel rolls her eyes, and this time, aims her hairbrush at the door frame.

 

* * *

 

"Oh, _shit."_

"What?" David glances at him quickly, the shouts on the pitch still echoing.

"Oh. Oh God. I left my B-" Ed scrabbles in his pockets, panic tightening in his chest. "My Blackberry at your house, oh God-"

"Hey." Cameron's hand finds his arm and any other time, Ed would notice that. "Hey. It's all right. We can get it later. I can get one of the guards to get it."

Ed's stomach is clenching tightly, his hands scrabbling into his hair. "N-no, you-oh _God-"_

There could be anything happening, any story slipping out right now.

"No, oh-God, I've got to-" He turns round, looking for the way back to the road. "Maybe I can juth-st-go back and-"

"Protection team won't let you-" Cameron's hand tightens on his arm, but Ed barely notices, the panic knotting tight in his chest.

"But I-I've got to- _God-"_

Cameron's other hand finds his arm now, leans in. "Ed. You need to calm down."

"But-but I-"

"Elwen'll be disappointed if you leave" Cameron says, his voice suddenly tighter now. "He'd want you to stay."

Ed stares at him, his mind struggling to grasp hold of the words. "But-but-"

"What's wrong?" Samantha manages to ask without looking back, still clapping as Elwen manages to kick the ball through another boy's legs.

Cameron manages to shake his head without taking his eyes off Ed. "Nothing, just need a moment" he says, and he takes Ed's arm gently. If he'd grabbed it or done it without looking, it would be easier to shake him off. But Cameron does it gently.

Stunned, Ed just lets himself be led back a little before he's quite worked out what's going on. Cameron, as it happens, comes to a halt after only a few steps.

"All right" he says, looking Ed straight in the eye. "What's this really about?"

Ed blinks. "I've jutht told you-my phoneth back there-"

Cameron stares at him, his forehead creasing. "Wait-wait-here, we can walk and talk-"

Ed takes a deep breath, bloody _cringing_ inside at the way Cameron's looking at him, but-

But he needs his phone.

But Cameron doesn't let go of his arm, and he ends up in step with him, awkwardly, their feet bumping into each other.

"This is really just about-ah-your phone?" Cameron asks, leading Ed around the field so that he can still peer over at the children's heads.

Ed nods, struggling to concentrate on breathing. In and out. In and out.

He takes one shuddering breath. Then another.

He manages to look up at Cameron. "Y-yeah" he manages, voice rasping a little in his throat. "I mean-what elthe would-"

He doesn't know if it's his imagination, but at that, he thinks he sees Cameron wince.

Ed blinks, but Cameron's already grinning again, looking away for a second then back to meet Ed's eyes. "Ah. I see."

Ed blinks, but his fingers curl in his pocket, and that's enough to remind him.

"Oh, _God-"_ He chews at his lip, tugging at his jacket. "Tom'th going to-"

Cameron sighs. "Look, you're here. Your phone's perfectly safe. You know that, Miliband-"

He does, but that doesn't make it any-

"Would it help if I told you we weren't planting stories about you today?" Cameron asks, joke slicking his voice a little too loudly as he peers at Ed.

Ed, worrying at his lip, mind still on his phone, has to scrabble for the words, stumbling into them. "Well, I'd be hardly likely to believe that, would I?"

The words uncoil and snap themselves out, a little more viciously than Ed expected.

This time, they both wince.

Ed stares at Cameron, his mouth opening-whether to tell him he didn't mean or that he didn't mean it like _that-_

But almost immediately that smile's back, hoisted into place, and Cameron's hand is letting go of his arm, even as Ed opens and closes his mouth hopelessly.

"Ah. Point-point taken, I think-"

Ed opens his mouth, but Cameron's already turning back to the game. "Go on, Elwen" he yells as loud as the others now, his eyes fixed a little too firmly on the pitch. "Get it in the middle-"

Ed has little choice but to follow him, cursing himself for opening his mouth, while trying to tell himself very firmly that there's nothing wrong at all.

 

* * *

 

 

"It's too early" Stewart mutters, for the fifth time, Rachel estimates, since they left the car, and if she tried counting how many times since she first rang him, on her way to his in the car, it may result in an arrest for a crime that would be even more painful than whatever she's going to do to Greg for somehow managing to wriggle out of this.

"Do you know, I've kept track of the amount of times I've been woken up early this month" says Stewart, a ginger wisp of hair blowing gently in the breeze. "And do you know how many that is?"

Rachel grits her teeth. She can picture Stewart as a teenager all too easily, sad attempt at a rat's tail moustache wriggling across his top lip, hand always waving like a lone reed to remind the teacher that _isn't that essay on the Napoleonic Wars due in, sir?_ , whine as grating as if he'd planned it. The Nice, Nice Guy, who loudly bemoans to his few male stragglers, all in some way as pathetic as him, the fact that the girls to whom he offers a creepy shoulder to cry on at parties won't look at him twice, patting himself on the back for not trying to tiptoe his snivelling little fingers beneath their waistband, only to glaze his boxers in his rush the time some kind-hearted mortal pitied him enough to introduce his penis to only the second hand it had known in its' life. Rachel finds it disturbingly easy to picture him, face swollen with almost-erupting teenage acne and an attempt at swagger that would look as if he'd contacted chlamydia.

Rachel would rather have done this with The Monk than Stewart. Sometimes, The Monk doesn't talk.

She takes a little too much pleasure in stepping on Stewart's foot as they make their way up the path.

"Ow!" Stewart gives her an aggrieved look, which Rachel ignores. She thinks of her husband back at home, probably only just beginning to wonder vaguely where she's gone as he drags himself from a comfortable slumber, while the kids merrily lay waste to the living room.

(And Stewart _would_ have to have the same name as her husband.)

(Which is just _rude_ , really.)

"Look, we've left Bob a message" Rachel snaps, while Stewart rubs his shoe pathetically. "But this isn't really a publicity thing yet. But Tom's checking round a few contacts and then-" Rachel grinds her teeth. "Greg said he'd meet us here if we haven't found him."

"He's probably just still in bed" Stewart mumbles. He wrinkles his nose. "Wait. What if we interrupt-"

His nose wrinkles more. Rachel appraises him coolly and resists the urge to point out that really, it's rather hypocritical of Stewart to find the idea of others having sex disgusting.

Instead she snorts, because _even so-_

"It's _Ed and Justine"_ she points out, with a toss of her blonde hair. "I think the last time that happened was around the time that my dad thought he'd be Prime Minister." She reconsiders, then wrinkles her own nose. "Or the time he _was_ Prime Minister."

Stewart frowns. "Your dad was never-"

Rachel rolls her eyes and rings the doorbell.

She's not sure if she's expecting Ed to answer or not-it would certainly be unusual for him to ignore his phone-but instead, it's Justine who opens the door.

Rachel tries to smile. "Hi." It's not as though it's unusual for them to be here this early-but it's unusual for them to be here without warning.

Justine's already overlarge eyes widen a little more. Rachel's always thought that big eyes are supposed to be an attractive look, but somehow on Justine, the effect's a little off, wrong, as though someone's jammed plastic eyeballs a size too big into a misshapen doll's head.

"Did we forget a meeting or something-" She glances reflexively over her shoulder. Rachel peers behind her, wondering if Ed's about to appear, hair sleep-mussed and eyes heavy.

"No, no-" She curses Stewart silently for not speaking. "No, it's just-Ed's not picking up his phone-"

"Right-"

Rachel waits but Justine just stares back, her freckles seeming oddly more prominent than usual in the February morning light.

"So-is he just-" Rachel searches for a way to politely ask if their boss is ignoring them and steps on Stewart's foot again because she can. "Not answering the phone or has it not been ringing or-"

Justine's head jerks, as if she's just been slapped awake. "Oh-oh, no, he's not here-"

It's Rachel's turn to feel her head jerk. "What do you-we don't have-I mean, do you mean for work or-"

"I wouldn't think work-"

Justine's eyes narrow the slightest bit, and Rachel has that same creeping sense up her spine she feels when Justine nods her head in response to a question before it's even been finished. Like she's gauging how best to trip out her next words.

"I-he's in Oxfordshire" Justine finishes, with barely a breath between the words.

Something about the place sends Rachel's hairs rising in warning, a vague memory that it's too early to lay her hands on properly.

"Are you-do you want to come in-" Justine's already stepping back into the hall and Rachel accepts the invitation with a shoulder-slump of relief at the warmth as the door clicks closed behind them.

"The boys not up?" she asks, casting an automatic glance towards the door under the stairs next to the coat cupboard, where she'll sometimes get a glimpse of dark curls or too-big grey-blue eyes that blink too roundly, eyelashes trapping brief snatches of conversation, as the boys are shuffled upstairs or down by Zia, her words only for them, the only things that are.

"No, they're with him."

Rachel blinks.

"They're-er, Ed took them off for a weekend, give me a bit of space to catch up with work-"

Rachel returns the slight smile. She'd be thrown by its' sudden leap into Justine's face if she hadn't grown up with cameras hovering, waiting to snap like slick black-snouted crocodiles. That doesn't mean she likes it anymore than she did them.

"Do you want a cup of-"

"Yeah, yeah-" Rachel follows her to the kitchen, a vague childish curiosity poking at her-she's never actually seen Justine make a cup of tea.

"So, did he rent somewhere-" she asks, as they step somewhat gingerly into the tiny kitchen. The place always reminds Rachel of a hospital, with blank walls and that yawning empty noticeboard, only sprinkled with a few court notices and council letters. The dining room always gives Rachel a strangely rigid chill to the bones, something in there just feeling like a lacking, like reaching for something only to find you can't remember what but that you just know you can't find.

They'll have to brighten the kitchen up a bit when they film here. Get some photos of the kids up, humanise them a little.

"Did he-"

"Rent-"

"Rent somewhere?" Justine frowns, carrying the kettle awkwardly to the sink, as though she's not quite sure what to do with it.

"Yeah, for-with the boys, I-"

"Oh-" Justine yanks the tap into life, the water crashing too hard into the kettle as though asserting its' livelihood. "No, no, he's-"

A dart of the eyes, almost unnoticeable. But not to Rachel.

"-he's staying with David" Justine says, almost in the same breath.

At her side, Rachel feels Stewart stiffen.

He's not the only one. Rachel blinks, pulls her jacket tighter around her to give her time to arrange her face. "Oh" she says carefully, because this has suddenly become a landmine conversation. Just quivering under her feet.

"Yeah, he went down yesterday morning." Justine yanks the tap off too hard. Rachel almost winces.

"Is he over from America?" That would be-not good. That isn't nearly the word. More than anyone would have dared to hope for.

"What?" Justine stops, kettle wedged between her hands, forehead creasing.

Rachel returns the look.

"New York, is he, did he-"

Justine's brow clears at _New York,_ the way everyone's does these days.

"Oh. No, not, not, er-" Her hand twitches slightly. "Not that David, not-his brother."

Rachel has the very odd sensation of having suddenly stopped dead, even though she's barely moved. Beside her, she can almost feel Stewart paling.

"Oh. Oh, right-"

"David, David Cameron-"

Justine flicks the kettle on. The water begins to boil, the steam already trying to escape too fast.

Rachel stands there, her mouth working silently.

"David Cameron" she says too softly for Justine to hear, just loud enough for it to sound like any other vague name.

Justine's head jerks slightly in a nod of her own.

The kettle's boiling, the water chattering angrily against the side. Rachel can feel Stewart's gaze fixed on her, frozen. Her own breathing suddenly seems far too loud in the tiny-how has she never noticed how tiny?-kitchen.

This is-this is-

This is-

Bad.

This is-

Not just bad-

This-

She can't even bring herself to step on Stewart's foot again.

These are not normal times.

 

* * *

 

 

Elwen looks around them, hair pressed damply to his forehead, prancing and proud as a newly-walking faun. Ed pats his shoulder warily, and is rewarded with a grin, Elwen's freckles standing out under the healthy flush of his cheeks in the winter morning air.

"Ready for the Tite?" David asks, tugging at Nancy's bobble hat affectionately. "I need a roast. I demand a roast."

Samantha glances up from her phone, a slight smile tugging up the corners of her mouth. She opens it, but Nancy gets there first. "It's a pub Dad hasn't left me in yet."

"That could be arranged-" David chucks her under the chin. "Pretty easily-wouldn't get much money for you, though, your value's gone down a bit-"

Ed watches with slight fascination the way David leans up to squeeze Florence's leg, where she's sitting on his shoulders, as he cuddles Nancy with one arm. He glances down at Sam, who's toddling at his side. "Shall I pick you up?" he asks, holding out his arms, wondering if this is the right way.

Sam looks up at him with big dark eyes, blinking confusedly, and then shakes his head slowly. He toddles ahead and Samantha glances back, reaching for his hand. "Are you all right, darling?"

Sam reaches up happily for her hand. Ed feels a dull stab of something in his chest.

He already knows Cameron will be glancing at him, so he fixes his gaze firmly on his shoes.

"Oh, Giles just texted-" Samantha glances back over her shoulder, her hand curling tighter around Sam's wrist as he wanders a little. "Dave, Giles just-apparently they're going to-"

"Oh, Giles is there?" David adjusts Florence carefully on his shoulders as her chubby little hands splay themselves on his cheeks. "And Vic and the kids-"

"Yeah, yeah-"

"Oh, great, great-" Off Ed's curious look, Cameron leans in a little, his navy fleece coat brushing Ed's arm. "Best friend. One of them, anyway. He and his kids live around here, so we-"

"Right-"

"Is that-that all right?" Cameron gives him that appraising look that Ed's seen him give kids when he meets them for the first time. Something bristles in Ed's chest.

"Of courthe." Ed glares at his feet, wondering why he feels so small and sulky suddenly. Like the baby of the group. At least his phone would give him something to do.

"Mum-" Nancy's tugging at her mother's sleeve. "Will that guy with the banner be there again?"

"Oh, no, no, darling-" Samantha squeezes her shoulder. "No, they can't come back anymore, remember-"

Ed glances at Cameron again. Cameron peers at him a little more closely. "You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Fine." Ed's voice is far too right. He stamps his feet, trying unsuccessfully to dredge up some warmth from the icy ground. "How did-how do you know him, then?"

"Who?"

"Giles."

"Oh." Cameron adjusts Florence, gives Daniel's shoulder a quick squeeze as he ambles back and forth between him and Samantha. "Since prep school-since we were seven, actually, him and his brother."

Ed doesn't say anything.

Cameron glances at him, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, he went to Eton. Before you ask."

Ed darts a quick glance at him. David grins, clearly waiting.

Ed shrugs. "I didn't th-say anything" he says, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Cameron just grins, waiting.

They walk a few more steps in silence. Ed can feel Cameron watching him, can feel it in the grin aching at the corners of his mouth, the heat in his cheeks.

"You really do like to focuth on Eton" he mutters, when he knows neither of them can take it any longer.

There's a moment of silence before Cameron splutters into laughter, the sound ripping itself out of his chest. And Ed's laughing too, his shoulders shaking, the icy air gripping his cheeks and tears prickling his eyes, his body aching with shuddering laughter and Ed can't tell if he likes how it hurts or not.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, the protesters had still been there.

They'd been the night before when they'd got back from dinner but Nancy had been half-asleep and Florence had been dozing in Dad's arms as he carried her in, so they hadn't heard much. She hadn't got a proper look at them the day before, but this time she could see them out of the window. She and Elwen had been scrambling up at the living room window, pressing their noses against the glass. "Have they been there all night?"

"Get away from the windows." Mum had been tugging them both back from the glass.

"Why? You let us watch in Cornwall-"

That had been funny. They'd been staying with Uncle Giles and halfway through the holiday the same group of people had turned up. Nancy would recognize a couple of them that day in winter from the holiday-the guy with the bald head and the woman with the dark ponytail and the sad, saggy face, like a potato that had turned to liquid inside its' skin.

In Cornwall, the guy had had a microphone and they'd all crowded round to take turns making faces at him out of the window.

Elwen and Jackson had been knocking their shoulders into each other as they tried to stand on the window seats. "Why does he keep stopping at the gate-"

"Dad's police won't let him get up the driveway" Nancy had told them as Rex joined them, Perry trying to lean over Nat's shoulder to get a look at his phone.

Freya had sighed, wandering over with a graceful untangling of her legs, ghosts of the blonde dye in her long hair just barely visible in the overcast light through the window, the highlights washed almost a pale green by the sea.

"God, what a bunch of losers." She'd snapped a couple of pictures of them on her phone, leaning over them in her denim shorts to try to get a better shot.

The man with the microphone had been shouting something that none of them could quite hear. Something about _"I can say what I like-"_

"God, what a prick" Nat had said, glancing lazily out of the window. "Don't batter your wife if you want to see your kids..."

With no grown-ups there to tell him to watch the language, Nancy had glanced up at him, and Freya had answered the unspoken question. "They're people who are pissed off the courts have said they're a danger to their kids."

Nancy had mouthed an "Oh", turning back to the window. Perry had spotted them earlier when they'd come back from the beach, and had come clattering into the house after the others, saying they'd all been outside the driveway before the gate had been closed. And the other day, when Isaac and Xander and Seth had been there, one of them had been filming when they were trying to get down the lane-Isaac had pointed out that they might have got some of his football on video. But Nancy had been taken out a back way, with El and Flo and Mum and Dad, so she hadn't seen them then.

Nat had thrown a finger up at them through the glass, the way he did when he'd spotted them on the beach earlier. Nancy had stuck her tongue out at them when Dad was whirling her in the air so he couldn't see, before Dad had let her fly into the sea, the salt tingling her lips and the icy water a harsh slap across her face that made her scream, aching with laughter as her head broke through the surface.

The man outside the house had thrown the microphone up into the air and Elwen, Jackson and Rex had dissolved into laughter, Perry sniggering too as he perched on the windowsill. Freya had snorted and Nancy had let herself press under the crook of her arm, her cheek pressed against Freya's blouse and the sweet damp smell of her skin, under the breath of floral perfume, a teen-girlness about the scent that made Nancy want to breathe it in, hold onto it.

But this time, Mum had shaken her head. "They're closer this time. I don't want them filming you."

Nancy had watched from behind the curtain instead, a strange thrill in her chest as she watched them shout, and she could see it in Elwen's eyes too, the way she could in Cornwall, knowing there was a dinner of lobster and home-peeled fries and gateau waiting downstairs, with a night of songs and Flo and Rex racing each other round, gel-pen flowers glistening on their cheeks, while the people shouting were out there in the dark, where they might as well be a thousand miles away. Nancy had pressed her forehead against the glass, smiling as hard as they shouted, without ever being able to touch her.

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey-" Cameron clamps his hand down on the shoulder of a stocky, well-built man with a receding thatch of blond hair. "Where've you been hiding-"

The man bounces up from the table and throws his arms around Cameron in one long move. "Dave-"

Ed watches the two men hug, their hands almost thumping each other on the back. Sam's hugging the woman next to him, a tall, dark-haired woman with very dark eyes.

"Ed-" and Cameron's reaching behind him for Ed's sleeve, sending Ed's heart into a cacophony of fumbling beats. "This is Ed. Ed, this is my friend Giles, Giles Andreae."

"Hi-" and Giles' hand seizes Ed's, gives it a pump. Dimly, Ed notices that Giles hasn't needed to be told his surname.

"H-hi-"

"And here's-erm-"

"Oh, yeah-" Ed touches his son's shoulder awkwardly. "This is, um, this is Sam-"

"Hi, Sam-"

"And Daniel, my kids-"

Giles drops down to his knees to touch both the boys' shoulders. Sam looks up at him with his big, dark eyes, and Giles gestures over his shoulder. "This is my wife, Vic-"

Vic gives a wave from where she's already engrossed in conversation with Samantha. Behind them, a young man climbs up lazily from the table, is greeted with a clap on the back by both Giles and Cameron. "This is Flynn, my eldest-"

"Hi." Flynn takes Ed's hand firmly without waiting for an invitation, giving it a shake. His grip is surprisingly strong, his dark eyes meeting Ed's firmly, with none of the usual darting eye contact or nervous fumbling of teenage boys. "I'm Flynn."

The sheer confidence throws itself out from him, jolting Ed a little. Ed shakes Flynn's hand, his own feeling somewhat smaller than usual.

"Here, let's sit down-"

Ed steers Daniel and Sam cautiously to the long table, hands on their shoulders. They scramble into the long wooden bench covered in comfortable cushions as Nancy, who's already tossed her coat casually over one of the benches, hugs Flynn, his arms seeming to envelop her little frame. Elwen scrambles in next to a smaller boy, with sandy red hair that almost curls, whose gaze is focused intently on an iPad propped up against one of the pots of cutlery. "Hey." The boy glances up, shifting over a little, so Elwen can wedge himself in next to him.

Giles gestures to the other boy and girl slumped on the bench seat. "This is Nat and Freya-"

The girl looks up, soft brown hair falling around her heart-shaped face, escaping from the blue hoodie she's got yanked up over her head. She wriggles down in her seat, the word MARLBOROUGH stretched in bright letters across her chest. "Hi."

Nancy's already wriggling under Freya's arm. "Hey."

"Hey, Nance-"

"And there's Jackson-" Cameron indicates the small boy with the reddish hair, whose face and Elwen's are cast blue in the light from the screen.

Ed suddenly realises he's still standing up and Cameron tugs at his sleeve. "Planning to sit, Miliband?"

"Oh-" He sits down a little too hurriedly, Cameron's hand on his arm.

"Yeah, the kids came home for the weekend-" Giles is saying, slumped back in the same almost luxuriously lazy manner that Cameron has, as if not for a second doubting that it's his right to do so. "So we thought we might as well-"

Ed frowns. "Home from-"

"School" supplies the boy called Nat, one of his headphones falling loose from his ears, as he examines his phone closely, Nancy wedged between him and Freya.

"Oh." Ed blinks. "Oh."

Cameron, next to him, grins very slightly.

"Th-so-so-where are you-" Ed glances at Flynn, who gives the waiter an almost infinitesimal beckon and a huge grin as they reach the table, in a way Ed would never have quite dared to at his age. "At th-school-"

He realises he could have known the answer a moment ago, but it's Freya who says, letting a headphone fall out from her hoodie, "Marlborough."

Ah.

"Not Jackson, of course" Giles says, as though Marlborough is a perfectly common school option, which for them, it is. "But he'll be going in a few years-"

"Is his name down?" Cameron asks, leaning back lazily, Samantha juggling Florence on her knee. Something about the lazy slouch of his shoulders makes something unroll in Ed's chest.

This is usual for them, he realises.

"Oh-first, are we getting a roast?" Cameron asks, clapping his hands together, and Ed jumps a little, because this is their normal, of course it is.

But he can't quite picture them as they are here, in jumpers and the scarf that Cameron's draping over his chair, and Florence scrambling onto her father's knee, in Eton tailcoats and Bullingdon uniforms, slouched against a wall, posing nonchalantly on the Oxford steps.

Or he can.

But it's harder.

It's harder.

 

* * *

 

 

They'd been getting ready to go to the Fun Run that morning in December. (Dad runs in it every year-Mum says he's like a Labrador, running out into fresh air.)

Mum hadn't wanted them to go outside while the people were there, but Elwen had slipped out the door and Nancy had followed him, following Dad's security guards. It was all right, she reasoned-Dad's protection team were there.

The icy morning air had bitten her in the face and Nancy had yanked her hat a little further down, as Elwen had scurried behind one of the security cars.

Nancy had glanced at the people in the lane outside. She couldn't quite make out their faces from her position on the driveway, but she could see a huge splash of pink that was one of their signs. They weren't shouting anything and so Nancy had wandered across to join her brother behind the car.

"Have they yelled anything?" she'd asked, half-hoping they had so she could laugh, her teeth chattering. She'd stamped her feet a little, pulling her winter coat tighter around herself.

"No" Elwen said, popping his head out from behind the car. "They just keep filming us."

Nancy had popped her own head out to see a group of mobile phones trained on the cottage.

"Shall we wave?" Elwen had been darting up to do just that, when Nancy had pulled him down. "Mum'll kill you."

"Why? It's only being friendly-"

"We're not meant to be _friendly."_ Nancy had yanked him down furiously, causing Elwen's feet to nearly slide out from under him. "Last time when Dad let us wave at those people in London, she flipped."

"Why?"

"Because they're following us about, _duh."_

"Is it because they don't have their kids?" Elwen had peered round the vehicle with frank interest. "Are they wanting to take one of us?"

Nancy had snorted. "Yeah. You."

"They'd _want_ me more-"

"Fine, go and ask to go home with them-" Nancy had tried pulling him out from behind the car. " _Ow-"_

Elwen had been pushing her back, their hands digging into each other's arms. They'd been so busy engaged in their deadly warfare that they'd failed to notice Mum until the door had crashed against the wall inside and then Mum had been standing there, Florence balanced on one hip, with a face like thunder.

Elwen's laughter had trailed away. "Uh-oh."

Mum had marched out, stopping just behind their car across from the vehicle Nancy and Elwen crouched behind, Florence beaming at them in her hot-pink winter coat, silver tiara half-falling off her head. "Get over here _now."_

Nancy and Elwen had exchanged a glance, biting their lips as grins pushed at their mouths.

 _"Move."_ Mum had taken a step towards them, only for Florence to wriggle. "Mummy, cold-"

Mum had adjusted her, with a glance towards the lane. "Right."

Nancy had known they were dead. Bye-bye, Horrible Histories tomorrow morning. Farewell, ice cream at The Tite after the Fun Run. Goodbye, any chance of going to Wilderness Fest-yeah, just, goodbye.

Elwen had scurried across while Nancy was still calculating her chances of survival. Mum had glared at her and Nancy had mentally put off her chances of going to Wilderness for at least three more years. "Nancy-"

At that moment, one of the protection officers had tapped Mum on the shoulder and jerked his head towards the car. Squirming, Florence had been handed carefully over to him by Mum and placed inside.

Granted a temporary reprieve from being banned from going to a festival for quite possibly the rest of her natural life, Nancy had peered round the car again. Some of the people in the lane were now standing on the embankment, peering over the fence.

Elwen was scrambling into their car too, Mum glaring at him. "Get in the car-"

"But-"

"Go."

Elwen's head had disappeared, but Nancy just knew he was rolling his eyes. She'd sighed, unfolding herself reluctantly as she braced herself for the hurricane.

The door to the cottage had crashed open again and Nancy had pressed herself flat against the car in automatic response. Dad had stormed out of the cottage, still in his short-sleeved shirt without the jumper Mum had told him three times to put on.

Nancy had already been getting ready for the bellow when Dad stormed right past her. Nancy had blinked as one of the protection officers had marched towards her. "Come on, Nance-"

Nancy had blinked. "Where's Dad going-"

She'd really thought for a moment Mum might just march over and bodily drag her into the car, but then Florence's voice had risen in a high, complaining wail and Mum had ducked down into the car, half-climbing in to get to her.

"Mr Cameron-" and Nancy had glanced round to see the bald man shouting. It might have frightened her, but she was a little too young to know that.

The man's standing there, holding a phone. "Aren't you interested to know why we're all in your-"

_"NOW LOOK-"_

Nancy had nearly jumped out of her skin. Dad had been marching up to the gate, right next to the man. A hand had fastened on Nancy's arm in an iron grip and she'd yanked at it furiously before realising it was the protection officer. She'd gone still, eyes fixed on Dad at the gate, fizzing with excitement at the sight of his finger jabbing into the bald man's face.

"You are _intimidating_ my _CHILDREN-"_

Dad had been yelling loudly enough for Nancy to hear every word. She'd watched, her arm held firmly by the security guard, her heart giving rapid little excited beats. Her cheeks had been flushed with the same excitement that had flooded through them in Cornwall.

"You are frightening the _neighbours_ -" Dad's finger had been jabbing into the man's face. It had felt like a balloon was swelling in Nancy's chest as she peered around the car. _I'm here_ , she'd thought, staring at them, the raw anger in their faces sending her heart pounding, a strange exhilaration running through her. _I'm here and you can't touch me._

"The neighbours have been complaining-" Dad's security had been there, gathered around him as Nancy watched, her eyes fixed hungrily on them all. "And I really think you've made your point and you can _go now."_

Nancy had peered round the car, enjoying the spectacle. The bald man had been saying something but Dad's voice had crashed over his.

" _No,_ you are _FRIGHTENING MY CHILDREN-"_ Dad's voice had swelled the way Nancy's only heard it do a few times, his finger stabbing at them, and Nancy had wanted him to get closer to them. Wanted him to dig his fingers into one of them and them not be able to do anything about it. A thrill had gone through her chest, her cheeks aching with the sound of Dad's voice.

"- _and_ the neighbours and that is _not fair."_ Dad had spun around and marched back towards the car, the security officers flooding towards the gate like a school of fish.

"What about _my_ child?" the woman had been screaming. Nancy had stared at them, something about the raw outrage of their faces-as though they simply couldn't believe that they weren't allowed closer, that they couldn't touch them-feeding something excited and hungry in Nancy's chest. She wanted to stand where they could see her. She wanted to stick out her tongue, to see them shout even more.

"I haven't seen my child for _four and a half years_ under your government-" one of the other men was shouting. Without quite realising it, Nancy had stepped out from behind the vehicle.

 _"My_ children are frightened and scared-" the other man had been yelling. Nancy had smiled a little at the sheer volume of his voice. She'd thought of their children, warm and safe somewhere, away from them. She'd felt a glow for them, these children she'd never met, whose names she didn't even know.

"Your point's been made" one of the police was saying at the gate. "So I suggest you move on-"

Dad was already back at the car, bending to look inside, and Nancy had glanced over at the sound of Florence's voice, upraised in a wail. "Where's Nancy?"

One of the security men had put his hand on Nancy's shoulder again.

Dad had turned back to her, and his eyes had widened slightly at the sight of her. "Nancy, get in the car, come on."

Nancy hadn't resisted, for once. She'd scrambled into the car, only for Mum's hand to fasten on her sleeve. "What the _hell_ were you doing out there-"

"It's brilliant" Nancy had informed the car. "Dad just nearly punched a protester."

Mum, who'd been lowering herself down to see to Florence, had bolted upright, her head smacking into the ceiling. " _What?"_

Elwen had burst out laughing. Florence had been looking from one to the other, her little face crumpling with confusion.

"OK, he didn't _actually_ punch them-" Nancy had reached to touch Florence's chubby cheek, as a fat tear had dribbled out. "It's OK, Flo-"

Dad's head had popped round the other side of the car. Elwen had shrieked.

"Jesus, El-" Dad had grabbed the side of the car, nearly sending his own head into it.

"You scared me!"

"Well, who'd you think I was, I-" Dad had caught sight of Flo. "It's all right, Flo, here-" He'd reached in to pull Florence's teary face against his own.

"Who is it?"

"Who's what?"

"The person you nearly punched." Mum had been rubbing her head, muttering about reinforced roofs, one arm still around Florence.

_"Punched?"_

"Yeah, Nancy said you-"

"I didn't say _punched_ " Nancy had explained, sensing her parents ire potentially turning on her as she scrambled over the seat, taking refuge in the back of the car. "I said _nearly_ punched."

" _Nearly-"_

"Oh, for God's sake, Nancy-"

"Well, he _could_ have" Nancy had explained, popping her head up over the seat again.

"What are they doing?"

"The protection-the first protection cars are going to go out now-"

"No-no, what are _they-"_

"Oh, they're just-bunch of nutcases-" Dad had glanced out of the car. "They're still filming the house-"

"They're what?"

"Filming-"

"Right, that's-" Mum had been fumbling in her bag for her phone. "That's-that's it-"

"What's it-"

"They're not meant to be filming-filming the kids-"

Mum had been scrambling for the car door.

"Mum-"

 _"Mummy-"_ Florence's voice had risen in a wail.

"Mum, _don't-"_ Elwen's face had been paler than usual, his freckles standing out against his skin.

"Guys, I'm only going to film them, I'm not-" Mum had been scrambling for the door when a sudden bellow had echoed through the air. _"_ MY CHILDREN HAVE BEEN CRYING FOR _FOUR AND A HALF YEARS-"_

Florence had clamped her hands over her ears, and Dad had scrambled in next to her to cuddle her. "Shh, shh, it's just some silly people-like the silly ones in the street in London, remember-"

 _"This government's IGNORED IT-"_ This shout was fainter on the air. Nancy had pressed her nose up against the window, trying to get a closer look.

"Nancy." Dad had just said her name quietly.

"What? They can't see-"

Dad's eyes had met hers' as Nancy had glanced over her shoulder and for a second Nancy had had the odd sense that he knew exactly what she was feeling-that strange, almost savouring excitement. Like watching a horror film curled up snug and safe on the couch, but more of a thrill, stealing her breath.

A woman's reedy, high voice had pierced Nancy's thoughts. "Mrs Cameron, my daughter doesn't get to see her mummy!"

Dad had ducked back, already fumbling for the door. "Jesus, Sam-"

But Mum was already out of the car, her phone clutched in her hands like a weapon. Nancy had watched as she fumbled with it, before marching straight towards the protesters.

 _"-four years in a row_ to see me at Christmas-" one of the men had been shouting, but Nancy and Elwen had both had their noses pressed against the window by then, each of them dangling a hand over the seat in front to pat whichever part of Florence they could most easily reach.

 _""Please, Daddy! Please, Daddy!"_ Do you want to see the videos-"

Elwen had cheered as Mum had marched towards the gates. Dad had glared at him. Elwen had beamed back. "What? Mum's going to flatten them."

The woman with the ponytail had been saying something to Mum from the other side of the lane, but Mum had been holding her phone up. Like a gun.

"Mummy-" Florence had been struggling in her child safety seat and Dad had drawn her into him, kissed her head gently. "Mummy's coming-"

"-that all of our children have been _kidnapped-"_ Mum had been turning round and heading back towards them, even as the man's voice echoed on the air. "By your husband's _government-"_

Nancy had glanced at Dad. Dad, meeting her eyes, had shrugged. "I wish I knew where he thinks I'm hiding all these kids" he'd remarked, his voice already relaxing as Mum reached the car again. "I could give you a couple more brothers or sisters."

Elwen had sniggered, but Florence had managed a teary smile. Nancy had felt it under her hand, as she stroked her little sister's damp chubby cheek, even as Dad had popped his head out once more before dropping back into the car, one of the security yanking the door shut behind him.

Mum had climbed in then, a cloud of perfume and sweet briskness in her dark hair and the door had slid firmly closed behind her with a click, sealing the noise off.

Mum had still been scrambling into her seat as the car started moving, Dad reaching over Flo's head to grab her arm. "You all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, they were just-" Mum had been fumbling with the phone, pushing it into her bag.

"You can give it to us when we get there" the security officer in the passenger seat had supplied helpfully. "We can turn it over to Thames Valley, get an order-"

"Did you thump any of them?" Elwen had demanded excitedly, as the car rolled out of the gate.

Nancy had leant past him to look out of the window. She'd known the people outside couldn't see them now-no one can see into their car from outside, except at the very front. But she could see them and she'd watched them, that excitement building higher in her chest as she'd seen one of the police officers push the bald man back-

The car had pulled round into the lane and that was when the woman's voice had swelled, falling into the air like a plastic mug spilling out. _"Our children are scared, too!"_

Nancy had stared at her through the window, almost feeling the prickling of her frustration. Her wanting to reach out and slam her fists into their car as they swung past her. The fact she couldn't.

Nancy had laughed, almost without knowing it, the sound wobbly like a lamb learning to walk. Then she'd laughed again, louder, the tottering steps of sound more confident and more delighted in that confidence.

Nancy had laughed as she watched them. She'd kept her nose pressed against the window, watching them and their angry little scream of a banner fade into the distance, watching them whilst none of them could watch her.

 

* * *

 

 

Ed's fairly sure he is the only person drinking hot chocolate.

Apart from the children.

He doesn't entirely _mind_ , though.

It's more that-

"Aren't you applying to Lady Margaret?" Giles is saying, spearing a bite of Yorkshire Pudding. "Isn't Romy there?"

"Yeah, all three of their girls went there" Samantha's saying, wiping Florence's mouth for her. "And Craig's eldest's there. But you basically have to live on the steps to get in-"

"Yeah, we had that issue" Vic says, taking a gulp of lager. "Because we hadn't got their names down the second we learnt the gender of the bloody _foetus_ , Marlborough had a bit of wiggle room-"

Ed can't suppress a small snort.

Giles glances at him. "Oh, I keep forgetting-" He grins, pointing a finger at Ed over his glass. "You're one of these-against private education, boarding school types, aren't you-"

Ed prickles a little. "I wouldn't send my kidth to private school, no." He stirs his hot chocolate slowly. "It doethn't mean I don't approve of people who use them."

Cameron almost chokes on his beer. Giles snorts, throwing a napkin across the table. "Got over your strawberries, Dave?"

Cameron ignores this, turning instead to stare at Ed.

 _"You_ don't think less of people for where they went to school?" He's putting his glass down slowly, shaking with laughter. " _You_ don't think-?"

"No, I never th-said I did-"

"You didn't _have_ to say you did-" Cameron's still laughing through another gulp of his beer. "It's rather-written all over your _face_ every time you look at me-"

"It ith _not_ written all over my face every time I-"

"For the last few years, I've thought my full name was _The Old Etonian David Cameron-"_

"Oh, well, i-i-i-if that'th your biggest problem, if that'th your biggest problem-"

"I never said it was my _biggest_ problem-" Cameron's cackling, stabbing a forkful of beef. "I'd say it might be _your_ biggest problem-"

"Been a quiet weekend, has it?" Giles asks Samantha, with a grin.

"To be honest" says Flynn, who's been watching the whole conversation with a slightly bored air, one eye on the iPad the other kids are gathered around. "I don't see the issue. In fact, given our parents can afford to send us somewhere private, surely that just frees up places in good state schools for other kids."

"But we th-shouldn't _need_ private th-schoolth-" Ed explains to him, with a gulp of hot chocolate. "Look-the point is-if we got all th-state th-schoolth up to the th-same standard, surely there wouldn't be any need for private schools-"

"But that's just utopian" Flynn says lazily, as if the conversation's nothing more than another squirt of whipped cream on his hot chocolate. "Everyone'd like to think that one day there'll be no bad schools. But what, sending your kid to a worse school when you can afford to send them to a better one is meant to save society?"

"No, but it would reduthe the _need_ for private schools, if people weren't willing to pay for them-"

Cameron's foot nudges his own a little, but Ed doesn't notice.

"But why shouldn't you?" Flynn says, popping a marshmallow in his mouth and choosing to mix it peculiarly with a mouthful of beef and potatoes. "If you can afford to give your kid the best thing possible, why wouldn't you?"

"Becauthe if everyone does that, then only the richetht will be able to have the best education-"

"So, what, people should put their kids second to an ideology?" Flynn watches him with an amused grin, with a slouch that reminds Ed a little of Cameron.

"No. But the fact is if people felt able to th-send their kids to th-state th-schools-"

" _If-_ see, _if"_ Flynn grins. "No-one's going to send their kid somewhere they think isn't good based on this hypothetical _if_ , not even _if_ they had a gun to their head _."_

Ed struggles for a moment.

"Plus, even if _everyone_ sent their kids to state schools, we'd probably just end up with, like, really overcrowded state schools" Flynn adds, digging into a roast potato as though that's the most important part of the conversation.

"Can you do the TV debates for me?" Cameron asks suddenly, and a ripple of laughter cracks through the slight tension building around the table.

At the same moment, Cameron's hand lands on Ed's wrist. It's there for less than a second and Cameron's looking at Flynn, but it squeezes gently, just for a moment.

Ed's only just trying to catch up with that when Vic, sliding back onto the bench with a fresh glass, says "Yeah, Flynn, tone the debate prep down a notch, would you?"

Flynn goggles. "You weren't even _here!"_

"I was in spirit."

Flynn rolls his eyes but Giles has already turned back to Samantha and Cameron. "Anyway, you dodged the question about the strawberries, Dave."

Cameron grins, glancing at Ed. "See, there's something the two of you agree on."

"Brilliant." Giles chucks back another swig of beer. "Fantastic, I can expand my horizons" he adds, with a wink at Ed. "If Ed can put up with me-"

Ed swallows, aware that he's supposed to smile, struggling to measure how much.

"I can put up with you" he offer shyly, and Giles laughs, but there's nothing mocking in the tone. Ed waits, on tenterhooks for a sign he's misjudged it, but Giles' eyes are twinkling, smile creasing his slightly chubby cheeks.

It's very odd. If Ed had been asked to picture Cameron's best friend-

If, a few months ago, he'd been asked to picture Cameron's best friend-

He sneaks another glance at the jocular man in front of him, now reaching round to ruffle his youngest son's hair, one hand on his wife's shoulder.

It would have been much simpler a few months ago.

 

* * *

 

 

"Anyway, James'll be here soon" Giles had chuckled suddenly a few moments later, as Ed savoured the tip of the whipped cream swirl on top of the hot chocolate. "Ed won't be alone on his-er-views on private school, then."

Ed had looked up. "James?"

"James?" Cameron had perked up even more. "What, how-from _Edinburgh-"_

"He popped down to do some research for his next book-only bloody texted me this morning, or we'd have offered him the spare room last night-" Giles had reached out to dab whipped cream off Daniel's nose as if he was Jackson. "Said he'd pop in and say hi before he goes to catch the train-"

"Melou and the kids with him?"

"Nah, just him. Don't think he wanted to bring all the kids when he's only down for one day-"

"Who'th James?"

"Dave's friend from school" Samantha had said, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. "Bloody hell, if James is coming, you might want to get the stout in-"

"Will he lecture us all again-" Vic had muttered, wiping Jackson's mouth carefully with a napkin. "We'll get about an hour before we have to-"

"Before the bartender commits suicide-"

"Uncle James coming?" Freya had asked, unhooking one of her headphones, the other nestled in Nancy's ear.

"Oh, _epic-"_ Flynn had slapped his hands together, nearly knocking his iPad into Elwen's lap. "Sorry, mate-"

"Bloody hell" Freya had said succinctly, before placing the headphone back in her ear.

"James will talk me into an early grave" Cameron had muttered with a grin, swallowing his lager. "Or a resignation, which means Ed will love him."

"Ed will love him anyway-" Vic had taken a sip of her own lager. "Since he'll probably help him take Dave apart-"

"I object on the basis of inaccuracy-" Cameron had winked. Ed had felt that jolt in his chest and had had to fix his gaze on his hot chocolate for a moment.

"James will probably give you a vote" Samantha had explained, seeing Ed's look.

"Definitely won't give Dave one."

Ed had blinked. "And he'th your _friend?"_

He hadn't been sure why every adult around the table had burst into laughter, but Cameron's hand had squeezed his arm.

Now, Ed watches Cameron glance over his shoulder and then jump up with an exclamation, and Giles follows him. They both head towards a man with a large pair of glasses and a beard flecked with grey, who looks as if he's just been blown in on a storm and hasn't quite worked out how yet.

He's swamped by the two men, each throwing an arm around his shoulder, their flushed cheeks and joyful exuberance crashing into each other. Watching them, Ed has the odd flicker of thought that he can't quite explain that James looks more like one of his friends than one of Cameron's.

"How come you didn't tell us until this morning-"

"Didn't know, did I?" James laughs a little, hand rubbing his head. "Didn't know you were even here..."

Ed watches them over the back of the chair, as the man's half-pulled by his two friends towards the table. "I was going to bring Amelia, but there's no way she'd have been up, she's probably just rolling out of bed-hey, Sam-"

Ed wonders whether to stick his hand out or not. Cameron solves the problem for him by tapping James' shoulder. "Look. Your hero."

James turns and Ed blushes, which was probably Cameron's intention.

"Bloody hell" James says frankly. It occurs to Ed that he should probably get up. Bob would kill him.

"H-hi-" he manages, taking James' hand. "Ah-"

"So you're the guy that argues with Dave every week" James says, making Cameron throw his head back in laughter.

"Yep, Ed's taken your place-"

Ed glances at Cameron. "What?"

James laughs. "I helped him cut his teeth. We used to debate all the time at Oxford-"

"And Eton-" Cameron cuts in, banging the empty seat on his other side. "See, that's what James never-"

"Not _never-"_

"That's what James doesn't like to admit-"

"I never said I don't admit-"

"It's what you said-"

"I never-"

_"I just go to a college near Slough-"_

"See, _this-"_ James spins round with a grin, pointing at Cameron. " _This-this_ is what I meant when I say he-"

"Cut his teeth-" Cameron's saying, laughing so hard that he's half-bent over the table.

"You know every time I hear you two going at each other on TV-" James points between them. "All I can think is that's _exactly_ the way he was at uni-"

"What-are you saying, you, ah, _broke me in-"_

James snorts through a mouthful of beer, as Samantha buckles in laughter.

"That was-unfortunate, Cameron-"

The word _Cameron_ sizzles fondly in the air and only Ed notices.

He takes another gulp of hot chocolate purposefully. He waits, watching Cameron seize James' arm, and feels something jump a little in his chest.

 

* * *

 

 

"So _Royals_ is pretty good, but _World Alone's_ pretty underrated. Definitely my favourite." Freya adjusts the volume a little higher, letting Nancy press her cheek against her arm as they listen.

Nancy listens, letting each word the girl on the headphones sings shiver in her ear. Each one sounds like it's dredged up from somewhere, turned over carefully on a tongue and tasted before being allowed to ripple into the air. Like the girl enjoys savouring the taste of each word, wrapping her tongue around them.

"You still listen to Bruno?" Freya asks now, letting her head fall back, shaking her hair loose and checking her reflection in the camera on her phone.

"Yeah." Nancy fidgets. "Bit-I like _Grenade."_

"Cool." Freya nestles back, casting a glance at their parents at the other end of the table.

"Frey?"

"Uh-huh?"

Nancy glances at Elwen across the table, but he's absorbed in the iPad.

"You know at school?"

"Yeah?"

"Do people ever ask you about Dad?"

Freya, thumb swiping over her iMessage, shakes her head. "Nah. Not really. Like, a lot of them probably don't know. But the ones who do-you know, it's Marlborough. Half of them are related to someone famous."

Nancy reflects, glumly, that she's not likely to be so lucky.

"I mean" Freya says, flicking back to her music. "One girl came up to me once in Shell Year and was like " _So."_ Like, in italics. And I kind of knew what was coming, but I decided to piss her off, so I was like, _"So."_ And she just goes _"So."_ So I just go _"So"_ again. And then she-"

"Is there a part of the conversation that doesn't involve everyone saying _So?"_

Freya sits back in her seat. "Anyway, then she kind of slaps her hands together and says _"So_ , what's Dave like?" And I said, "I don't know, he's pretty cute whenever we sleep together, I'll let you know the next step of our passionate affair." And she kind of looked at me like-" Freya does an approximation of someone who's been smacked over the head with a heavy object.

"What happened then?"

"No idea, because I wasn't wasting any more time." Freya spoons up some carrot-and-turnip. "For all I know, she still thinks I'm having some wild affair with your dad. If you're lucky, you could end up calling me "Mum"."

Nancy snorts. Freya dabs her mouth with a napkin.

"Seriously, don't stress" she says, more quietly now. "Most people will forget about it after two days. Everyone else will be new too."

Nancy knows this, but it doesn't help much.

"Like, Dad did a reading once at Port Regis and it was awkward at first, but everyone forgot about it after, like, one day."

Nancy sighs, throws her head back against the seat. _People are talking, people are talking_ , the girl murmurs in her ear like a heartbeat.

"Which school are you going to, anyway?" Freya asks, chucking one finger under her chin.

Nancy shrugs. "Grey Coat, I think. Mum and Dad put Lady Margaret first, though, and Romy's there. And Maya-Iona'll probably get in, but they live round there-"

"Yeah, Dad was saying." Freya flicks at her dark blue nail varnish, frowning at the chips. "But Bea's at Grey Coat, right?"

"Yeah."

"They're both all-girls, right?"

Nancy nods. "Yeah. We looked at Holland Park, but it was too far or something. And Dad wants me to go to an all-girls."

"Does he not want you around boys or something?"

Nancy shrugs. "He and Mum went to all-boys, all-girls schools, and they think they're better."

Freya shrugs. "Do they not know Marlborough's name?"

Nancy shakes her head. "Mum went there, but she says no boarding schools."

"Mmm." Freya picks at a knot in her headphone wires with the tip of her fingernail. "Do they not want you having a boyfriend or something?"

Nancy shrugs, not being particularly interested in the issue.

"Tragic" Freya grins.

"That'd be stupid" Nancy says, trying to get another look at the playlist. "What if I wanted a girlfriend, not a boyfriend? An all-girls school would be easier."

"True." Freya high-fives her, and takes another gulp of hot chocolate. Then she frowns. "Why? Have you got one?"

"One what?"

"A girlfriend. Or boyfriend."

Nancy rolls her eyes. "No. It was just a point."

Freya just high-fives her again, the same way she had when they'd arrived at the Fun Run after the encounter in the driveway, which Nancy had described in painstaking detail.

"Bloody hell, you look you could use a beer already" had been Uncle Giles' verdict to Dad, before the Fun Run had even started.

Dad had snorted, glancing down the road. "I think they've already shown up here."

Nancy had peered too. Sure enough, she'd been able to make out a couple of people holding phones up.

"Are they the ones you saw earlier?" Mum had asked her and Elwen in an undertone, so Florence couldn't hear.

It had been when they'd first arrived. Dad had been talking to one of the race officials, Elwen wandering back from him to join them, while Mum had been wiping at Florence's face, getting rid of the traces of the comfort Yorkie she'd been fed in the car, while nodding along to what Dad's security were telling her about where they'd be through the race.

"Mummy-" Florence had burrowed into her and then pulled away again, tugging the hood of her jacket over her mouth.

"Now, why didn't you-" Mum had glanced down at her, as Florence wandered back and forth, kicking at the ground. "Why didn't you bring all your bears out with you-"

Florence had shrugged, her tiara slipping sideways a little. Mum had squeezed her shoulder, and then, at a signal from one of Dad's security guards, headed towards him, Elwen stepping up to Florence who'd glanced up at him. "Hold me" she'd demanded, big blue eyes fixed on her brother.

Elwen had patted her shoulder, putting his arm around her, and it was then, as Nancy had headed towards them, that she'd become aware of someone standing just behind her, only a few inches away.

Nancy had glanced around for Dad's security and then felt a hand on her shoulder. She'd pulled away hard, only to see one of the security team looking down at her. "Here, your mum's just moving down there with the others-"

Nancy had hurried to join them, the guard's hand still gripping her shoulder tightly.

"Don't look round" he'd said in an undertone, as they reached Mum and Elwen and Florence, a little ahead, Mum spinning round to bend down to her. "What happened?"

Nancy had shrugged, glancing back for the person who'd been standing behind her, only to see a man's back hastily, retreating, phone in hand. "Someone was behind me-"

The security guard had said something in Mum's ear. Mum's face hadn't changed, but she'd just nodded, and then drawn Nancy to her gently, with an arm around her shoulders. "Let's make sure we stay together, all right?" she'd said, off Elwen's confused look, Florence playing absent-mindedly with her tiara. "Make sure Dad can see us all-"

Now, Nancy had peered down the lane and shrugged. "Can't see."

Dad had just rolled his eyes.

Giles had clapped him on the arm. "Don't worry. I'll have a word with the others. If anyone starts anything, we'll just all shout them down."

"I'll start now." Flynn had put his hands to his mouth. _"Go and get a job!"_

Auntie Vic had slapped his arm. Flynn had rubbed it, looking deeply aggrieved. "What was _that_ for?"

"Shut up, before you manage to get us all lynched-"

"They're not those kinds of protesters, son" Uncle Giles had said, casting an amused look down the lane. "They'd be easier to deal with..."

It had been a few minutes later, when they'd all been sliding on and off the walls by the Tite, Flo perched on Mum's shoulders, when one of the protesters had started shouting.

Nancy hadn't been able to catch more than the words _"Prime Minister's broken promises-"_ before a sea of boos had risen up, started enthusiastically by Uncle Giles and Flynn.

" _SHUT IT!"_ Freya had bellowed, for her part, before shivering and yanking her scarf tighter around her throat, as one of the race marshals blasted a horn right as the protesters tried to raise their voices, triggering a volley of cheering. A couple of the people around Dad had been clapping him on the back. "God, it's fucking cold."

 _"Freya."_ Auntie Vic had rapped her shoulder sharply.

The protesters had fallen silent, but the cheering had only subsided when one of the organizers had stepped forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much for coming-" He'd grinned with a wink at Dad. "It looks as though I've got some competition this morning..."

There'd been an outbreak of cheering, laughter rippling through the crowd. David had turned and given them a wink. Freya had given Nancy another. "See?"

She'd squeezed Nancy's arm and pulled her into her side. Nancy had felt a shiver of that excitement again, but she'd felt a warmth welling inside her too, Freya's arms slung around her and Elwen's shoulders.

 

* * *

 

Ed would feel exactly like a walking stereotype if he hadn't been drinking hot chocolate.

As it is, he takes a long gulp of hot chocolate and tells himself that he is _absolutely fine._

"You _are_ an expert at not answering questions" James had been saying, striking the table with the side of his hand. "See, you're doing it with me _now-"_

"How am I not answering your question?" Cameron had been laughing, his head thrown back. "And your complaint is exactly-?"

That conversation had been about private schools. But that was nothing.

"So technically-" Cameron had been taking another gulp of lager. "Technically, you yourself would benefit _substantially_ from an inheritance tax cut-"

"I didn't say I wouldn't-I wouldn't say I wouldn't benefit-"

"But you _would_ benefit-well, isn't that convenient-"

And redistribution.

" _As if_ you supported redistribution-" Cameron had been guffawing. "You supported it for _five minutes_ when we were at university when you were in your Che Guevara phase-"

"Oh, for God's sake, that is _not_ a _Guevara-"_

"Well, if you don't even know your own _position-"_

"I didn't say I was in favour of redistribution-I said _some_ redistribution in some areas didn't have to be an entirely negative move-"

"Are you sure you can remember what you said, since you can't seem to remember your own _positions-"_

The entire conversation had been punctuated with laughter. Cameron's cheeks had been so flushed that Ed could almost feel the colour, warm in his own cheeks.

And it had been between Cameron and _James._

Which is fine, Ed tells himself fiercely, glaring at the whipped cream sinking slowly into his hot chocolate. It's perfectly fine.

In fact, surely, it's _good_ that Cameron can have friends who are-who-

-and how can James be from _Eton_ when he's a, a-

He shakes his head.

It's fine. It's _fine._

Probably Cameron-it's probably _good_ that Cameron has someone else to oppose him, and-

So everything's fine. Everything is _absolutely fine._

Ed nods firmly to himself as he stares at the hot chocolate.

And if he's decided to come over here to get a hot chocolate, since Cameron seems to have found someone _else_ to oppose him right now, that is _fine._

And if Cameron hasn't even seemed to notice because he's so busy laughing as he argues with _James_ , and slapping _James_ on the back, and giving _James_ those same grins he sometimes gives _Ed_ across the chamber when he knows he's about to rebut one of Ed's points, without even _answering_ it, well, that is _absolutely fine._

"Acquainting yourself with that hot chocolate, Miliband?"

And if Cameron's actually giving him that same grin _right now,_ that is _absolutely fine._

Ed lifts his face, swallowing grumpily. "It'th called _drinking_ , Cameron."

"Doesn't really count though, does it?" Cameron drapes himself on a stool next to him. "Anyway, you're my guest. I can hardly abandon you, Miliband."

"Oh, don't worry about me." Ed hopes to sound appropriately aloof and withering. "I was jutht allowing you to _debate."_

The hot chocolate promptly sticks in his throat, and Ed erupts into a coughing fit.

Cameron's hand rubs his back, patting him, which doesn't do anything for the heat in Ed's cheeks. "Don't worry, nobody offered me _that_ standard of debate."

"Hilarious" Ed manages to gasp, once he can breathe again.

Cameron chuckles. "It was." He nudges Ed's arm. "Anyway, how come you didn't chime in? I'm usually praying you'll be able to keep your mouth _shut."_

Ed snorts. "Didn't think you needed too much of my input, it looked like."

He intended for it to come out witheringly dismissive. Instead, it chokes out into a high-pitched cough, which trails off into a slightly sulky mumble.

"Well, it certainly never deters you any other time."

"Well." Ed takes another spoonful of whipped cream. "I rather thought you had thomeone _elthe_ who's opposing you _juthst_ fine."

Cameron gives him an odd look. "James is always like that. It's just the way we-"

Ed hmmphs and leans further into his hot chocolate.

"-have always-" Cameron stops. He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

Slowly, Cameron leans in to stare at Ed. "Wait."

Ed feels the heat creep very slowly into his cheeks.

Cameron stares at him very, very closely, then grins. "Miliband, are you... _jealous?"_

Ed almost chokes.

 _"_ Jealouth? _Jealous? ME?!_ And why would I be _JEALOUS?!_ Of _what?!_ Being-the fact that he's _debated_ you for longer? The fact that he's _known_ you longer? The fact that-" Ed snorts loudly. " _Me?_ _Jealous?_ As _IF!"_

He takes a long defiant gulp of his hot chocolate, then promptly spits it out everywhere. _"Jesus_ , that'th _hot!"_

Cameron doesn't laugh. It very clearly takes a great deal of effort but Cameron doesn't laugh. Instead, he pats Ed on the back, which is somehow much worse.

Ed doesn't speak for a long moment, during which he stares furiously at his hot chocolate.

It's Cameron who breaks the silence. "It's quite a nice sight, seeing you jealous-"

"I AM NOT-"

Cameron waves his hand frantically, and Ed lowers his voice to a ferocious whisper. " _JEALOUS."_

"All right, all right, I'm only teasing you" Cameron says, still with that grin that makes Ed want to-to-

There's a long moment of silence.

Cameron clears his throat ostentatiously, shifts his weight on the stool. "Though" he says, conversationally, his arm gently nudging Ed's. "If you _were_ jealous, at all, that would be completely unnecessary."

Ed glowers at his drink.

"I mean, James might debate with me" Cameron continues, the back of his hand brushing Ed's now. "But I don't think he provides _quite_ the level of skilful opposition that the Right Honourable Member For Doncaster North provides me."

Ed grunts. Somewhere, on the speakers, a song is playing, low beats and a girl's husky voice almost whispering. _People are talking, people are talking._

 _"Or_ quite the same level of repartee-"

Ed grunts again.

"I think he'd have to hate me rather more" Cameron says, with a grin.

Ed really does try to keep quiet.

But after another, more cautious sip of his hot chocolate and another few moments of Cameron's smile, he mutters "Given I've jutht th-spent a weekend with you-"

He pauses.

Cameron doesn't say anything.

Ed's cheeks burn. He keeps his eyes fixed firmly on his drink.

"Given I've jutht th-spent a weekend with you-" Ed's cheeks are burning, his fingers trembling a little. "I think you're rather ignoring the evidence regarding that subject, Cameron."

Cameron cocks his head at him. Ed keeps his gaze fixed very stubbornly on the hot chocolate.

The song plays on, low and oddly sending shivers down Ed's spine.

"Freya made them put it on" says Cameron, his voice a little lower.

Ed can't quite look at him for some reason. The huskiness of the song and the dim lighting of the bar is making his cheeks feel very warm.

"You've got whipped cream on your lip" is all Cameron says, softly.

His thumb darts out and-

And-

It swoops across-

Across Ed's mouth, so quickly it could almost not have happened at all, except for the way Ed's mind catches the warmth of Cameron's thumb, the press of their skin together. The way Ed's heart throws itself against his ribs. The way it tingles in his chest.

He can't look at Cameron, but his cheeks are burning, and a wild, stupid smile is pushing at his mouth. He doesn't look at Cameron, but he can sense his upraised cheek, the twitch of his mouth, twitching with exactly the same smile of his own.

* * *

 

 

Rachel, perched on the edge of one of Ed's brown couches, smiles.

Justine smiles back.

The seconds tick by.

Rachel's been in Ed's living room plenty of times over the years. She was one of the first to visit after they moved in.

"So...you liking it?" she'd asked awkwardly, as Ed handed her a cup of tea without any milk. She'd glanced around the near-blank room, the table behind the French doors covered with a plastic tablecloth. If it had been anyone else, Rachel would have assumed that it was a temporary holding drape thrown over the chaos of moving, but from what she knew of Justine's taste, Justine had probably selected the awful thing intentionally.

"Um-" Ed had done exactly the same sort of swivel-eyed look about the room that Rachel's seen him do whenever he's asked about the kids or the house or Justine. "It'th all right-I th-uppose- I haven't really been-been here much-"

There'd been a squirming wail from the Moses basket on the couch and Rachel had turned to see baby Daniel, almost a month old, face scrunched and scarlet, his mouth a tiny, angry gash of red wails.

"Aww-" Rachel had gone to move towards him automatically and had glanced at Ed, waiting for him to do something.

Ed had blinked. "Oh-um-" He'd squinted at the baby, as though it was a flickering TV signal. "I don't know."

It had been Rachel's turn to blink.

"Justine just leaves him to cry" Ed had said, as if that explained everything. "It's good for him."

Rachel had blinked again, trying to rearrange the words into something that made sense. "I-"

Daniel's crying had raised another pitch and Rachel had glanced at him, noticing the way his hands had curled into angry little red fists, punching up into the air.

"Um-" She'd stepped towards the couch and when Ed didn't make a move to stop her, she'd bent down. "Hi, Daniel-"

The baby's cross little face had glared back up at her. Automatically, Rachel had scooped him up carefully, settling him into her chest, the way she had with Joe and Grace so many times.

"Hey-" She'd shifted Daniel in her arms, one finger stroking his ruby-red soft little cheek. "Shh, shh-" She'd pressed a few soft little kisses to his head. "Heyyy-"

Daniel's little mouth had pouted, his sobs slowly quieting into a few sad little mewls. He'd burrowed further into Rachel's chest, turning his face into her shirt. "There we go, hey?"

Baby Daniel had settled in her arms and Rachel had kissed his cheek, moving back to the couch, cuddling him close. Ed had been in full flow about the United Nations meeting he'd been at the previous month, less than two weeks after Daniel had been born, about the Copenhagen conference he was preparing for, but all he'd done at the sight of her holding his son, had been to blink and then launch into another point about carbon emissions.

Rachel had held Daniel for the rest of the conversation as it stretched into the afternoon. Once, Ed had patted Daniel's hand, quickly, with his hand darting back under his leg a moment later, crawling out of his sight like a spider.

Now, Rachel sits and smiles at Justine, turning her phone over and over in her hands. Stewart, a short distance from her on the couch, scratches his head. Justine sips her tea.

The clock ticks slowly.

"That's a nice jumper" Rachel offers, nodding at the turquoise sweater Justine's wearing. It's not just a compliment-it will work well on camera, good for media interviews, much better than most of Justine's clothes, which reminds Rachel of the task she's given Ed and Justine over the weekend.

Justine nods, with that small smile that she always summons when someone compliments anything to do with her clothes or appearance. "Thanks. I just got it a few months ago."

Rachel smiles. There's another short silence.

Stewart sits up suddenly, eyes brighter. "I just got these pants!"

Rachel measures the distance between her foot and his shin.

"Nice" she nods instead through gritted teeth, and then turns back to Justine. "Anyway, I was going to ask if you guys had sorted out all the photographs and stuff-plus we need to go over how much filming we need to do with the kids, whether you want to take them out on any campaign events-"

The phone rings. Rachel glances at the screen and freezes.

"Oh no."

"What?" Stewart glances at her, then at the phone screen.

He too freezes. "Oh no."

Justine glances between them. "What?"

She too glances down at the phone screen and then trails off. "Oh."

In the middle of the phone screen, buzzing insistently like a pulse, one name flashes over and over again in time with the shrill rings, like a drumbeat building faster and faster, louder and louder.

_Alastair._

* * *

 

"Hugs." Freya yanks her into her chest, so that Nancy's nose is suddenly buried in a chiffon scarf and a cloud of perfume. "We'll be seeing you soon anyway-"

"Yeah, we can take the kids anytime-" Uncle Giles had said, slapping Dad on the back. "You know, during the campaign-"

He glances at Mr Ed Miliband and then away. Jackson saves the moment by shoving into Elwen's shoulder hard enough that the two of them spin, nearly falling over on a patch of ice, leaving Mum to grab them.

Freya takes the moment to pull Nancy in for another hug. "Hey. Don't worry. Chill out about Grey Coat. I'll come and strangle one of them with my headphones if I have to. Which reminds me, Bose are the best ones to use in a fight."

Nancy snorts. "The only Bose headphones we have are Dad's Union Jack ones."

Freya chews her lip. "Yeah, maybe don't use those."

After the Fun Run, everyone had headed into the Tite, the same way they did every year. Nancy had glanced about at first but it had only been people they knew in there and by the time she'd been making her way through a slice of chocolate fudge cake with vanilla ice cream, she'd been feeling a lot better. (Chocolate cake has soothing qualities for Nancy, as does Mum's sewing machine and David Walliams.)

It hadn't been until later when they were standing outside the pub that Nancy had remembered the protesters. She'd glanced about for them worriedly until Dad's hand had squeezed her shoulder.

"It's all right" he'd said, without asking what she was thinking about. Nancy had glanced at Elwen, who'd said what they were all thinking. "Will they be there when we get back?"

"No." Dad had taken another gulp of lager, patting his damp hair down with one hand. "Police'll have moved them off by now-"

"How come they were there at first? You know, earlier-"

"Oh, it's a bit complicated." Dad had taken another gulp of beer, reached down to tug Elwen's gloves further on. "Just-basically people who want to protest are allowed to, but they're not allowed to come into your garden or go near you. That's why they got moved off while we were out." Off Nancy and Elwen's confused looks, Dad had added, "Because they were shouting at you and obstructing the driveway. You lot aren't people they're allowed to yell at. Before that they could, you know-sit outside with their banners and things-but-"

"What, even if they're idiots?"

Dad had chuckled, tugging Nancy's hat straight. "Yeah. But if they're idiots, they're more fun to laugh at."

"Like those people that burnt the big mask of your face-" Elwen had been hovering on one foot, arms out.

"El, it's slippy there-"

"And then the face nearly fell on their _heads-"_ Elwen had nearly slipped, falling against Nancy.

" _Ow-"_

"OK, guys, be careful-" Dad had squeezed Florence more safely into his side. "Mum'll kill me if you come back dented-"

"It's _cold-"_

"Cold, Nance?" Dad had tugged her hat straight on her head again.

"Yeah-"

Elwen had glanced up at him. "Why are you still in them?" he'd asked, with a glance at the Lycra Dad was still wearing, with the medal draped around his neck.

"It keeps you warm" Dad had told him with another swig of the lager as Elwen moved closer into them. "It's very cold when you have to go through the water-"

There'd been a clicking sound and Nancy had glanced round to see one of the black cameras a few inches away from her. It had been one of the reporters she recognizes-he'd taken a photo of her and Freya after the Sports Relief run earlier that year for Mum and Dad to take home, but he's not the only one. Elwen had noticed them too.

"Everyone keeps-doing all the clicking sounds-" he'd said. "And I don't like it-"

"Yes-" Dad had glanced at the cameras over Nancy's head. "Right-I think Mum would want you to go back inside-so, just come round there-"

Nancy had followed him, Dad steering Florence with them, Elwen following.

"So they can't see you-"

"Nah-" Florence had patted Elwen hard on the back, pushing him ahead so that Nancy caught her sleeve as Dad manoeuvred them round the arch around the door, out of sight of the cameras.

"That way, you can't be seen-"

Florence had been extending one leg behind her and Elwen had grinned up at Dad. "I can, I can, I-" He'd moved his arms out in front of him, leaning forward, almost taking his foot off the ground. "Look like Moses-"

" _Ow!"_ His hand had knocked into Nancy's arm, making her grab Florence to stay upright.

"All right- _well_ , if they can't _see_ you, maybe you can stay there-" Dad had reached over their heads to take someone's extended hand, shaking it, while Nancy had leaned back against the wall. "We'll go back in the warm in a bit, I think Mum's just finishing up inside, then we'll head back to the car-"

A few minutes later, Nancy had been hopping up and down to keep warm, stepping up and down off the little step that ran round the outside of the pub. Dad was chatting to people, with the circle of people with cameras ringed around them. Nancy had glanced at Dad for help when they'd started clicking, but one of the cameramen had shaken his head. "Don't worry, sir, we'll crop the kiddies out, they won't-"

She'd pulled her fur hood tighter around her, whilst Elwen had been starting to get fidgety, and Florence had been puckering her little mouth. Dad had glanced at them and squeezed her shoulder. "I'll take you back to the car in a minute-"

Dad had been chatting to one of the people from the village-"-that you do, because I started a few years ago-" while Florence wrapped herself around his legs. _"Daddy-"_ She'd burrowed in happily, while Dad, clutching his glass of lager with one hand, patted her with the other. _"Daddy."_

Nancy had stepped up behind him, trying to reach Florence's shoulder as Dad took a sip of lager. "But when you _start-"_

 _"Daddy-"_ Florence had beamed up at Nancy gleefully from her position, securely wrapped around Dad's leg.

There'd been a flurry of clicking from the cameramen that were grouped around Dad, and Florence had tossed them a confused look over her shoulder, pouting as she blinked her loosening ponytail out of her eyes. "They're taking _pictures-"_

Elwen, who was closest to the cameras, had glanced up at Dad, as one of the cameramen behind him had crouched down, tilting the camera up. "Don't worry, we're not going to get the kids-"

Dad had said something too quietly for Nancy to hear, then glanced down at Elwen. "K, Elwen-you go here-you go there-"

Elwen had moved to step round him, out of sight of the cameras towards Chris, but at the same moment, Florence had been pulling crossly at her tiara, which was half-dangling off, and Dad had bent down to fix it for her, making Elwen step back.

"Hang on a tick-" Dad had been tugging strands of Florence's hair loose from the silver wire, and one of the cameramen had stepped a little too close, jostling Florence, whose little face had creased into a scowl which she aimed up at them. _"Hey-"_

It had been then that Nancy, stepping down to help, had glanced over Dad's shoulder and had stopped.

One of the men from earlier had been standing on the step, right next to them. He had a square face, with a hat on, and white hair escaping from underneath. He had a mobile phone in his hands, and Nancy could see that the camera was pointing right at them.

Nancy stood still, watching him. Her eyes had flickered to one of Dad's security team, who was standing right next to the man, with one of the police officers on the other side.

His eyes had met hers, and he'd widened them slightly. _Stay there_ , he'd mouthed at her. Nancy had known not to nod back.

She hadn't been scared exactly. Instead, she'd turned to look at the man. He'd been one of the ones who'd been shouting that morning, one of the ones who'd been by the car. Perhaps it had simply been the fact that all the security were around them, and that one of the police officers-in a cap which helpfully read POLICE-was already looking at the man, standing close to him-but Nancy had just looked back at him. She'd wondered why he thought Dad could help. She'd wondered why he was filming them, and whether they were the same age as his children.

The man's eyes drifted over the phone and then locked with hers.

They had only looked at each other for a second but something had crawled oddly in Nancy's chest at the sight. The man had just stared at her, hard, over the camera, but it hadn't been an angry look. Instead, it had been an odd, hungry look, as though he was starving and the longer he looked at her, the more he could fill himself up with something that was like food but not, not quite enough.

Nancy had looked back at him for a long moment, something odd welling in her chest at the sight of his eyes, searching her face for something, and then she'd stepped round Dad's shoulder, down next to Florence so she could speak into Dad's ear without it being noticed.

"Dad" she'd said, in an undertone. "It's one of the people from earlier."

Chris, who'd just stepped up next to Dad and was looking carefully away from them, had, at the same moment, glanced down at Florence, giving her a smile. "One of them's over there" he'd said to Dad through the grin, while Florence beamed back up at him as Dad tugged the last few strands of hair loose from her tiara.

Dad hadn't looked up but had jerked his head slightly in the tiniest nod, Nancy being one of the few people whom he wouldn't have had to say anything more to to make her understand. Nancy stepped back round him, glancing at the man again, who didn't seem to have noticed anything. She'd wondered if he had any daughters.

Chris had been beaming at Florence, whose dimples had been creasing her cheeks as she blinked up at him. "Right" he'd said, in an undertone to Dad, with a glance at one of the police officers.

Someone else from the village had already been in front of them to shake Dad's hand. "Great sponsor today, sir-"

"Thank you very much-" Dad, shaking his hand, had stepped back surreptitiously, so that his body was between Nancy and the man with the camera, and Nancy had felt herself relax in her coat. At the same time, he'd taken Elwen's sleeve with one hand and tugged him gently into his side, away from the man.

"Well done-" Dad had been saying to the man from the village, who'd given Nancy and Florence a quick "Hi, guys" as he stepped round, jostled slightly by the crowd.

Nancy had been peering round Dad's back, almost pressed against the wall.

"Er, came sixth-" the man from the village had been saying, while Dad nodded. "Oh, that's amazing, yeah, yeah, yeah-" He'd been taking another sip of lager as Florence, glancing up at the ring of cameras and jostled once again, clutched angrily at his leg. _"Hey-"_

Elwen had had his arms wrapped around himself, Dad's next words to the man muffled by the noise of the crowd. Nancy had caught "-of the whole thing, it's here-", before Elwen, clearly fed up of standing in the cold, had rolled his eyes. "Daddy-Daddy, _Daddy-"_

Florence had been making complaining sounds in her throat, as Dad finished the conversation quickly, clapping the man on the arm. "Right, thank you very much-"

Chris had glanced at the man with the phone again. Dad, giving the man he'd been talking to one last grin, had turned back to them. "Right. Shall we go back in the car?"

The security guard had given Nancy an infinitesimal nod, and she understood immediately. Elwen and Florence hadn't noticed the man with the phone, and they needed them to move quietly.

Dad bent down, hugging Florence into his leg with one arm, turning to Nancy, who was already stepping down off the wall. "Guys-"

Elwen had been half-past the man with the phone, Dad just bending down to pick up Florence, when the man had spoken. The security guard had moved so fast Nancy had barely had time to blink, before he was in front of her, holding her back.

"All right, Dave?" the man had said to Dad, loudly, and Elwen had turned round, standing on the steps of the Tite, his eyes flickering to Dad confusedly.

Dad had barely blinked. "Yeah, all right" he'd said, as if the man was anyone else, pulling Florence up his side so that her little arms wrapped around his shoulders, and the police officer had moved towards the man.

The security guard, as if on a silent signal, had stepped forward, and jerked his head at Nancy, reaching out to touch her arm. "Go to your dad-"

Nancy had moved quickly, half-pushing past the man, and in a matter of seconds, had been at Dad's side, whose arm had wrapped quickly around her shoulders. "Nance, are you OK-"

"Yeah." Nancy had gone to glance back over her shoulder, but Chris had already been urging them forward. "Come on, go, don't look back-"

Dad had squeezed Nancy's shoulder reassuringly. "Where's Sam-"

"Inside, one of the others will go and get her-"

"Dave?" Uncle Giles had appeared, hand squeezing Jackson's shoulder. "What's going on-"

"Just one of those idiots from earlier" Dad had said, whilst Elwen, apparently deciding they were a safe enough distance from the protester, had glanced back. Nancy had followed suit, to see one of the police officers with a hand on his arm.

"Bloody hell-" Uncle Giles had peered over their shoulders.

"Yeah, the police are dealing with it-"

Elwen had spun round, eyes widening. "That's so unfair, I wanted to see that!"

Now, Nancy gives Freya a doubtful look.

Freya shrugs, gives her a grin. "You'll see."

Nancy wishes she could be as confident.

 

* * *

 

 

"It might stop ringing" Rachel suggests glumly, as the phone rings for the eighth time.

"What if he just starts leaving voicemails?" Stewart asks, staring at the phone as if it might blow up. "No one likes his voicemails."

Rachel arches an eyebrow. Stewart glowers at her. "I don't like it when he shouts."

"None of us do. Suck it up." Rachel rolls her eyes as the phone, once again, stops ringing. "He doesn't leave voicemails. That way, he gets to store all the volume up. Like an angry camel."

Stewart lets out a squeak. Rachel rolls her eyes. "Oh, for God's sake. The last time I heard you make that sound, it was when Grace speared Mati in the Nativity play."

"That Herod impersonation looked real!"

"So did your son's tears."

Stewart glares. Rachel snorts.

"For God's sake." She examines the phone for all the world as if she herself answered it last time it rang. "We're meant to be preparing for fucking government. We're meant to be able to handle-Stewart, put the cushion down."

Stewart glares at her and slowly lowers the brown cushion he'd been nibbling worriedly back into his lap.

Rachel examines it with distaste. "On second thoughts, keep chewing on it."

The door opens and Justine walks in, holding another tray of what looks like gravel but Rachel would bet she is about to be told is cake. "Any luck?"

"It depends. If you call the fact we haven't had to hear Alastair's dulcet tones yet _luck-"_

Justine's staring at Stewart. Rachel follows her gaze and rolls her eyes. "Stewart, you're paying for that cushion."

"Here." Justine lowers the plate onto the table. Rachel examines the gravel-pile, pretty certain she wiped something similar off Joe's football boots the other night. "It's just from one of the organic shops-"

"Thanks." Rachel pushes the plate towards Stewart. "Chew on that."

"How did he even work out you were here?" Justine pats her hair down nervously, as though her hands need to be calming something.

Rachel snorts as Stewart takes a mouthful of the gravel next to her and immediately freezes.

"It's Alastair. He's omniscient." She smiles fixedly at Justine, aware that Stewart's throat is working very oddly next to her. "But none of us would have told him anything. We're all well aware of his temper."

The moment Justine leaves the room, Rachel kicks Stewart hard in the shin. _"What the hell did you tell him?"_

Stewart shakes his head frantically, pointing at his full cheeks. Rachel grabs the cushion and chucks it into his lap. "God, chew on that, instead-"

Stewart drapes himself over it, hacking for breath as silently as one can when apparently fighting to prevent death by gravel inhalation. "Why....so..... _sharp..."_

Rachel isn't cruel. She waits until Stewart's lucid again to slap the sofa hard and grab him by the ear.

"When the hell did you _phone him?"_

"Ow!" Stewart yanks himself free, shooting her an injured look. "Give me a minute-"

He takes a long gulp of water, points at his full cheeks, making exaggerated distressed noises. Rachel glares at him, positioning her face directly in front of his to wait for the moment he swallows.

Two minutes and twenty four seconds later, she claps her hands furiously, making Stewart jump, splutter, and glower at her.

"You could have fucking _killed_ me!" he barks at her, dabbing at his jumper furiously.

"Don't tempt me."

"Who said it was me?"

"You've got exactly the same weaselly look on your face you had when you were saying it wasn't you that told _The_ _Times_ about Anna and _The Sun."_

"Which has never been proved." Stewart glances at the door and lowers his voice. "Anyway, everyone wanted to tell them it was Anna. Even _Ed_ wanted to tell them it was Anna."

"Everyone did. Because Anna's an idiot. And you're a weasel."

Stewart jerks his chin up. _"How_ is it weaselly if you've done the exact same thing?"

"Because it's you. And because you did the same thing with Torsten's emails about Balls. And with that quote about the kids. And that-"

 _"You_ wanted to put that out about the kids-"

Rachel darts a look at the door before she turns back to Stewart, hissing furiously. _"Everyone_ wanted to get that out about the kids. Because that quote about the kids was the fucking creepiest thing on earth- _conference's secret weapon_ , it gave you exactly the same creepy feeling as when you rub a dog's stomach and it has like thirty nipples-"

_"Ew."_

Rachel widens her eyes. "Plus, are _you_ going to tell her that eating that cake's like eating half a kids' playground?"

"Uhhh-"

" _Uhhhh._ Exactly, so shut up." Rachel jabs him in the shoulder. "Which is _exactly_ why you told Alastair about this, because _you_ are a gutless _weasel."_

Stewart blinks. "Have you considered that you might be overreacting just slightly?"

Rachel swells ominously, right as the phone begins to ring again. And this time, so does Stewart's. Stewart immediately seizes it and throws it across the room, where it clatters against the opposite wall, seizing the cushion and drawing his knees up behind it like a shield.

Rachel shakes her head, staring at him through her blonde fringe. _"You disgust me."_

 

* * *

 

"So" James says, clapping David on the shoulder. "I chose the right day to drop in."

"Yeah, it must be a novelty to have people agree with you."

James smacks his arm. "Let's hope Miliband knocks that out of you in the campaign."

"Well, he hasn't managed it so far."

James chuckles. "Evidently. Although you seemed to be fine this weekend."

"Hmm. Well."

David has a sudden rush of Miliband's hair, tickling his cheek, his shoulder jutting out under David's arm.

James glances at him. "Wait. Wait." He comes closer, his nose almost touching David's cheek, grin twitching into life. "You're blushing."

"No, I'm not." David drags his scarf tighter around his neck.

"Yes, you are. It's getting worse."

"No, it's not."

"You're getting redder."

"It's _cold!"_

"What, and that fixes your eyes on Ed Miliband's back, does it?"

David jumps. "I'm watching the _kids-"_

"Mmmm." James nods very solemnly, pursing his lips together while David tries very, very hard not to let his eyes wander anywhere near Miliband's back, which is, most inconveniently, right in his eyeline. "You might want to be careful, though. People might start thinking you actually _like_ him."

David is silent.

James glances at him. Then away.

And then does a double-take.

"Oh my God, you _DO!"_

The others all spin round with an array of bewildered looks. Samantha slaps her hand over her chest. Miliband staggers and nearly falls over.

"It's all right" David gestures at them. "It's all right, there's nothing to-"

"Sorry" James calls out with a grin, and then, once they're walking again, lowers his voice to a furious whisper. _"Oh my God, you DO!"_

His whisper is approximately one decibel lower than his usual tone.

David seizes his arm. _"No._ I don't-I don't _like_ him, I-"

James arches an eyebrow.

David sighs. "I don't _dislike_ him."

James snorts. "Oh, yes. Because you often invite people you merely _don't dislike_ to stay in your home."

"I-I've had plenty of people visit me who I- _didn't dislike."_

"What? Had them stay overnight in your home?"

David opens his mouth and closes it silently.

James smiles very slowly.

David rolls his eyes. "That is _exactly_ the look Miliband gives me across the dispatch box when he thinks he's just made a point."

James smiles. "So you've memorised his _facial expressions?"_

David rolls his eyes. "We've stood across a chamber from each other for _five years."_

James purses his lips. "A _star-crossed_ chamber?"

David gives him a long look. "That's not even _relevant_ to that play. Do you not recall being scolded by our beak-"

"I never really got the Etonian terminology-"

"Your parents paid exactly the same fees as everyone else."

"And you're changing the subject."

David pouts. "You're being childish. And the subject is stupid."

James snorts.

"And there's nothing _odd_ about me liking him" David says, after a few moments of silence. "It doesn't _mean_ anything."

"Well." James gives him a grin. "I never said there was."

"But you-"

"No. I just said you _liked_ him." James grins. " _You're_ the one who overreacted."

David freezes, mouth open. James grins. "What? My smile reminding you of him again?"

"You're flattering yourself."

There's another short silence, the ice crunching under their boots. Then,

"So. It would be a _compliment_ to compare me to him-"

"Shut up."

James chuckles. "Let's face it, it would hardly be the first time you've- _clicked_ with people who disagree with you. Or who are opposites. I mean, you and Sam, for one example. Maybe you've just got an _opposites attract_ thing."

David stops. "What?"

"You know, an opposites attract thing." James gives him an odd look. "I mean, you're friends with me. You're married to Sam." David's heart gives an odd leap. "You've always needed people who....oppose you. A little."

"Oh."

James glances at him. "Are you all right?"

David nods. "Yeah" he says, eyes fixed on Miliband and Sam's backs, heads close together as they walk. "Yeah. Just. Thinking."

James nods. There's another short silence. Then,

"Then again, it wouldn't be a shock to find out you invited anyone to stay. I still remember the time we looked for Amelia for an hour and found her tucked into your daughter's bed, wearing her pyjamas."

"In my defence, her and Nancy's haircuts were uncannily similar back then."

* * *

 

 

Alastair jabs the phone screen, hitting the SEND button with a triumphant stab.

"I know he's ignoring me" he says darkly, glancing up across the room at Fiona with the sort of fevered intensity usually associated with caged animals at the zoo. "He thinks I don't know, but I know."

Fiona, sitting across the room and going over a new proposal for William Ellis, merely raises her eyebrow.

Alastair waits. Then, slightly aggrieved by the lack of outraged response, he raises his voice a little. "I know what he's doing. Well, fine." He pulls up another message. "Fine, you don't want to talk right now-oh, we'll _talk_ and _talk-_ and _talk-"_

"And you know, if you could _not talk_ and _talk_ and _talk-"_ Grace announces, lifting her head of curls from her textbook. "That would be _fantastic."_

"I mean-" Alastair shakes his head. "Do you know how fucking _irritating_ it is when someone is _right_ there, talking to you and you _completely fucking ignore them?"_

 _"Yes_ " murmurs Fiona, brushing her hair behind her ears as she stares down at the file. "I can see how that would be _very irritating."_

"Exactly! It is a complete lack of basic fucking manners."

Fiona sighs.

"You know why he's not answering, don't you?" Alastair demands, staring at her.

"Because he's considering a restraining order?" mutters Grace.

"Because he's with Cameron." Alastair slaps the table. "There! Boom! It's out!"

Alastair sucks in a deep breath and glances from Grace to Fiona, waiting for a reaction.

Fiona turns a page. Grace crosses out a word.

"You know how irritating it is when someone keeps following-" Alastair's punching away at the phone screen. "What is a blatantly fucking _stupid_ course of action." Alastair shakes the phone as the screen freezes. "When they're getting-" He jabs the screen. _"No encouragement whatsoever_ -from _sensible_ people-"

Grace glances at Fiona across the room. "Is this one of the things we'll have to remember when his psychiatrist asks if there were any _signs?"_

Fiona glances at Alastair, who's still shaking the phone. "That moment passed many moons ago, sweetheart."

"I don't think either of you appreciate what is at _stake_ here!"

"Your phone?" mutters Grace over her laptop.

Alastair's nodding to himself. "This is how it starts" he almost laughs. "This is how it starts, I know-we've seen this little show _before-"_

"Yeah, you have" says Fiona, a little louder now, snapping a lid back onto her pen and sitting back in her chair."Like you've seen it with Alan or with Hague, when you dragged him out for dinner. Or with me, when Iraq was going on-"

"Oh, as if any of our fucking arguments are even _close_ to the importance of this disaster."

"Well." Fiona glances at Grace. "That feels good, huh?"

Alastair shakes his head as his phone vibrates once again. "This is typically fucking unappreciated." He kicks his chair out from under him, storming to the door. "And I need to leave, for everyone's safety, before I realise just _how_ fucking unappreciated it is."

Grace snorts, reaching for her phone. "You can say that again-"

"I DON'T FEEL SAFE IN MY OWN HOME!"

 

* * *

 

"Right." James bends down to kiss Nancy on the cheek and hugs Elwen with one arm. "See you soon. That train ride's going to take forever-"

Florence wraps herself around his knees as he fiddles with her ponytail.

"Hey, I'll see you soon-" James bends down to high-five Daniel and Sam. "And Sam, take care of yourself-" He pulls Samantha into a fierce hug, kisses her cheek while he pats Cameron on the shoulder. "See you again soon, hopefully-might need to chat to you for the book-"

Cameron hugs him hard, gives him a clap on the back. "What, would you actually say it was _me_ who contributed or would that not fit with all your Labour-supporting, Edinburgh bunch-"

James laughs, presses their faces together for a moment, and Ed feels a well of something in his chest. He looks away, biting his lip.

"Hey, Ed-" James seizes his hand, pumping it up and down, with not quite the same amount of vigour he gave Cameron's. "Good luck with the election-" He winks. "Literally, not theoretically."

Ed manages a laugh, and then James claps him on the back, calling over his shoulder to the others. "Just sorting my ticket out-"

Ed doesn't realise for a moment that he's being steered, until he finds himself falling into step with him. He blinks, awkwardly turns to look at James, who doesn't pretend it's accidental.

"So." James is smiling, his head tilted to the side, but there's something softer in his eyes. "You like him."

Ed jumps. The words hang there between them. All the blood in Ed's body seems to rush into his cheeks.

"I-" He fumbles with the words, because of course he- _likes_ Cameron, finds him agreeable, finds him, finds him-

James is just _watching_ him with that smile and Ed scrabbles frantically for words. "I mean, I mean-he'th, um-"

"He still does that thing he did at school, you know" James says, almost conversationally, as he pulls out his ticket. "When he gives you that look when you're debating. You know." And James is watching him more intently now, leaning forward slightly. "Like he wants to make you laugh while he beats you."

The words, for some reason, make an almost feverish heat rise to Ed's cheeks.

James grins. "He makes you like him" he says affably, sliding his ticket into his pocket. "But, you know, if he argues with you, it means he _really_ likes you."

Ed's face is so hot he can't even look at James. His heart is beating very, very fast, and it shouldn't be, it really shouldn't be, it-

"It'th his job" he blurts out, a little too loudly, needily-"It'th hith job."

James watches him for a long moment and then shakes his head slowly. Ed can't breathe.

"You know, when we were at university" James says suddenly, yanking his bag higher on his shoulder. "Dave wasn't part of the debating societies or the Conservative Association or any of that stuff. It just wasn't his thing."

Ed shouldn't be listening as hard as he is.

"I mean, if someone brought up politics, he'd argue his point" James says, almost lazily. "But it was only when he was arguing with one of us that he'd get into it."

Ed's heartbeat is rapid.

"I was his favourite" James adds, almost as an afterthought. "Because I always disagreed with him. And he loved that."

Ed tugs his coat tighter around him.

"He does this thing" James says, pulling his own coat tighter. "Where he looks at you when he's said something clever, and he knows you're going to laugh. And he laughs because you're laughing."

Ed's face is very warm, his fingers tugging at and wrapping around each other slowly.

James grins. "But he only does that with people he disagrees with."

Ed has no idea how he finds his voice, where he dredges it up from. "I thought you said it was people he likes."

James appraises him for a long moment, and Ed has the uncomfortable sensation of being examined from head to toe.

Then James smiles. "Maybe, sometimes, they're the same thing."

* * *

 

 

When Ed makes his way back to the others a few moments later, as the train moves off, he has to shake his head. He takes in several deep long breaths of cooling air.

"You all right?" Cameron says, waving at the train as it moves off, carrying James into the distance. "What's wrong?"

Ed turns with a gulp to take him in, Cameron's blue eyes narrowed in his rosy cheeks, his hair a tousled brown mess, his head tilted to the side.

_Maybe sometimes they're the same thing._

"Nothing" Ed manages, hoisting a smile from somewhere. "Nothing."

Cameron gives him an odd look. "You sure?"

For a moment, Ed hesitates, trembling, almost asking something, but not quite.

"Yep." Ed gives a hard nod and wonders at James's words for only a moment longer and at what else can be the same. If like can be the same as dislike. If a lie can be the same as the truth.

* * *

 

 

  _Playlist_

 _ I Started Something I Couldn't Finish-The Smiths _ _-"I started something/I forced you to a zone/And you were clearly/Never meant to go/Hair brushed and parted/Typical me, typical me/Typical me/I started something/And now I'm not too sure/I grabbed you by the guilded beams"-this one's pretty self-explanatory. Both David and Ed feel like they're pushing each other into something and are dealing with it by awkwardly dancing around the subject._

 _ Feeling OK-Best Coast _ _-"Wake up, you know I feel OK/Go to sleep, it's just another day/I know, someday I'll find it/Where I, I least expect it..But I'll keep trying to stay this way/I know it's love that's got me feeling OK"-this pretty much suits the sort of emotional limbo everyone's plunged themselves into, where no one's confronting the subject, but is just trying to cope with each day._

 _ Poor Little Rich Boy-Regina Spektor _ _-"Poor little rich boy/All the couples have gone/You wish that they hadn't/You don't want to be alone/But they want to kiss/And they've got homes of their own..And you don't love your girlfriend/You don't love your girlfriend/And you think that you should but she thinks that/She's fat but she isn't but you don't love her anyway"-going by its' title, this could apply easily to David and Giles and the world they both come from, but the lyrics could actually apply far more to Ed, who in his own way, is just as privileged but more reluctant to admit it._

 _ Gorgeous-Taylor Swift _ _-"You should take it as a compliment that I/Got drunk and made fun of the way you talk/You should think about the consequence/Of your magnetic field being a little too strong..Ocean blue eyes looking in mine/I feel like I might sink and drown and die/You're so gorgeous/I can't say anything to your face/Cause look at your face/And I'm so furious at you for making me feel this way...You make me so happy it turns back to sad/There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have/You are so gorgeous it makes me so mad/You're gorgeous"-again, this is pretty self-explanatory. Plus, this is COMPLETELY what Ed thinks when he looks at David. It's not just to do with how attractive he finds him-a part of it is to do with the confidence and comfort in his own skin that he envies about David. Ed acts as though he despises it, because a big part of him envies it._

 _ A World Alone-Lorde _ _-"We've both got a million bad habits to kick/Not sleeping is one/We're biting our nails, you're biting my lip/I'm biting my tongue...And you haven't stopped smoking all night/Maybe the Internet raised us/Or maybe people are jerks/When people are talking, people are talking/People are talking, people are talking..All the double-edged people and schemes/They make a mess then go home and get clean/You're my best friend and we're dancing in a world alone/We're all alone/We're all alone"-this is the song Nancy and Freya are listening to, and later the one that plays on the speakers while David and Ed talk. It suits both the situation that is going on, unbeknownst to David and Ed, while Rachel, Stewart and Alastair discuss their friendship, the general aura of being in politics and of David and Ed's combative relationship and also Nancy and Freya's discussion and the impact the adult world of politics has on their world of teenagehood that Freya's already in and Nancy is heading towards._

 _ Don't Delete The Kisses-Wolf Alice _ _-"Instead I'm typing you a message that I know I'll never send/Rewriting old excuses, delete the kisses at the end/When I see you the whole reduces to just that room/And then I remember and I'm shy that gossip's eye will look too soon/And then I'm trapped, overthinking and yeah, probably self-doubt/You tell me to get over it and to take you out/But I can't, I'm too scared, and here's the night bus, I have to go/And the doors were closing and you were waving and I like you/But I'll never let it show/And you won't wait and maybe I won't mind/I work better on my own...What if it's not meant for me, love?/What if it's not meant for me, love?..I'm losing self-control and it's you, it really is, a thousand times/I look at your picture and I smile/How awful is that, I'm like a teenage girl/I might as well write all over my notebook that you "rock my world!"/But you do, you really do/You've turned me upside down"-the second I HEARD this song, it was going in my fanfic. It PERFECTLY suits David and Ed, and it's going to be another one of those recurring ones. But here, it just perfectly suits David and Ed's respective conversations with James and exactly how they feel about each other-ESPECIALLY Ed, who's terrified of how he feels and can't admit it, and is totally turned into a blushing, fumbling, sulky teenager around David. This is also just a really awesome song._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> Ed does get angry if his sons try to climb into bed with him in the morning: https://www.ft.com/content/101913f6-acc1-11e4-beeb-00144feab7de  
> The Manor was the prep school Samantha & Emily attended as children. Nancy bakes pancakes, which she was taught by David. David & Samantha met for the first time as young children, properly when Samantha was sixteen at a party at the Camerons' home, before getting together on a family holiday when Samantha was 21. Elwen plays for a football team in Oxfordshire: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3005685/Getting-ready-retirement-David-PM-spotted-househusband-mode-does-shopping-takes-son-play-football.html  
> (Other Stuart is Rachel's husband.) Rachel's father is Neil Kinnock, former Leader Of The Opposition & Labour leader who lost 2 elections in 1987 & 1992\. Rachel and Stewart's kids' school was mentioned here: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/labour-elites-stamping-ground-moves-north-well-out-of-islington-jqm7n63sqcl  
> The tensions/mutual dislike between Ed's aides were infamous: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2962408/Fear-loathing-planet-Ed-Weaponising-NHS-Dodgy-donors-sniping-ex-ministers-Red-Ed-s-campaign-beset-gaffes-instead-fighting-closest-aides-busy-fighting-other.html  
> The same protest group climbed on Harriet Harman's roof: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/2094237/Harriet-Harmans-home-targeted-by-Fathers-4-Justice-campaigners.html  
> Giles is one of David's best friends, who he's known since he was seven at prep school (along with his twin brother.) The strawberries reference refers to when they got caned for stealing strawberries from the school gardens as children. Giles is an author/illustrator, Simon a TV executive. The names of the kids are genuine, but obviously this isn't intended to be a genuine reflection of their personalities. The girls referred to at Lady Margaret are family friends of the Camerons. Nancy is a big fan of Lorde (the singer she & Freya listen to) & Bruno Mars.  
> The Copenhagen conference was a climate change conference Ed attended: https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2009/dec/23/copenhagen-summit-accord-silver-lining  
> He was away at a United Nations event less than 2 weeks after Daniel's birth & admitted he spent hardly any time in their new home.  
> James is James Fergusson, an author, one of David's best friends from Eton & Oxford, a strong Labour supporter who lives in Edinburgh. He jokes he was the first person to really debate with David-they're still good friends. James' book was a book he was working on about culture that he published in 2016. David does enjoy debating with/being friends with his opposites, with him and Sam being described as "opposites attract."  
> David did indeed reportedly teach his children to laugh at people who protested against his government (in general), & used to take them to the windows to wave at them to avoid them becoming upset by them. He used to read out insulting comments about himself at dinner parties to make his friends laugh and wave at protesters to rile them. The Cameron children became fond of watching protesters against their father when allowed to. The Fun Run is The Great Brook Run, an annual charity run in Oxfordshire that David takes part in. "Beak"=Etonian terminology for teacher, & "Shell Year"=terminology for Year Nine at Marlborough.  
> The videos for this chapter:  
> Protesters following the Camerons on holiday in Cornwall in August 2014: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4wHPE8loAI  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYf5EPyIDV4  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18n-g22_iGs  
> 28 December 2014-The Camerons leaving for their bike ride  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_Fq9x2ByBM  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TIoBqhJFnAY  
> The Camerons returning home-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_g-afKAkN4  
> The protesters waiting when the Camerons returned from dinner: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmMm3EXKDrA  
> 29 December 2014:  
> The Camerons confronting the protesters outside the home (Nancy is the little girl in the hat):  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oz28Ozc4axE  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GqPXBsaHQqw  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzIvETQE1Y8  
> The protesters filming at the race: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q2ioQl3jjG4  
> People booing the protesters at the Fun Run: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRjV-ukVwdQ  
> The scenes outside the Tite Inn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUwVGthUkeY  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4hWLM4ukvzc


	30. A Sharing Of Shakespeare, A Parallel Of Patriarchs, And A Universality Of Unutterances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which people are unworthy of koalas, one doesn't need intellectual self-confidence to know Romeo and Juliet, there are important exchanges of Top Trumps cards, and pivotal TV moments can be spoilt by watching them with one's mother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the next chapter, guys! I love all the great comments I've been getting-keep them coming! And remember, if you want to ask me anything about this fic, let me know what you like about it or anything else, send me an [ask](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr! (A couple of people may have suggested songs-I absolutely meant to get back to you, & I'll go back & check them!)  
> I'm updating previous chapters with new references & occasionally new scenes-working in reverse order, I've done back to Chapter 23 so far, but check them out!  
> This is complete fiction, not intended to be a reflection on anyone's real personality, actions, etc.  
> There are a LOT of notes for this chapter so I had to include some here-again, some scenes where dialogue is real from videos. Because of the amount, I've put the videos in the fic itself, after the playlist.  
> The restraining orders mentioned are here: http://www.sidmouthherald.co.uk/news/jail-warning-for-serial-stalker-from-ottery-1-5181591 Rupert & Thea are Rupert Harrison & Thea Rogers, 2 of George's advisers (Thea put George on the 5:2 diet): https://www.totalpolitics.com/articles/news/rise-super-special-adviser-cameron-and-osborne-employ-10-aides-top-salary-bracket  
> http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/key-player-rupert-harrison-is-the-most-important-person-in-government-who-youve-never-heard-of-9896714.html  
> George is looking at images of Coalition, a TV drama about the formation of the coalition government, shown before the election. Mark Gatiss is a Labour supporter. Osborne & Mandelson have an oddly-close relationship: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-3287203/PETER-OBORNE-surprising-dangerous-love-un.html  
> David Laws did raise concerns on early childcare. David gave an education speech on 2nd February: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/cameron-to-mobilise-top-heads-for-all-out-war-on-mediocre-schools-2ghqlkx020b  
> David & Sam were offered a "deal" to allow them to escape their childrens' faces being shown. David & George first met properly at a leaving party for George in the '90s, when their CRD boss Andrew Lansley told them they'd be the new Blair and Brown, & the Bermuda quote. Boris, at the time, was a Telegraph journalist. Both admired & were friendly with Blair, George calling him "our real leader" & the reference to wasabi refers to George winning a bet: http://www.londonlovesbusiness.com/business-news/politics/10-things-you-didnt-know-about-george-osborne/3649.article  
> David & George were involved in the 1992 campaign, with Cameron being part of the Brat Pack credited with winning the election for Major: https://www.spectator.co.uk/2015/04/a-1992-election-day-lunch-with-the-young-david-cameron/ Danny (mentioned in the flashback) is Daniel Finkelstein, a close friend of David and George, who's helped David with his memoirs: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2016/sep/20/david-cameron-draw-on-audio-diary-upcoming-memoirs  
> Rebekah is Rebekah Brooks, who was found not guilty of phone hacking & in addition to being friends with David, was a good friend of Alastair (& saw him before the Hutton Inquiry.) "2001" refers to Peter's 2nd resignation in 2001, which he perceived as him being forced out by Blair & Campbell. Geoffrey Robinson refers to Mandelson's first resignation: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/labour/3130348/The-scandals-that-brought-Peter-Mandelson-down-twice-before.html  
> Stuart Rose was the M&S boss-here were his remarks on Ed: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/marks-and-spencer-boss-stuart-rose-accuses-miliband-of-returning-labour-to-the-seventies-10019958.html  
> Brian Cox's song "Things Can Only Get Better" was the theme song of Labour's 1997 campaign, but he said he'd refuse to let Ed use it: https://blogs.spectator.co.uk/2015/02/brian-cox-bans-ed-miliband-from-using-his-music/  
> Brian is Fiona's father. Alastair uses John &Ellie's graves as a place of reflection. The first time Peter met Alastair, he did hear him playing the bagpipes before he even entered the room.  
> Alastair suffers from severe depression & is an ambassador & advocate for mental health charities. He has spoken about taking anti-depressants. Peter's flashbacks are memories of Alastair's breakdown in 1986. David is Alastair's psychiatrist. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/lifestyle/9664506/Alastair-Campbell-Working-out-how-and-when-I-could-have-a-drink-dominated-my-thinking.html  
> https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/alastair-campbell-on-how-brexit-saved-his-relationship-a3637236.html  
> You can see Alastair and Fiona talking about his mental illness here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOymlOVYp_s  
> Other notes are at the end!  
> Thanks for reading-please leave a comment if you like it! Enjoy the chapter!

_"Catherine and he were constant companions, still, at his seasons of respite from labour; but, he had ceased to express his fondness for her in words, and recoiled with angry suspicion from her girlish caresses, as if conscious there could be no gratification in lavishing such marks of affection on him." -Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte_

_i don't know why my tendency for pushing everyone away the second after i let them in doesn't apply to her. She's immune to me -Gena/Finn, Hannah Moskowitz and Kat Helgeson_

_The same tricks that once fooled me/They won't get you anywhere/I'm not the same kid from your memory/Now I can fend for myself_

_-"Ignorance", Paramore_

_Two households, both alike in dignity_

_In fair Verona, where we lay our scene_

_From ancient grudge, break to new mutiny_

_Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean_

_From forth the fatal loins of these two foes_

_A pair of star-crossed lovers...._

_ -Romeo And Juliet, William Shakespeare _

 

* * *

 

 

After The Fun Run that day, Samantha had been standing outside with Vic, squinting every so often in the winter sunlight. The kids had been inside the Tite, scrambling for places on the long cushioned couches, Dave and Giles with the unenviable job of keeping them in line. Sam and Vic had taken the opportunity to slip out for some fresh air-Florence's face had been creasing in a slow, sure scowl before they'd headed into the pub earlier, her tiara slipping sideways as Dave hoisted her higher, arm wrapped protectively around her pink coat.

One of the police officers had hovered near them, green jacket almost too bright in the sun. Usually, Sam might not have wanted to bother having a police officer follow them out, but after the scene in the driveway that morning, she'd been forced to concede that it wasn't a day for taking risks.

Vic had taken a gulp of her lager, shivering a little at the iciness of it. "God. Can't believe Dave wants one of these after he's been in that Brook-"

"I think it's the alcohol, more than the-" Sam had taken a sip of her own. "Anyway, how come Giles wasn't doing it this year?"

Vic had rolled her eyes. "Oh, thigh injury. And when we mentioned doing a marathon, it was a back injury. And with the sponsored swim, it was a groin injury. Don't even want to think about where he got that."

Sam had snorted. "Dave's like a labrador. If he goes past a body of cold water without jumping in, he gets fidgety."

"Wish Giles had that problem. Must be some sort of genetic-family-thing, because Lisa was telling me at Christmas that Simon's exactly the same-"

"Yeah, and they're all the same age-"

"Exactly." Vic had rolled her eyes, taking another gulp. "He gets enough grief about it from Freya. She was doing a sponsored run right after her birthday last year, and he wouldn't get up. Eventually, she chucked a bottle of Evian Spring over his head."

"God, if Dave got up later than 8, I'm pretty sure he'd go into mourning for the day. Last time we were at my mother's, she said he was the only one up before the staff." Sam had taken another sip. "We found him helping them get breakfast ready in the kitchens."

Vic had snorted. "Sounds like Dave. Do you remember that time we were all in Cornwall and Giles collapsed on the sand after the surfing and Dave stepped over him?"

"Yeah-"

"Jackson and Elwen sat on his stomach like a beach ball, I told him afterwards when he was whining, lose it if you don't want them to use it-"

"Mmmhmm-

"Still, his New Year's Resolution is taking up swimming. We're making great strides." Vic shrugs. "He's nearly made it down to the pool once."

"Oh, is he-"

"Mrs Cameron?"

Samantha had turned round, jostling her lager slightly as she turned to face the woman who'd said her name. "Mmm?" she'd managed, hastily swallowing her mouthful of lager, pulling her grey coat tighter around her, and then she'd noticed the cameraphone.

"My name's Carol Wheeler-" and Sam had already been moving, sleeve covering the camera, as she looked with a jolt of recognition into the face of the same woman who'd been shouting at the end of their driveway that morning.

She'd barely even thought about it when she'd been scrambling out of the car, her phone in her hand. She'd known she was allowed to film them-they'd been advised to if anyone came near the house-but it had been Florence's little face, crumpled and confused, that had had her scrambling out of the car.

Sam has never been the type to get into fights-that has always been Emily, who went through a particularly rocky period where she'd come home with a torn dress or a black eye at least once a week right after Dad left. She might throw a drink over someone, some creep who'd press up too closely against her at the pool table, in the days before Tricky hovered at her side like a cigarette-wielding, rapping guardian angel-but she left the shouting to the others. She'd never really even thought about hitting out, perhaps because she'd never had to.

It had been when she first saw the plus sign rising slowly into sight on the pregnancy test when she'd put her hand to her flat stomach and stared at it, blinking once or twice, expecting a small message to appear on the screen any moment to say it was a joke, it was a mistake, there couldn't be anything in there, let alone a tiny _person_ already relying on her for life-that she'd cupped her hands over her stomach and lowered herself onto the closed lid of the toilet, waiting for something.

She'd stood up suddenly and stared at herself in the mirror, lifting her shirt slightly, and staring at her own reflection, waiting for something. A kick, though she'd known it was far too early. A flicker of movement. A sign that there was something in there.

There was a baby in there. The realisation had made her grip the sink tightly and look at herself again in the mirror, her eyes wide. This was their baby in there. Inside her. Needing her. Her hand had curled over her stomach in a rush of warmth, a desire to cushion the baby that was still almost too tiny to be jostled.

As she'd stood up, she'd bumped the sink just slightly and had imagined for a moment that she could feel the baby startle inside her. Though she knew it was impossible, knew that their baby was barely the size of a pinhead, she swore she could feel it and for a moment, her hands had tightened on the sink in a wave of sudden fury that had made her picture, in an instant, ripping the sink out of the wall, yanking it out with a groan of metal, for daring to jostle her baby, even for a moment.

Dave would joke about it when she told him about it later, saying that they must have an angry baby in there, that he'd have to watch his back for the entire pregnancy in case she bludgeoned him in his sleep. But Sam had known, even then, that it wasn't going to leave, the rush of fury she'd felt, almost breathtaking in how pure it was, wasn't going to be lifted out the moment this baby was lifted out of her, any more than their baby would disappear. It was in her, intertwined with her DNA, wrapped around her pulse, contracting with each beat of her heart.

Several months later, when she'd been leaning over the hospital bars, the metal digging into her arms, one finger carefully tucked into Ivan's tiny hand.

"He might not be aware of you" one of the nurses had said gently. "The brain scans haven't given us a clear indication of how much Ivan will be able to take in."

Samantha hadn't bothered to look away from Ivan, from his big, dark blue eyes, which blinked at nothing, or at something none of them could see. "Doesn't matter" was all she'd said, and she'd leaned closer to Ivan, her finger gently stroking his cheek, ignoring the ache of the bars pressing into her arms. She would have leant on them all night to keep her hand on Ivan's cheek.

"I'm here" she'd said, knowing Ivan could hear her even if he'd never know the words. "Good boy."

Dave had been grabbing a nap at the side of the bed-they'd been taking it in turns to sleep. His cheeks had been flushed, his eyes still swollen from crying. Sam had known hers' must look much the same. But they were dry now.

Ivan had made a mewling sound. Samantha had felt his fingers tense. For a moment, his eyes had lingered on hers, and his fingers tightened a little.

Samantha felt a wave of love tighten in her chest, and had wanted to climb into the cot with him and wrap herself around him, tuck him into her chest, keep him safe.

"That's right" she'd said instead, squeezing his finger very gently, but his had twitched in response. "Mummy's here."

Ivan had relaxed, his breathing growing heavy, as his eyes closed. Samantha had stroked his hand. "Mummy" she'd said gently, even as his eyes closed again. "Ivan." She'd breathed his name softly, amazed at how it had settled into him, like wrapping him in her arms. "Ivan. Ivan. Ivan."

It had been that feeling that had sent her storming towards the protesters at the gate, clicking her phone into Camera. The wave of feeling that she once thought was rage that had risen inside her, choking her, when she'd seen Florence's face was the same feeling that meant she could drag herself up for the twelfth time in a night to rock Ivan as a baby, the same feeling that, less than a month after The Fun Run, would tighten her arms around Nancy, that had nearly sent her storming round to Ed Miliband's house in the dead of night, the same feeling that lets her know she could lift a car off any one of her children if she needed to, that she could step in front of one without thinking for one of them. It's purer, stronger than rage, and far more dangerous.

 _"Mrs Cameron, my daughter doesn't see her mummy!"_ The voice had split the air as Sam marched towards them, barely noticing the armed police already moving towards her. She doesn't need them. She could throw the woman over the fence with one hand right now if she needed to. Her spine is taut, her knuckles white around the phone.

"My daughter begged _four years in a row_ to see me at Christmas-"

Sam had known not to speak to them-even if she hadn't been told a hundred times by the police, her instincts would have told her that any word she said they'd cling to, drawing life out of it like water from a reed.

 _""Please, Daddy! Please, Daddy!""_ The man had been shaking his phone. For a moment, Sam had thought he might throw it at her. The thought flashed through her mind that she'd like him to.

"Do you want to listen to the videos? This government's _ignored it-_ Charles Walker, the coward! Ignored it! Lord Justice Ryder, ignored it!"

Samantha had stood there, directly in front of them, her phone out like a weapon. She'd felt a rush standing there, only feet from them, with nothing in between them. She knows full well that if anyone made a move towards the kids, they wouldn't need the guards or the police. Her hands would be around their throats before they could blink.

"Mrs Cameron, can I speak to you regarding my daughter-" The woman was edging round towards her, her voice calmer now, almost beseeching, saying the child's name beseechingly. "I haven't seen her-"

Samantha had only caught a glimpse of the woman over the top of her phone. She'd been short and stocky with a long dark ponytail-and a face-as Nancy would later acerbically describe it-like a potato. But she was clutching a pink poster and a photo of a small pretty toddler with bobbed blonde hair and a gap-toothed smile, and under different circumstances, Samantha might have felt sorry for her.

She'd turned and headed back towards the car, one of the men's voice roaring into the air behind her. "Mrs Cameron, as a mother, do you think it's right that all of our children have been _kidnapped_ by your husband's _government?"_

Samantha had kept walking, the man's words bouncing off her. She could feel that calmness settling into her chest that always follows that rush-the calm, certain feeling of needing to get to her children. She quickened her pace, the taunts at the gate already receding like so much noise as she headed towards the car, where Dave and the kids were waiting for her.

"For money, for profit-" she could hear one of them shouting, but the words drifted away, meaningless, as she climbed into the car, into the rush of warmth and the cacophony of her children's voices, Dave's hand on her shoulder, her arms already wrapping around Florence, hugging her fiercely against her beating heart.

The protesters had already faded into the realm of a half-forgotten bad dream. This was what was real.

Now, Carol Wheeler is holding up her camera phone and Samantha's already moving her arm, the way she learnt to do whenever they stepped out of the door to get the kids to school, a sea of press already arranged outside waiting for them.

"Look, s-I'm really sorry-" She pushed the camera away from her face, trying to do it as gently as possible. She'd tried to smile at the woman, to soften her voice slightly. "It's my Christmas holidays-I'm with my kids, _please-"_

"I would love to-" the woman had begun, and the police officer had given Vic's arm a quick squeeze. Vic had nodded, turned and headed for The Tite without a word, her hand squeezing Sam's arm as she passed.

"I really feel for you-" Now that she can get a good look at her, Sam does feel for her, rather. Something about the woman, despite the havoc of the morning-perhaps it's the way she's clutching the photo of the little girl so fiercely, as though she thinks it might be ripped away from her any moment-but there's something pitiful about her.

"I would love to-"

"But I just-" Samantha had pushed the phone away, more firmly this time. "I really don't want to talk to you now, is that OK?" She'd tried pushing the woman's arm gently. "I'm with my family, it's-"

"Could-could you not assault me, please-" The woman had been glaring at her, her lip pouting out like a child's.

Samantha, staring at her, had felt a wave of exasperation. She'd remembered Dave's words about the woman earlier, when they were all traipsing into the pub.

"Carol bloody Wheeler" he'd said, jerking his head towards the door. "We looked into her case as well, I remember. Well, passed it on, but you know what I mean-"

"And-"

"And nothing." Dave had shrugged, taking a quick glance over at the kids at the table. "Several judges looked at that case and they all came to the same conclusion. She can't be around her daughter. She's violated a couple of restraining orders. She'll probably get another for this-I mean, she must be half out of her mind with grief, but that doesn't always mean you should be the one looking after your kids, just because you want to be."

Now, Samantha had sighed. "I know, it's just, I don't-" She'd taken a deep breath, steadied her voice, the way she does when Florence is having a tantrum. "I really feel for you" she'd said carefully, taking a discreet step back from the phone. "But it's my Christmas holidays-it's not my job-"

"Yeah." The woman was staring at her as though she hadn't heard a word Samantha had said, which she probably hadn't. "I asked social services for help-"

Oh God.

"To stop the father from letting my child down-"

Samantha had taken a long gulp of lager, bracing herself for what could be a while.

"He got people to make false allegations to social services-" The woman's voice had been getting higher, her grip on the photo tighter. A part of Samantha had wanted to put an arm around her, to ask her when she'd last eaten or slept. But she'd remembered Carol Wheeler in her driveway, that morning, filming her daughter.

"I ended up-because-"

"I really feel for you-" and a part of her does, because being a parent who is harming the thing that's most precious to you in the world without even knowing it is all the worse because this woman will never _know_ that's what she is-"But, it's the courts that have to deal with it-"

One of the police officers had been stepping between them, even as the woman tried to peer round him.

"Yeah, and-"

"I can't do anything to help you-" Samantha doesn't know how many times she's had to say those words to people over the years, but she can probably count on one hand the number of times they've been believed.

"And the courts _aren't_ dealing with it-"

"There's nothing _I_ can do about that-"

"I am _barred_ from court until November 2018-" The woman was staring at her over the phone, a tear dribbling down her cheek now. "My daughter will be _ten and a half_ years old-" More tears came dribbling out, and the woman's voice had broken slightly, as she clutched the photo tighter to her chest. "She doesn't know who I _am."_

Samantha had to take another gulp of lager. _You need to walk away_ , Dave had told her once. _If you keep talking to them, it gives them false hope. It makes it harder for them to let go._

And they never seem to want to let go, these people, who always seem to believe in something vast and spectacular, a huge interlinked conspiracy, a collusion of governments and establishments and systems working against them, because it's easier to cling onto that than the world in front of them that's all their own, where there are no bad guys, or not the ones they want to see.

"And-how would _you_ feel-" The woman's voice had cracked again, more tears sliding out.

"I really feel for you-" Samantha's lost count of how many times she's heard herself say that-"But there was, there's nothing-" She'd taken a deeper breath, looking at the woman over the police officer's arm. "My husband has done everything he can-"

"He _hasn't-"_ The woman's voice had cracked in outrage, some of the bravado reasserting itself now that she'd found a safer topic.

"-to help you-he _has-"_

"He has not done everything-he made promises in regards of equal shared parenting-"

Sam had taken a deep breath, resisting the temptation to remind the woman that equal, shared parenting would usually take place between two parents who weren't a danger to their children.

"What you have to understand" she'd said, speaking in the slow careful way she does with Florence and keeping her eyes on the woman's face, even as the police officer moved a little further between them. "Is that in this country, the legal system is separated from the _political_ system-"

"But-you-"

"You, you-you get-"

"He _legislates_ it-"

 _"Through_ the courts-"

"The government _legislate_ the courts." The woman was shaking slightly, and the police officer had moved further between them.

"Well-" Samantha had known the signs, that the police officer was about to bring an end to the conversation before it got out of control. She'd sighed, dredging up the energy for one last attempt.

"So-"

"He _has_ looked into your case-he's brought it up with the people involved-" Samantha had stared at the woman, wondering suddenly if any of this would seep through to her, ever. "He hasn't m-been able to change anything, and that's all he can do-"

"I mean, this morning he said we've made our point-" The officer had leaned right between them now. "And obviously, we haven't made our point because our children weren't coming out from your back garden-"

Oh God.

"There's four of us protesting outside your house, there's _twelve children_ affected-" The woman's voice was getting higher again, her cheeks getting more and more flushed. The officer's foot had nudged Sam's very slightly, but enough for her to get the message.

"We don't mind about us-"

The officer was moving between them now, as the woman's voice grew higher. "It's the twelve children that are affected-"

The police officer had been jerking his head frantically at Sam now, and, glancing over her shoulder, she could see one of the protection officers heading towards them. She'd known it'd be unlikely that she'd ever see Carol Wheeler again, and, for a moment, she did think she could do it, could say they'd look again, could give her something to hold onto, like that photograph.

But it'd end up ripped, just like that photograph has. And like the photograph, it won't stop hurting.

"The problem is" she'd said, already knowing it was hopeless, wondering if anything could break through the woman's denial, whether anything _should._ "We live in a country that has a justice system that deals with this-"

"Yeah-"

But the police officer was shaking his head and Sam was moving towards the pub almost on autopilot, the way she turns towards her children naturally, her own Point North.

"A-anyway, I'm going to go back inside the pub and hang out with my children, because it's-" She'd already been heading towards the pub. "Because it's-I can't do anything about it-"

The police officer had given Sam a frantic gesture as the woman had shouted once more, and Sam had nearly winced.

"If there was anything I could do-" she'd been able to say once more over her shoulder as she headed towards the Tite door, towards the guard waiting to shepherd her inside.

"But I can't" she'd said one last time, the word hanging between them. "I really can't." And she'd headed back into the warmth of the pub, the clash of children's voices like a welcome grab of fierce arms, the woman's last words only now arranging themselves into the shout they were, exploding into the air, seeming to echo, cracking again and again, damp with tears: "Yeah, and _I_ would like to hang out with _my_ child!"

"Sam?"

Sam blinks, glancing round at David, who's peering over the back of the seat at Florence, whose head is resting against Elwen's shoulder as she sleeps, the iPad casting their faces in a blue glow.

"Yeah, sorry-" She takes in another look at their children, drinking them in, before she turns back to David.

"You OK?"

Sam nods, blinking herself out of her reverie. "Yeah. Just thinking."

Dave glances at her, then away. "About the kids?"

She nods without needing to. "What were you talking about with Lynton?"

When the kids were younger, the times when Dave was driving were some of the most peaceful. When they were small, Ivan sleeping in his specially-adapted chair, Nancy and Elwen either side of him, nestled in their little baby seats, it would be between party functions, driving Ivan back from a hospital appointment, heading up to Oxfordshire, away from London and work and everything else that filled their lives during the week.

Now Dave isn't allowed to drive-another thing the security measures have taken care of without them even asking-these conversations still happen, but in the middle row of seats, the kids nestled in the back. The security and driver in the front should leave it feeling different, less private, but something about the need to lower their voices, the huddling together in the dark, always reminds Sam of when they were first dating, huddled together under the duvet in her grandmother's house at Sutton Hall, David having crept down the corridor into her room, the two of them muffling their laughter in the duvet and each other's mouths.

Dave sighs, closes his eyes, and pulls her in to rest her head on his shoulder.

"I know you said you'd do interviews" he says slowly. "And that we would do one or two things with the kids."

"I don't-"

"I know." Dave nods before she can find the end of the sentence. "I know. But-we did say we'd only do anything with the kids-that they're completely comfortable with."

"Not with their faces. Not with anything that can identify them. At all."

David takes a deep breath and Samantha tenses, waiting.

Then he nods once. "OK" he says slowly. "OK."

His arm tightens around her slightly as he falls silent. But Samantha watches him for a long moment, his face cast in the orange glow of the streetlamps and she can hear something else hovering between them, something neither of them is saying.

 

* * *

 

"I'm flattered" George decides. "I'll go with flattered."

Then he tilts the photo from a different angle. "No. _No._ Not flattered at _all."_

Rupert glances at him as George squints quizzically and tilts the photo again. "Actually, _maybe_ flattered-"

"Oh, for _fuck's sake!"_ Rupert chucks a paper at him. "If it means so much to you, I'll get bloody whatever his name is in and let you personally judge whether you're satisfied with his fucking performance."

George considers. _"Could_ you?"

Rupert looks as though he's considering aiming the pot plant next to his desk through the window, when the door flies open, almost smashing its' handle into the wall.

George and Rupert both jump at the sight of Craig, leaning against the door frame out of breath.

"Jesus, _what?"_ George claps a hand over his chest.

"If there's been another bloody attack, it is far too early for a Monday morning."

Craig shakes his head, claps a hand over his own chest. "Jesus. Sorry, I literally just ran all the way up-"

"Yeah, seems that keep fit resolution's really been paying off-"

Craig shakes his head, gasping for breath, but finds another way to vent his sentiment, with the extension of one digit.

"Shut up. That Snickers is not part of the 5:2 diet." He straightens up and, with a considerable effort, draws in a long breath as he stares at George. "Do you know who Dave had in his house yesterday?"

 

* * *

 

"Why didn't you tell me?" George demands ten minutes later, the door of David's office bouncing off the wall.

David jumps violently, his pen skidding across the page, leaving a slash of black ink across the white, Gabby grabbing the edge of the desk. "Jesus-"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" David's brow clears. "Oh, the Coalition images. Try not to think of yourself as creepy. I think it's meant to be more foreboding."

"Thank you. You've made my mind up for me." George promptly yanks out the crumpled Coalition poster and tosses it across the room into the bin, not even stopping to punch the air and congratulate himself on it going in on first try. "And what the fuck are you talking about, _foreboding?_ They'd want to make Mandelson fucking foreboding, if anyone."

David snorts. "Mandelson's your pussycat."

Gabby grimaces. _"Images."_

David wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, I wasn't too fond of it either."

"Who's he played by, by the way, I didn't see it-"

"Mycroft from Sherlock-you know, the one who always sounds off about us on Twitter, you know, to get-get a big fat tick in his BBC-writer lovely luvvie box-"

 _"Mark Gatiss!"_ George explodes. "His name's Mark _fucking_ Gatiss!"

David arches an eyebrow. "Sure? Sounds a bit unusual."

George swells indignantly.

"Anyway, he's a lefty, you don't need his good opinion, crisis averted." David turns back to the paper."

"Isn't Benedict Cumberbatch a bit of a lefty?" Gabby asks, tucking her dark hair back. "But didn't he go to Harrow-"

"Yeah, I think he's trying to escape the curse of his last name-"

"OK." George throws his hands up. "I cannot have this conversation again."

 

* * *

 

"So you're doing this education speech at midday-"

"Yeah-" David leans back in his seat, dragging a hand through his hair. "Right before Labour unleash another tale of woe about how we've kept yet another council-estate kid out of uni, while they completely blot out the statistics-"

A piece of paper presses into his knee under the table, clutched between George's fingers. David lifts it casually to lie amongst his own notes.

"Thanks for that update, George."

George's writing stares up at him in a neat blue-inked scribble. _Have you lost your fucking mind?_

David smiles at the note and surreptitiously nudges his foot a little too hard into George's shin.

"By the way-" Nick glances up at them across the table. "David really isn't happy about the approach we're taking to early year childcare-"

_We're._

David sighs, glances down at his paperwork. "I thought David was going to send over his thoughts in an email-"

He shoves the note back to George. _Mainly about my roast dinner._

George slowly crumples the paper in his fist.

"Anyway, what happened to-"

"I think David might be waiting to see how much he agrees with what's in your speech this afternoon" Danny chips in, with a glance at Nick and James.

George shoves the note back to David. Jo, in the chair next to him taking copious notes, gives them a curious look.

_Stop fucking around. Why the hell didn't you tell me?_

"In which case why don't we deal with it, then, once we see whether or not you're pleased with what we're planning?" David says, deliberately sweetly, and has the satisfaction of seeing Nick's smile freeze for just a moment as David prods the elephant that's just been dragged into the room.

"David already has some concerns-" begins Danny and David offers him a smile. "But they might be addressed in the speech, mightn't they?"

George's cheek lifts very slightly next to him, in a gesture only David would notice.

"Unless you've already-" David lets the words hover in the air for a moment. "Decided there won't be."

There's a silence, which lasts only a few seconds, but seems interminable. David leans back in his chair deliberately, lets himself savour the sight of Danny searching for something to say. David waits silently, daring him.

George, he can tell from the tension of his shoulders, is loving every second of it.

"Well" Nick says, after another flicker of a glance at Danny. "That's a-that's a possibility."

It's the furthest he can go and in the moment when his and David's eyes meet, they both know it.

David allows his mouth to twitch ever so slightly in the tiniest of smiles.

Then he lowers his eyes back to the papers. "All right" he says, peaceably. "We'll take it from there, then."

Chris, sitting across the room, gives him a barely perceptible nod, a warning arch of the eyebrow.

This might be one of the last times he'll sit in this room with Nick Clegg as his Deputy Prime Minister, negotiating cuts to a schools budget. It most likely won't be.

_Don't take it too far. Not yet._

He scribbles on the note again, shoves it back to George. _Still want me to stop fucking around?_

This time, George's cheek raises higher, eyes deepening in a broader smile.

 

* * *

 

"We know he did it deliberately" says Danny, helpfully, from the chair in front of Nick's desk.

"Of course he did it deliberately" Nick says, counting to ten as he watches David pace up and down behind Danny's chair. "He's feeling us out, so's Osborne."

"Because he knows we're feeling _them_ out" points out Danny. "They're only doing what they know _we're_ doing. Probably looking for where they can make gains in the Budget negotiations."

Nick lets his head drop forward. "God. And it's fucking Catch-22. If we distance ourselves from them too much, forming another coalition will be fucking impossible."

"And that's the only way we're getting back in government" says Danny, bluntly.

David's eyes flicker to Nick's, only for the tiniest of seconds, but Nick knows Danny notices.

"I don't care" David barks out, suddenly. "I don't care. I am _not_ backing a policy that cuts the early years childcare-"

"OK-" Nick holds out a hand. "OK. David, calm down-"

"We need to differentiate ourselves from them" David says, more calmly, but coming to a halt now and staring straight at Nick. "Because right now, our ratings are absolutely in the toilet and everyone thinks Cameron's got his hand up your back, animating you with his fingers."

Nick and Danny both stare at him.

David blinks. "Yeah, that sounded a lot better in my head."

"And out of mine." Nick rests his forehead on one hand. "And _yes_ , we need to differentiate, which is why we're doing our own Budget."

David doesn't look away from him. "But if Cameron and Osborne want to play at psyching you out, you know they've got the upper hand here."

He hesitates. "And-everything depends on the number of seats."

Nick hesitates.

56 seats. Predicted 30. If that.

"Look" he says. "Let's take it one day at a time."

 

* * *

 

"Right." The moment the door's closed behind them, George spins round to face David. "Stop fucking about with the notes, for now-"

"Oh, I thought you were enjoying the notes."

George bites his lip, suppressing a smile. "It's not funny." He shakes his head. "No, it's _really_ not funny. It's not. What if the press had spotted you?"

"The press usually leave us alone up there-"

"You can't be certain" Chris says, looking uncharacteristically grave. "Especially as it gets near to the election. They'll be all over both of you." He leans forward, clearing his throat. "Listen. No one's saying you can't be-"

The door flies open to reveal Craig standing in the doorway, gasping for breath.

"Jogging still not paying off?" says George flippantly. Craig ignores him.

"Come on" he says, looking straight at David with no preamble. "You knew full well how I'd react. That's why you didn't tell me-"

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to-plus, I knew you had the girls this weekend, I didn't want to-"

"Come on." Craig shakes his head. "You know that's not the point."

Gabby takes her place in a chair quietly, dark eyes darting between them as she takes in the situation.

"What are you objecting to?" David challenges, leaning back against the desk. "The fact we invited him or the fact we didn't tell you?"

Craig meets his eyes. "Honestly? Both."

There's a short silence.

"I see" says David slowly, leaning right back against the desk. "I see. So what is this, now-a veto on all of us having any, any contact with anyone outside of our-"

"It's not about that" George says. "You _know_ it's not about that-"

"It's a good thing, too, because you and Balls would be right on the sharp end of it, for starters" David retorts.

George is silent but a faint tinge of colour appears in his pale cheeks. Gabby arches a knowing eyebrow.

"Look" Craig says, with a glance at George and a roll of his eyes. "No one's got hold of this. No one photographed you. I'll check with Graeme, but I'm pretty certain. But what I _have_ had-" He holds his phone aloft. "Is a tonne of messages from Tom fucking Baldwin about all this, breathing fucking fire-"

George snorts. _"White_ fire?"

 _"Snorting_ fire?" David mutters.

"Giving those nostrils a bit of a nosebleed-"

Chris bites his lip, keeping his face studiously blank.

"Look" Craig says. "Miliband's advisers aren't thrilled about this, either. And neither's-"

Once again, the door flies open. David winces with a glance at the wall. George catches his eye. "We really should get a doorstop."

Lynton stands in the doorway, glasses hanging, crookedly, from one ear. His suit is half-hanging off, his tie askew. Under one arm is stuffed a frightened-looking toy kangaroo.

Craig winces. "Please tell us no one saw you."

Lynton doesn't even acknowledge this. Instead, he just lifts the kangaroo and points it directly at David like a weapon. "Cameron. Consider yourself unworthy of the koala."

* * *

 

"I'm disappointed" Lynton says, pacing up and down. "I'm disappointed, that's all I can say."

Under his arm, the kangaroo's head bobs disapprovingly.

George, perched on the couch next to David, nudges him. "Should we-"

David, taking a long look at the kangaroo, shakes his head. "He probably just likes it."

"I mean-" Lynton stops and spins round, holding the kangaroo aloft. "You disrespected it, that's all I can say. You disrespected Lynton the Koala."

David blinks. "You know that's not Lynton the-"

Lynton swells. "Do you _REALLY_ want to _TEST_ me right now?"

David falls silent.

George nudges him. "Look-"

"You told me to be nicer to him."

"To be _nicer_ to him" Lynton hisses furiously. "At bloody Bercow's request! To endear the fucking Speaker a little more to your side, because everyone with eyes knows you hate the fucking poison dwarf!"

David opens his mouth, assuming a look of outrage, then closes it again. "Yeah, I'll give you that."

George nods. "Everyone knows."

"I think Michael wrote a limerick about it."

 _"So-"_ Lynton explodes. "You needed to be _nicer_ to him. Not invite him to a fucking _sleepover-"_

David feels the heat creep slowly into his cheeks. George glances at him, then looks again, longer this time.

Lynton rolls his eyes, not noticing, thanks to the intervention of some deity. David draws in a long breath.

"Look-" he says, after a moment. "Our kids are friends. That-it was just a thought. No-one knows."

Lynton makes a strange, hacking sound. For a moment, David's concerned they may have finally killed him, before he realises Lynton's merely laughing.

"No-one knows?" Lynton demands, when he can speak again. "No-one _knows?"_

David and George exchange a glance.

Lynton grabs Craig's arm without looking at him, scrabbling for his phone, Craig's hand landing on his arm. "Lynton, it really doesn't-"

"No, it really does."

"Lynton, this really isn't necessary-"

"Yes, it really is." Lynton shoves the phone into David's hand, David blinking at the screen. "Take a look at that."

David looks.

_Mr Oliver, can we get your comments on the story we've received from a source that the Prime Minister and the Leader Of The Opposition were dining together in a restaurant in Paris, following the march on January-_

David looks up slowly.

Lynton nods. "Keep going."

_Mr Oliver, can you confirm whether there is any truth in the rumour that the Prime Minister invited the Leader Of The Labour Party to Chequers at any time in the past three months..._

_Mr Oliver, does the Prime Minister have any comment on the account that he invited the Labour leader to his constituency home..._

"Yes" Lynton says, voice heavy with sarcasm. "No one knows."

David looks up at Craig, who's avoiding his gaze. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's my job." Craig says it quickly, firmly, snapping the words out almost before David's finished speaking. "It's my job and it's my problem and it's just tabloid rubbish. We can deal with it."

His eyes meet David's for the briefest of seconds and David can see him standing in that office a few weeks beforehand after he'd pushed open the door to find Miliband with his head on David's shoulder- _He's your opponent._

_Why did you want him here?_

"Are you fucking _joking?"_ Lynton spins round. "We shouldn't be _having_ to deal with this, because this _shouldn't be_ _fucking happening."_

David folds his arms. "What, so-I should, no, no longer have any kind of interaction with anyone who isn't 100% guaranteed to bleed blue if you cut them open-"

Lynton hesitates.

David blinks. "You're not serious."

"No" Craig says before Lynton can speak, (Lynton giving him a resentful look). "Of course not. But-you have to admit-you do need to be more careful."

 _"More careful?"_ Lynton explodes, snatching the phone out of David's hand. _"More careful?_ Try not eating out with him in fucking _Paris._ Try not having fucking _sleepovers_ with him-"

"You just need to be more careful" Craig says, more quietly.

"You've never minded it before."

" _I_ have" mutters Lynton.

Craig ignores him. "That was when you weren't in the run-up to a general election-" He sighs, lowers himself onto David's desk. "It's just-in the next few weeks, you two are going to be scrutinised at every event you attend together. Don't give them any more than you need to."

"Why did you have to pick _now_ to bloody realise-"

David's head snaps up. "Realise what?"

His cheeks are burning.

Lynton stares at him. "What?"

"Realise what?"

Lynton blinks. "Nothing." He looks away. "Forget it. I was thinking out loud."

"We haven't _realised."_

"Forget it."

"We haven't realised-we haven't realised _anything."_ David has no idea why his heart is suddenly pounding.

There's a short silence.

"Look-" Lynton rests his head on his hand. "That's only part of the reason I'm in here."

David, in the moment that follows, can't help but notice that George's eyes are still lingering on his face.

"Did you talk to Sam?"

Oh.

David sighs. "Yeah."

There's another silence.

Then Lynton makes an explosive sound. _"And?"_

David holds out a hand, George slapping a hand over his chest and muttering about the frequent diminishing of his life expectancy these days. "OK. I spoke to her and she's still-"

He looks Lynton in the eye. "We're not having the kids' faces on TV."

Lynton hits the desk. "Well, then, it's kiss a sweet goodbye to the fucking personal vote, isn't it? Because, trust me, Miliband's going to be smearing his precious little sprogs' faces all over every TV screen in the fucking country, and they're going to lap up every last saccharine ugly second of it like they're dying of fucking thirst."

"Fine." David doesn't realise he's standing up for a moment. "Fine. Let him. Let Miliband do that. Our kids won't be."

Lynton throws his hands up in the air. "For God's _sake._ One bloody clip. That's all we're fucking asking. One bloody clip of the kids eating their dinner with you, one quick glimpse of their dimpled little faces, and you've got every woman in the country eating out of the palm of your hand."

David blinks. "Not if they heard you say that."

"Look." Craig's quieter now. "I can see where Dave's coming from on this. Honestly, I wouldn't want my kids all over the country, either-"

"Well, you're not the fucking Prime Minister, are you-"

"All right." David turns to the couch, then, abruptly, back to Lynton. "No. There's your answer. We've already said we'll let the kids be filmed. If they're OK with it. Twice. And that's your lot. With their faces hidden. That's the final offer."

"Well, it's not accepted."

"Well, it'll have to _be_ accepted." David doesn't realise he's stepped closer to Lynton, doesn't realise his voice has risen to a dangerously high volume until he notices that the rest of the room has fallen silent. "What are you going to do, force a camera into my childrens' faces while they're eating their fucking porridge?"

There's a long silence.

Lynton meets his gaze, takes a long, deep breath, with the expression of someone exercising every last vestige of control. "Look. I know that this is difficult-"

"It's not difficult because it's not fucking happening."

When Lynton opens his mouth again, David shakes his head. "No. No way."

Lynton watches him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he opens his mouth.

"OK. There might be another way."

 

* * *

 

"That didn't go-well" Craig says cautiously to George, a few minutes later.

George stares back at him. "To be honest, that went far better than I thought it would. Because if I'd known, I'd have told you not to fucking _ask_ him that."

Craig has the grace to look abashed. "If it means anything, I didn't know he was going to ask it today. Honestly-"

"No, I know." George can feel the anger evaporating as quickly as it appeared. "It just-"

He swallows, glances about. "You have to understand-Sam doesn't talk about that. Ever."

Craig winces. George, taking in the look on his face, feeling something stretch taut in his chest, takes a slightly sharper breath than usual.

"Look. What about the main-the thing that got Lynton-" George glances at the couch. "Nearly beheading that poor kangaroo for one thing."

The kangaroo seems to peer at them mournfully from the couch.

Craig gives it a long look. "Yeah, doesn't look too happy, does it? Suits the situation-"

"Dave and Miliband are happy" George points out.

Craig winces. "Jesus, don't say that."

George falls silent, thinking.

Craig turns abruptly, beginning to wander about the room. "Look, you know him inside out" he says suddenly, almost as if the words have been jolted out of him. "You-"

Craig looks up. "I mean-you and Balls-but that's not the same, is it?"

George can remember the first time he met David Cameron. It had been in the mid-'90s and it was at a party, when their party had sensed they were dying, could sense the future rolling towards Blair and Brown and Campbell like a juggernaut, and a lot of them-the younger ones, anyway-had decided that they might as well enjoy the ride.

George had been debating whether or not to try and knock back his last gulp of champagne, when he'd become aware of Andrew calling his name and a silver spoon against crystal ringing through the air.

"Come on up-" Andrew was holding his arm out, eyes bright, and George had felt a shove in the shoulder from Danny, disproving the half-formed theory that the whole thing was an alcohol-fuelled dream, since he'd asked Andrew _not_ to do this at his leaving party.

Slowly, he'd got to his feet and made his way up to the centre of the room, feet striking the wooden floor a little too loudly. It was only as he reached Andrew's side, noticing that he seemed far more exuberant than usual, that George had realised he wasn't alone. Another man stood next to him, taller than George, with lighter, chestnut hair, the sort of rosy cheeks that make one look almost annoyingly healthy, and a grin that he didn't seem to work for, blue eyes that sparkled effortlessly-George had almost known his name, probably would have with less alcohol, but not quite. George had been mildly conscious of the contrast between the other man and his own, much darker, almost blue-black hair, which had curled back then, and the paleness of his own cheeks, which often seemed to struggle to summon colour even after hours under a foreign sun, despite the rush of heat he'd felt when Andrew seized his arm and dragged him in to stand closer to the other man.

"Now-" Andrew had been holding a glass of champagne in the air which had tilted dangerously above their heads. "I know that we look as though we are heading into dark-dark and bleak times-"

A chorus of boos had arisen. "Shut it, Campbell" someone had bellowed, prompting a gale of laughter to ripple through the crowd.

"And I know we may be aware-of the hovering dark storm cloud of Tony Blair-"

Even more boos, cries of _"Shame!"_

George's mouth had twitched slightly, irritation betraying itself. Whatever they thought of Blair, he was doing something right-and they weren't. And if he was doing something right, it wouldn't do any good to pretend that he wasn't. The public weren't stupid.

Glancing quickly at the man on the other side of Andrew, now also being hugged rather more vigorously than was entirely comfortable, George had caught sight of a similar twitch at his own mouth.

"Now-but there is always-" Andrew had held his finger aloft until the room fell silent again. "But there is always light at the end of the tunnel, my friends. And yes, though we may have to tolerate Blair beaming in front of the black door-"

More "boos", retching sounds. George resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

"Let me tell you-we will have our day again. We shall clap our hands on Mr Blair's shoulder one day and we shall-" The glass wavered again. "Escort him slowly out of Downing Street by his protesting ear-" Andrew had clearly been reading too many of Boris's bylines in the Telegraph.

A wave of cheers, a couple of glasses thrust into the air, drinks sloshing too wildly.

"And you know why?" Without waiting for an answer, Andrew's arms had tightened around their shoulders, pulling them both into his sides so suddenly that their heads had nearly crashed together. "Because of these two, right here."

George had blinked and, glancing at the other man, had had the strange experience of seeing his own expression on another person's face.

"Not just them, others like them" Andrew had declared, releasing them both with jovial thumps on the back. "But these two-they're young, they're sharp enough to cut yourself on, they're handsome-"

A chorus of wolf-whistles.

"-and what's more, they fucking _smashed_ the '92 campaign-"

A wave of cheers this time.

 _"They're_ the reason John is in Number 10 right now-" Andrew had declared, hugging George almost hard enough to hurt. "Fuck Blair and Brown. We've got our _own_ Blair and Brown-and one of them isn't waiting to slip the knife between the other's ribs in the next few years-"

A gale of laughter, punctuated by Danny's "Don't eat at Granita!" prompting another round of cackles.

"Because-like the two charlatans at the head of the Red Planet-they complement each other. They give each other what they need. Mark my words-" and they'd both found themselves being pulled in again, George's head nearly colliding with the other man's. "These two-are heading right up. They're going right-get their names _now_ because you might not get a chance later, when we're all scrabbling to work for them-and when you are running the country-" Andrew held up a warning finger. "Please make me Governor of Bermuda-"

Another burst of laughter.

"These two are going to be in Downing Street one day" and Andrew's hands had clapped them hard on the back, nearly sending George into his glass. "David Cameron and George Osborne-"

An outbreak of applause had spread around them, punctuating the first time George had ever heard their names linked together.

Now, he glances at Craig. "No" he says and he knows it suddenly, even more surely than before. "It's-Miliband gives him-"

Those words shimmer before George's eyes once again.

_What he needs._

Craig's staring at him. George trails off, and pulls out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm _doing-"_ George is already scrolling through his contacts. "What I need-to find out what _they_ need-"

Craig blinks. "Feel like translating?"

George grins, shakes his head. "Nope-"

Craig sighs. "Well, be fucking careful" he warns, as George's fingers fly over the screen. "We've got enough on our plate right now. Speaking of which, I guess Sam won't be on board with-" Craig shuffles his feet. "What Lynton-"

George doesn't even have to look up from his phone. "No, she'll do it."

Craig blinks. "Wait, what? I thought you said-"

George looks up at him over the phone and when he speaks this time his voice is quieter. "Because I see her with them." His voice lowers even more. "I saw them with _him."_

There's a long moment of silence, during which George turns back to the phone.

After a moment, Craig speaks in a tone of slightly forced cheer. "I've never really hoped Labour spin doctors are on top of a situation before."

George allows himself a small, rueful smile, at more things than one.

"Well" he says, surveying the message one more time, running his eyes carefully over each letter before pressing SEND, "let's hope they're doing a better job of staying calm than we are."

 

* * *

 

Peter opens the door only for a mobile phone to hit him in the face.

"Wonderful" he says, taking the phone between the tips of his fingers. "You come bearing gifts."

Alastair half-pushes past him, muttering a constant stream of nonsense sounds under his breath. Peter, inspecting the phone, briefly wonders if he should consider returning it as a weapon.

"Seventeen" Alastair barks at him, heading towards the kitchen without waiting for an invitation. Peter takes a moment to roll his eyes upwards, before following him.

"Seventeen" he says, occupying himself with the teapot, since it seems he has a guest.

"Seventeen-"

"Is that how young I look?"

"Seventeen-"

"Is this a new game?" Peter asks silkily, as he closes the cupboard door. "Can I play?"

 _"Seventeen_ calls" Alastair explodes, throwing off his jacket and collapsing into a chair. "That's how many times I rang him yesterday. And it's fucking nothing compared to the amount of times fucking _Tom_ called him, and he wouldn't. Fucking. _Answer."_

Peter, busying himself with the teapot, shrugs. "He's just not that into you."

Alastair's head flies up. "This is not a fucking joke" he barks. "We couldn't get hold of him for three fucking _hours_ yesterday, while _he_ palled around with fucking _Cameron."_

Peter pauses for just a second, finger hovering on the teapot handle.

Alastair's still in full flow. "And when I fucking got hold of _Tom_ to get where he was, oh, he's wandered up to Chipping fucking _Norton_ , of all places, which just gives some Dacre-licking parasite the chance to snap a picture of him hanging out with fucking _Clarkson_ or that twat from Blur, and get the bloody Mail bottom-feeders on about how he's probably hacking bloody _phones_ now-"

"Didn't Rebekah have dinner with you a few days before Hutton?"

_"That is neither here nor fucking there."_

Peter allows himself a slight flicker of a smile as he pushes a steaming mug across the table. "Didn't you once tell me that histrionics don't add oil to the government machine?"

"Well, we're not in fucking government, so that can piss off."

"Always the gentleman." Peter takes a seat next to him, biding his time, taking in the bags under Alastair's eyes in long, covert glimpses. His fingers twitch, already wanting to zoom to Fiona's name in his contacts.

Alastair takes a gulp of tea, wincing slightly. "You're not _worried?"_ he almost bellows, incredulously.

"Please-" Peter raises a hand. "I attended an opera last night. My ears are still unsullied."

"Oh, for the love of _Christ-"_

"And I didn't say I wasn't worried." Peter dabs at the corners of his mouth carefully with a napkin. "I'm merely less troubled by this development of events than you are."

Alastair blinks. "Did you _miss_ the part where the Leader of the fucking Opposition held a fucking _slumber party_ with the-"

"I find that description rather unlikely-" Peter begins to stir sugar into his tea slowly, precisely. "It's not as though they were in the same _room."_

Alastair, who had been about to reach for the biscuit tin, freezes, and then throws his hands into the air. "Oh, _fantastic."_

"Alastair, Alastair-" Peter raises his hands. "Before I take to my high horse and offer you a helpline number-"

Alastair points a finger at him. "Do not fucking talk about helplines, you who I had to issue with the Samaritans number after 2001-"

Peter slams the mug down. "I had nothing to do with the request for Hinduja's passport, and you know it full well, as you did at the time, you utter _jackal."_

Alastair, through the ominous cloud that seems to be gathering over his head, manages a twitch of a grin. "Your high horse just fucking bolted."

Peter takes a long, calming breath, steeples his fingers.

"Look" he says, when he can speak again after a long moment of stilling his lip at the memory of the injustice of it all. "I didn't mean to imply-"

"Well, that's all the _press_ will choose to fucking imply, isn't it?" Alastair almost thumps the table with his fist. "That there was-there's-"

"Have the press got hold of it?"

Alastair shoots him a withering look. "Of fucking course they haven't. A couple of tabloids, but we've shut them down."

"Then it's not really the press you're worried about, is it?" Peter asks mildly.

Anyone else would have been treated to a tirade. As it's Peter, Alastair just glares.

Peter sighs. "We can sit here all day. There's plenty of tea."

"It's _distracting_ him" Alastair half-shouts, abruptly pulling back his chair, beginning to pace back and forth. Peter feels himself tense, eyes following the pacing, counting rapidly in his head to see if he can calculate how fast Alastair is moving.

"This shouldn't be his fucking _priority_ " Alastair snaps, eyes too wild as he spins to look at Peter. "The fucking election should be, and then he goes out of action for nearly a whole fucking day-for Christ's sake, I need to send him a fucking memo-"

He comes to an abrupt halt as he turns to find Peter standing directly behind him. "What?"

Peter sighs, takes him in with a quick sweep of the eyes. "When did you last sleep?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake-"

"When?"

Alastair opens his mouth, but Peter's eyes meet his, the same way Alastair had once looked at him as they sat in Tony's office, drafting that statement, the words _Geoffrey Robinson_ wavering in the blur of Peter's tears.

"When, Alastair?" he says, voice lower.

Alastair lets out a long breath. "Last night" he barks. "Couple of hours."

Peter arches an eyebrow. "And if I ask Fiona?"

Alastair snaps his mouth shut and fumes.

At that moment, Peter's phone buzzes, and he glances at the screen. He feels his eyes widen imperceptibly at the name that appears, but any other time, Alastair would have noticed.

He slides his phone back into his pocket calmly and then scrutinises Alastair, taking in the shadows under his eyes, the muscle working slightly in his jaw, the constant tapping of his fingers. But more than anything, it's the frantic darting of his eyes, almost too rapidly to track, that strange, manic gaze that can't settle on anything for more than a few seconds.

_Peter hadn't known if there was an appropriate gift to bring to someone in a place like this, but flowers seem to suit any occasion._

_He's been here three or four times by now, but he can't seem to really get used to it-the checks of everything you bring in, the odd, muted silence of the corridors. Alastair's eyes, darting in the way that previously meant he was motoring, shaping a strategy, unscrambling a line._

_"Peter-"_

_Peter turns to see the tall man heading towards him, blond hair flopping casually in what's almost but not quite a toff's haircut, three-day stubble edging his jaw, the evidence of someone not leaving much._

_"John."_

Peter takes Alastair in. Then, abruptly, he puts a hand on his shoulder, steering him back towards a chair. "You're going to eat. And then I'm going to take you home."

Before Alastair can explode out of the chair again, Peter's hand tightens on his shoulder.

"Have you been to see them?" he says, in a much softer voice.

Alastair stares back at him for a long moment, his expression mutinous.

Peter nods. "All right" he says to himself as much as Alastair. "All right."

It takes a moment to let go of Alastair's shoulder, a moment during which he squeezes a second tighter, holds on a breath more than he needs to, fingers slowly releasing Alastair, watching the twitch of that muscle in his jaw, almost in time with the slow, constant trembling of Alastair's body, as though nothing can warm him up.

 

* * *

 

Marc lingers when they get back from Milton Keynes.

Ed keeps his eyes studiously on his desk. His fingers twitch, longing to wrap around the Rubix Cube that lurks just out of reach.

But Marc just stands quietly until Ed has to look up at him. "Are you all right?" he asks, reflecting with what's almost irritation that Marc is one of those people who's always careful not to do quite enough to make you angry with him. "How did the scan go?"

"Oh, good, good" Marc had said, as though that had been the purpose of him staying all along. "Yeah, doing great-the baby's a good size, she's healthy-" Ed had known he'd find out the gender. It seems to be a thing left-wing circles have fallen into, as though waiting for it to be born is a ridiculously antiquated conservative notion.

"Thought about names yet?" he says, which is the sort of thing you ask, he knows.

"We're thinking of something a little quirkier. Welsh-sounding, even, they do nice names. Carys, Freya, that sort of thing-"

Ed nods, hoping desperately that he's wearing the right expression. He's always tried to feel interested in baby names and such, but he just can't seem to manage it, to unravel _why_ people find them so fascinating.

When they'd named the boys, it had been easy. They'd found out the gender as soon as possible and then got the names signed off. Ed had known people would expect an ancestral one, that it would be a sign of family connections, so Samuel had been easy to choose. And then, of course, Stewart, since Daniel had already been given Ralph.

It had been more difficult with Daniel, and it had been Justine who pointed out that it was a Jewish name.

"It would sound good. Echoes your family history."

And it had been those last two words that had probed at him, because there was an election soon, and if-that word niggling again- _if_ Gordon didn't get back in-if they were out-

Well, that was the sort of thing they asked you about, wasn't it?

And so it had been Daniel. Daniel and Samuel. Sam, though-they'd thought it sounded better, more casual.

Bob had grabbed his arm the day after Sam had been born, before he could head out of UCH, to the cameras that had been gathering outside waiting to snap away since early that morning. "Don't say the name yet."

Ed had blinked. "Why-"

"We could get a few more days out of this." Bob had given his arm a squeeze. "Babies always get the women eating out of your hand. If you wait to announce the name, you generate a bit of interest, keep the story going a couple of days-some newspaper will put a bet on-then, after you reveal it, you do a little photoshoot. We should be able to keep the coverage going a bit longer, get ratings up. I mean, the press practically wet themselves when Cameron's daughter was born. And one of his was when he was Leader Of The Opposition, it sent him right up in the polls-"

Ed had shifted awkwardly, thinking of the pictures that had appeared a couple of months earlier, emblazoned under every headline, played live on the huge TV screens dotted around. Cameron stepping out of the black door, arm protectively around Samantha's back. Samantha's freshly-washed hair bouncing a little more wildly than usual, betraying the rush of a new baby, but with this huge smile that almost glowed out of her, her eyes constantly on the sleeping baby's face. Almost as if the cameras didn't matter. Almost as if they were an irrelevance. As if she just looked at the baby like that.

Cameron had beamed at them, his whole face seeming to throw out happiness into their lenses like a physical shove, like he had it to spare, answering a few questions. But his hand had hovered on Samantha's back the whole time, the other hand touching the baby, helping Samantha support her, as though wanting to remind himself how lucky he was. What he had.

Every couple of seconds, he'd darted down, heedless of cameramens' shouted requests, and pressed quick kisses to the baby's cheeks or head, as if he still couldn't quite believe she was his yet.

Ed had watched that clip over and over. The thing he'd noticed most of all, replayed a couple of times, was the moment Cameron had pressed his nose to the tip of baby Florence's.

It was the sheer _beam_ that had deepened the dimples in his cheeks afterwards, the crinkle of his blue eyes, happiness shining out of his face. It had jolted something oddly in Ed's chest.

Upstairs, in the private hospital room, Ed had remembered that clip-there'd been some photographs too, released a couple of days earlier, where Cameron had been holding Florence, wrapped in a blanket, one hand cradling her head, their noses pressing together and even though Ed had known there must have been a photographer in the room with them, the camera clicking away, Cameron had held that same beaming happiness in his face but quieter now, as if he was holding it closer as he gazed at his baby, as if it was just him and her.

Ed had picked Sam up awkwardly, hefted him into his arms, making sure to support his head, the way Justine had read in all the books was so important, had nodded earnestly with overlarge eyes at him about, about the _flotella_ and how important it was for brain development.

Sam had stirred only vaguely. He'd been a quieter baby than Daniel. Daniel had simply observed them gravely at first, his lips puckering and forehead creasing, giving him a permanent expression of mild displeasure, and then had begun to, quite simply, scream when either of his parents picked him up. Not a normal baby's cry, but a long, enduring siren of outrage, as if only a few months experience of the world had allowed him to judge them and find them wanting. It was easier to let Zia, by that point fresh-faced and covertly hired and newly moved in downstairs, to take him. She was already better at calming him, anyway, the way she should be.

Sam had been quiet, but had still wriggled, letting out only the tiniest mewl. Ed had wondered if he'd open his eyes, hoping he wouldn't, not wanting to feel under the pressure of the baby's gaze.

When he hadn't, Ed had shifted him a little, trying to make the warm weight in his arms feel more natural. Everyone else seemed to be able to do it.

He'd tried searching the baby's face for features that might be recognisable as his or Justine's, the way he'd seen other parents exclaim over as though it was a miracle rather than simply the orderly process of genetics. But he'd only been able to notice Sam's hair, thick and dark, like his, and curling very slightly.

Awkwardly, he'd lowered his mouth and, pursing his lips, pressed a peck to Sam's nose, getting a rush of baby-sweet skin and warmth. He'd lifted his head a little, waiting for something, for that same rush of love and happiness that had beamed out of Cameron.

He'd waited, and waited, and then as he'd stood up a little, he'd jostled Sam slightly, causing him to let out an indignant little mewl, and Ed had hastened to place him back in the cot, telling himself the baby needed to sleep.

"He needs rest" Justine had said, sparing the baby a glance. She was already studying another one of those books, propped up against her knees in bed. "He needs to be rested for his feeds. They can be taxing for young babies, especially if they're going onto formula."

Ed had nodded. For a moment, he'd thought about putting his hand out, squeezing Justine's shoulder. But it wasn't quite what Cameron had done. And Justine was already looking back at the book.

So Ed had stepped away from the bed and from Sam in the cot and when Bob had said "Don't tell them, not yet", he'd nodded and said, "Fine", because what difference did it make?

Now, Marc gives him a grin. "How was the weekend, then?" he asks, lightly, and Ed's grip on his pen tightens.

 

* * *

 

"Move over." Rachel bends down, pressing her eye to the keyhole.

"Move." She shoves Stewart hard in the side.

 _"Ow!"_ Stewart rubs his side with an aggrieved look. Rachel snorts. "Oh, don't be such a baby or I'll get Grace to jab you with that wooden sword again."

"That thing left me with a _bruise."_

"What are we doing?"

Rachel claps her hand over her heart as Ayesha pops up behind them, her chin almost nudging itself over Rachel's shoulder. "What are we, who are we looking at?"

"You _know?"_

"I think everyone knows." Ayesha's peering about. "I heard it from Gladys."

_"Gladys?"_

"Yeah, she's got quite a mind on her, we have nice chats-" Ayesha bobs up and down, as though she might somehow be able to cram her head next to the keyhole too. "Anyway, she heard it from Tim."

"Oh, it would be that the monk's vow of fucking silence had to end _now."_ Stewart has promptly stepped over to take Rachel's place at the keyhole.

"Oh, would you fucking _move?"_

"Who's in there?"

"Marc-" Rachel stamps on Stewart's foot hard. "We thought he'd be least likely to send Ed into another one of his sulks-"

Ayesha takes her turn kicking Stewart. "Thanks again for that."

"I _said_ I was _sorry"_ Stewart hisses, hopping further back down the corridor, clutching his foot. "I still reckon it was Anna who tipped him off."

"God." Rachel looks round. "Does she know?"

Ayesha shrugs.

"Where is she?" Stewart barks.

"Probably finding her witch's coven..." Rachel mutters, pressing her eye back to the keyhole.

"She's not that bad..."

"Really? Have you forgotten the Sun cover?"

Ayesha shrugs. "OK, maybe she is that bad, but..."

Rachel shakes her head. "But not as bad as Stewart."

Stewart snorts from behind them. "Oh, thanks."

"Pleasure."

"God, yeah, I remember..." Ayesha mutters. "Black June..."

"I mean-you'd think he'd have approached it with a little more dignity-" says Rachel, who's currently crouching on the floor and pressing her ear to the gap under the door.

"I _said_ I was _sorry._ "

"Not you, him."

"Though you manage it too" Rachel mutters from the carpet.

 _"He_ was-" Ayesha turns back to the door. "I mean, I love Ed, but-" She lowers her voice confidentially. "Can you even _imagine_ anything more undignified than-"

She freezes. Crouched at the bottom of the door with her ear pressed against the wood, so does Rachel.

From the other side of the door, there's the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Run." Ayesha pushes past them both, yanking one of her heels off and choosing to hop frenziedly along in the other. "Go, go, go-"

Rachel and Stewart exchange a glance, each loathe to find themselves in agreement with the look on the other's face, and then turn and bolt after her, the three of them tumbling over each other round the corner, Ayesha still hopping determinedly in one heel.

 

* * *

 

"So-" Marc says, once they're sitting in Portcullis House, on either side of a table. Marc's pressed a sandwich back into Ed's hands almost unthinkingly at the counter and it had made Ed think, almost unwittingly, of Cameron.

"How was it?"

Ed stares down at the sandwich in his hands and takes a bite without tasting it. He chews for a long moment, trying to push away the image of Cameron's grin at him, head tilted as he looked at him at the bar, of that grin.

"Fine" he says, when he can't stare at the table any longer, and then he looks up. "It was-yeah, it was fine. He introduced me to some of his friends."

Marc arches an eyebrow. "Didn't know you were that far along in the relationship."

Ed stops, mouth full. His eyes flicker up to Marc's, and he goes to speak before he remembers he still has a mouthful of food. He forces himself to swallow.

"W-what do you mean? W-what do you mean-I-what-I-I-"

He trails off, feeling a blush warm his cheeks as Marc raises an eyebrow with a small grin.

He'd been bracing himself for a row when he'd walked through the front door with the boys in tow. But instead, when he'd walked into the living room, he'd been greeted by the sight of Justine sitting on one couch, Rachel and Stewart on the other.

"Oh-" Ed had stopped, the boys trailing behind him, quieter and quieter since they left the cottage, until by the time they'd driven out of Oxfordshire, they'd been barely speaking at all.

He'd waited for an explosion from one of them, but Rachel had just said "Hi" cautiously with a smile.

Ed had glanced at Justine, who had given him a smile too quickly, patted the sofa next to her. Ed had had the strangest thought that Samantha wouldn't have had to do that for Cameron.

He'd lowered himself onto the couch slowly, and glanced at Rachel and Stewart. "Sorry. I was-"

"Ed, it's-" Rachel had turned her gaze to the boys. "Hi, boys-"

"Hi, chaps-" and Justine had stood up, a second later than she should have. "Did you have a good weekend, then?"

She'd bent down and half-ruffled Sam's hair, before letting her hand drop back to her side, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do with it.

"They _did."_ Ed had leapt in when neither of the boys had spoken, aside from Sam burbling, almost inaudible, "'lo, Mummy."

"Yes, they _did-_ we've been _walking_ , haven't we?"

"Great-" Justine had smiled a little too widely, sparing Daniel a glance, but when he didn't look back at her, she'd glanced back at Sam.

"And we went to-Elwen's football game-"

Ed hadn't been able to stop himself glancing at Rachel and Stewart as he'd said Elwen's name. Stewart had tensed slightly. But Rachel had just kept looking at him, her body held consciously still.

"Oh-" Justine's smile hadn't faltered. It rarely does. "Oh, well, that must have been good-" Her hands move to Sam's coat and for a moment, Ed had thought she was going to try to help him out of it, but her hands had stilled and after a moment, she'd let go of him, slowly standing up again.

"We just popped round-" Rachel was saying, too carefully. "To see how things had gone with the photos, and there-we didn't realise you weren't here, you see-"

"Oh-" Ed had found his hand going to his pocket, fumbling for his phone to pull it out automatically. "Oh, God-I'm sorry-I didn't-I didn't switch it on-"

He'd pictured the phone, vibrating over and over with messages and voices and questions to answer, and it had been easier not to switch it on. Not for the drive home.

"That's OK" Rachel had said too quickly, and Ed had caught the slightest flicker of a glance between her and Justine, a glance that said these words had almost been practiced before. "Just-in the future, make sure it's not off-"

"It can't be" Stewart said, speaking for the first time. "It can't be."

There'd been a tread in the hallway for the first time, and Ed had looked up. Zia had been standing in the doorway.

"Oh-" Ed had almost forgotten the boys were still there. "Oh-erm-" He looks around and Justine almost claps her hands together. "Right, why don't you go and tell Zia about the rugby-"

"Football" Ed says as she catches herself, but she still _has_ to catch herself.

"About the football. Why don't you tell Zia all about the football match while Mummy and Daddy-Mummy and Daddy talk with Daddy's friends, chaps-"

The boys had already turned away from her, even before the sentence had dwindled away, towards Zia, and Ed hadn't really realised that until later.

Now, he swallows, leans his head on his hand. He's suddenly strongly aware of all the other pairs of eyes in the Portcullis House canteen. He looks up and, even though he can't see anyone looking at him, it feels as though they've all only just stopped.

"Look-" he says, hoping to pre-empt anything to do with why he hadn't turned his phone on. "I'm th-sorry about the phone, I juth-st didn't think-"

Marc looks at him, head tilted to one side. He'd looked at him like that a thousand times, Ed remembers, when Ed had been OULC Head, drawing up plans for the rent strike, when he hadn't slept enough, pacing back and forth, hands raking through his hair, until Marc's hand had closed around his shoulder. _Ted, eat._

"It's not about the phone" says Marc easily, taking a bite out of his own sandwich, and for some reason, that makes Ed's heart start thudding faster than ever. "Well. It's not _just_ about that-"

He'd chewed quietly for a few moments, swallowed, and then looked straight at Ed. "You were enjoying yourself."

Ed feels his cheeks burn again, but nods.

Marc watches him over his glasses. "So you didn't want to pick up the phone?"

"I th-said, I'm sor-"

"No, no, no, I didn't mean it like that" Marc says quickly, lifting his sandwich to his mouth, then lowering it again without taking a bite. "No, it's just that-"

He looks straight at Ed again, the same way he used to across the table in the Bodleian Library. "You like hanging out with Cameron."

Ed's face is even warmer. "Well. I wouldn't call it _hanging out-"_

"But you liked it" says Marc and Ed feels a strange stirring of heat, remembering the warmth of Cameron's words, breathed into the crook of Ed's neck. _Go back to sleep._

Ed takes a long, deep breath, suddenly far, far too hot.

"It wath a nithe weekend" he says, a little louder than he needs to. "The weekend was nice."

Marc looks straight at him, and Ed feels that jolt in his chest.

_"So, did you?" Marc had been grinning at him over the list of topics they'd been poring over. It was early to be thinking about their dissertations, they'd only been back a few weeks, autumn-gold sunshine spilling through the stained-glass windows above them, illuminating Marc's hair, casting it with a gold tint, but with a faint chill in the air, leading Ed to pull his jumper a little more tightly around himself. But he'd wanted to get ahead on this. He needed to get a First-a First would open up more options, especially if he wanted to go into academia, the way Dad seemed to think he was going to._

_It had taken a few moments for Ed to look up. "Sorry, what?"_

_Marc had laughed, his foot kicking at Ed's gently under the table. "I said, did you? Over summer?"_

_Ed had stared at him blankly. "What?"_

_Marc had stared at him, a smile half-breaking out across his face. "No, I-I asked-did. You know-" A smile crooks at the corner of his mouth. "Meet anyone. Over the summer."_

_Ed had blinked. "Well. Um." He'd pushed at his glasses, tugged at the collar of his jumper. "Um. Dad's friends came round, but I'd met all of them before, so I don't know if that-David's been working with some interethting people at the IPPR-"_

_Marc had laughed, somehow managing to keep the sound gentle. "No, no, Ted, I meant-" A confused, slightly fond shake of the head. "You really-"_

_Another shake of the head and before Ed could do anything more than frown slightly, Marc had said "I meant-you know-any girls?"_

_Ed had jumped just slightly._

_"Oh!" He'd hastily pushed his glasses back up his nose, where they'd been slipping down. "Oh! Um! Well. No, no-I mean-no, I-um-hmm." Ed had tugged at the collar of his jumper, feeling the rush of heat spread blotchily up his neck. "No. No, I-erm-gosh. No. I-I didn't." Ed had angled his head firmly downwards, fixing his eyes on one of Keynes' theories that he already knew inside out, determinedly re-reading the words over and over._

_He'd kept his head down stubbornly for a few more moments, until he'd heard Marc say, tone carefully non-committal, "Oh. OK."_

_Ed had managed to give a quick nod back in return, without lifting his eyes from the page._

_It wasn't that he didn't think about girls. There were plenty of girls-Catherine, for one, who were great to talk to, and who would let Ed rattle on about the next steps towards a socialist government for hours, as long as he'd sometimes listen when she told him he really, really couldn't go out in that jumper again._

_But-Ed had felt his cheeks colour more-he didn't seem to....._

_Think. About-_

_He'd known everyone else was interested, but-_

_Well. He just-_

_He'd just assumed it would come later. Girls, and....and....all that stuff._

_He'd thought it would come later. He'd thought he would-_

_He'd-_

_He'd been-he'd...._

_"So. Did you-any boys?"_

_Ed's head had jerked upwards again. "What?"_

_He'd managed to sound more irritated than surprised. He hadn't been sure whether he was glad about that or not._

_Marc had looked even more flustered than Ed had felt a few moments earlier. "I-I just thought-"_

_Ed had stared at him, suddenly gripping his pen tightly between his fingers, waiting, not really knowing what he was waiting for._

_"You know-and it's not like there's anything wrong  with it-" Marc had added, a little too defensively. "You know-of course there wouldn't-I just-I just wanted to-you know-" Marc had cleared his throat, pushed his own glasses further up, fixed his eyes on his own work for a moment too. "I just-wanted. To let you know. It was OK." He'd looked up again, suddenly peering at Ed over his glasses. "You know, if you had."_

_"I know." Ed had found himself staring back, the pen digging almost painfully into his fingers. "I know."_

_Marc had looked at him for another second and then Ed had said "And no. No, I haven't."_

_Marc had looked at him for another long moment and then nodded once. "OK."_

_Ed had managed a slightly tighter nod, glancing back at the book. "OK-"_

_Marc had nodded and looked back at his book. "OK."_

_Ed had cleared his throat and glanced back at his own. "OK" he'd said, and then, pushing his glasses further up his nose, had started scribbling notes he wasn't sure he needed to scribble, carving the nib of the pen deeper into the paper, rather keen to forget the whole conversation._

Now, Marc looks at him, and says "Just-be careful, OK?"

Ed lowers his sandwich again. "What about?"

Marc looks away again, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I know about the phone" he says, looking back at Ed. "Just-be careful-"

"About?"

Marc meets his eyes. "About. Who you're enjoying yourself with."

Ed's cheeks burn deeply. "I-"

Marc just looks at him. "Just be careful-" he says slowly. "About getting over-involved."

"I-"

"Because-" Marc says slowly, taking a long sip of his coffee. "It'll just hurt him more when you have to stop."

Ed stills for the slightest moment. His fingers hardly curl.

Then he manages to look back at Marc. "Right" he manages. "Of course."

He lifts the sandwich to his mouth and takes another bite, chewing it without tasting it, eyes dropping back to the table, trying to ignore the growing heat in his face as he remembers the moment last night when, slipping into the spare room so he wouldn't wake Justine, and had leant back against the door with his eyes closed, replaying the brush of Cameron's thumb against his bottom lip, tired enough to let himself, and then slowly turning and letting himself fall backwards onto the bed, eyes closing as he'd played the touch over and over, feeling what he knew would be a grin that was far, far too goofy, spreading over his face until his cheeks ached.

 

* * *

 

George walks into the living room and beams as Frances looks up over her laptop. "Yes?"

George beams harder and then drops to his knees. "Do you remember the day I married you?"

Frances sighs and turns back to her laptop. "George, are you about to tell me you have an incurable disease?"

"See, your sense of humour's the same."

"I remember it every time I have to witness scenes like this, yes."

George blinks at her appealingly. "Now do you remember when I offered to write some of my own vows, from the heart, crafted lovingly with-"

"I remember _stopping_ you from writing your own vows."

George pouts. "And even now-"

"George, your first line was about wasabi."

George pouts harder. "Spicy, like the variety of life."

Frances sighs, tapping away more ostentatiously at her laptop.

George waits a moment, and then goes on. "But isn't it amazing?"

"What is?"

"That we still know each other so well after all this time."

"That we do."

"That our love has only grown and developed with the years."

"It can do that."

"That even today, looking at you-"

"What do you want?"

George blinks and begins to assume a very injured expression.

Then he gets to his feet. His knees were starting to hurt, anyway.

"Please, please, pretty please, could you do something for me?"

Frances sighs. "No, I will not rap the chorus of NWA's "Fuck Da Police" for you again."

George tilts his head to one side. "You have to have forgiven me. It would have been a crime not to attempt to capture the moment for posterity-"

"George, that phone has already nearly seen a bowl of champagne-fuelled punch."

"All right." George twists his long fingers together. "Though to be fair, Boris's head had already nearly been in there. Anyway."

"What?"

George takes a deep breath.

A few minutes later, Frances is leaning back in her chair, scrutinizing him. "You're up to something."

George hastily arranges his features into an expression of utmost innocence. "Nope."

Frances merely arches an eyebrow.

George sighs. "Look. We're just a bit....worried."

Now, it's Frances' turn to sigh. "George, come _on._ I'm sure-look, I'm sure it's-it's _nothing,_ you're all getting worked up over nothing, Lynton's probably-"

"I know, I know, I know, but-" George meets her eyes. "It's Dave. I just want to be sure."

Frances sweeps her hair back behind one ear, lifts one hand, lets it drop. "You can't expect me to start _interrogating_ her."

"No, of course not. Just-you haven't seen each other in a while. And you can just-slip it in. Casually." George fixes her with the sort of look he associates with puppies playing with Andrex toilet paper. "Please. Pretty please."

Frances eyes him for a long moment. "I won't be able to cook dinner if I'm getting ready to go out."

George narrows his eyes. "That's-"

Frances raises an eyebrow.

George takes a deep breath, and then forces himself to smile sweetly. "Of course. It will be mine and the kids' pleasure to starve at home while you enjoy the warmth and nourishment of a tapas bar."

Frances turns back to the laptop.

"OK, OK, fish stew it is. Just-keep her out for a couple of hours. We just need to figure out if everything's-you know. Please."

Frances looks up, regarding him for another moment, before she lets out a long sigh and reaches for her phone. "I'll give her a text. I could probably manage a couple of hours tomorrow."

George whoops. Frances rolls her eyes, as he leans in to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Frances smiles up at him sunnily, her big blue eyes blinking innocently. "Of course, the day after I might have to catch up on writing, which means you may just have to-"

"OK, you're going to a bar, not selling your hair to feed your dying mother, I think we can take it down a notch."

Frances frowns, then turns back to the laptop. "Dying...mother..."

George turns to head for the door, then, a new thought occurring to him, stops, and turns back. Frances pauses mid-text and looks up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"You _really_ wouldn't consider doing the Fuck Da Pol-"

"You just lost an hour."

"I'm gone."

 

* * *

 

"I wasn't very confident when I got to Cambridge" Justine says, to the sea of young girls' faces looking up at her. "I thought everybody was going to be cleverer than me. More fashionable than me, thinner than me-" She manages to make herself laugh slightly. "You name it, I thought it."

A couple of the girls keep looking at her-the quieter girls, who've probably wandered in here hoping to find out if anyone like them can actually do anything in the world. The rest have probably been herded in here to see if they can be inspired to let the school proudly type Law a few more times on the list of university degrees of their alumni in a few years.

"Over time" she says, walking back to stand in the centre where all the girls can see her. "I realised I was just as good as them, but they were confident and I wasn't. My advice would be to fake it 'til you make it on that one. If you pretend to be confident, you'll feel more confident. People don't always look too closely."

Justine had used to watch them, those girls-at West Bridgford and, later, at Nottingham Girls'. They'd bewildered her, these girls who could laugh so openly, kicking their chairs back to wobble dangerously, not seeming to wonder for a moment what letter would be scrawled at the top of whatever homework they were about to be handed back, whether what had come up would come up on the O-Level, whether this was how difficult the O-Level would be or whether the teachers were trying to give them a wake-up call, just in case.

She'd started speaking for schools a couple of years earlier. She'd first heard about it at 39 Essex, and it had immediately leapt out at her as the obvious next thing to do.

"It will make a difference" she'd said to Ed, the evening after she got the news that she'd been confirmed as one of the new speakers. "It helps poorer kids with social mobility, too."

"I know-" he'd said earnestly-Ed tended to say everything rather earnestly-eyes widening the way they always did when he was about to launch into a lecture on the inequality that _scourges our society._ "It's juthst so _important_ for children from disadvantaged backgrounds to have role models that feel accesthible to them-"

Justine had nodded meaningfully, because so long as they were talking about political methods or legal methods, that was good, that was knowledgeable, she wouldn't have to pick her way forward, scrambling for what came next. She wouldn't have to worry about a great yawning abyss stretching out the conversation, scrabbling to find enough words to fill it.

She isn't sure how she's saying it is exactly how it was, but that's what they want the girls to hear, or what the girls _should_ hear.

She'd liked acting, but she'd never really felt it. It was more the rehearsing that she liked. The idea that you could make sure you never said anything wrong, just by practicing the words over and over again. That you could make people think something, just by moving the camera to a certain angle, by choosing the right outfit, by practicing a movement over and over again until it almost felt natural.

But acting wasn't stable and it wasn't contributing, that was the main thing, Justine could tell when she sat at the dinner table that night. They didn't usually eat together, all four of them, Mum, Dad, her, and Alex-one or both of their parents were usually away at a lecture or a conference, and they'd grown past the stage of nannies or au pairs. When they did eat together, their topics were often about what had been going on with the strikes or Neil Kinnock or about their parents' lectures. But their parents always asked about schoolwork-what O-Levels would form the best basis for A-Levels, which A-Levels would stand out to universities, which universities would lead to the best jobs, which jobs would lead to the best lives.

"I've been thinking about Law" she'd said carefully, her fork clinking against her plate a little too loudly. "When I go to university-" Neither of them ever mentioned the possibility of them _not_ going to university-Justine isn't sure she ever even thought about it. "I've been thinking about doing a Law degree."

She'd rehearsed the words over and over again in her head, sounding them out determinedly, until they rang with just the right amount of emphasis.

Her mother had paused infinitesimally across the table, like the jumping of a TV channel, the slightest hover of her fork before it continued on its' way to her mouth. Her father had lowered his fork, frowning at her for a long second, before nodding approvingly.

"That's a worthy career" he'd said, dabbing at his mouth with the napkin. "Reliable, but it's a good service, allows you to give something back."

Justine had nodded, a flicker of pride fighting to scramble up through her ribs into her chest. "I know."

Her father had nodded slowly and her mother had added "Of course, you'll have to make sure you keep your grades up, but the attainment's much higher at Nottingham Girls'-"

"It was a good investment" her father had added, with another nod, as though this just confirmed what he'd already been telling himself. (An _investment_ , that was the word they'd used when they'd first talked about touring the private school. An _investment_ her father had said seriously, meeting her eyes. For her future, and Justine had faltered a little, because even though they'd always talked about how important local state schools were, now they were talking about her.)

"And as it seems to be paying off, it looks like maybe we should sign up for that Nottingham Boys' tour-" It was the first time he'd glanced at Alex during the conversation.

"It's a good choice-and the A-Levels you're doing, they match up as well-" her mother had said, and then they'd talked about law and A-Levels and whether Oxbridge was worth considering, since she'd done so well in her O-Levels.

Justine had glanced at Alex a couple of times, as he ate silently. She'd felt a stirring of something that ached in her chest, something that was almost pity.

But her father had been watching her, with something that wasn't quite a smile, and for a second, when he got up to clear his plate, he let his hand fall lightly onto her shoulder, just for a moment.

Now, one of the girls leaning back in her chair lets it fall forward, landing on all four legs with a crash that makes several other girls nearly jump out of their skin. The girl raises her hand, almost lazily.

Justine has half a mind not to call her, but none of the other girls have their hand up. She's coming to the end of her Q&A session now, and it won't look inclusive if she leaves one out, particularly a girl who's mixed race.

Justine points to her. "Yes?" She summons a smile as the girl tilts her head to one side, pushing her long glossy black side-ponytail over one shoulder.

"You're married to the guy who wants to be Prime Minister, right?"

A ripple of interest runs through the other girls. Justine feels her spine stiffen slightly.

She forces herself to take a deep breath. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name-"

"That's because I didn't throw it."

The girl gives a slow smile before Justine can respond to this, her dark eyes sparkling. "Sunita." Her blazer sleeve has slipped down a little, revealing a pattern of henna winding its' way over her left hand.

"Right. Sunita-well-"

One of Sunita's friends whacks her on the shoulder. "It's _Ed Miliband,_ you _dodo."_

"Yeah, the-"

"Bacon sandwich-" the first girl says, clipping Sunita on the head gently.

 _"Yeah,_ the guy eating the bacon sandwich-"

Justine feels her shoulders tighten.

"Shut _up!"_ Sunita shoves her friend back, her own face crumpling into half-laughter, clearing her throat as a teacher opens her mouth warningly. "Yeah, but, you are married to him, aren't you?"

Justine takes a deep breath, keeps her voice determinedly low and level. "My husband is the Leader of the Labour Party, yes, he is."

"So-" Sunita sucks her teeth as if she's chewing gum, though as far as Justine can see, she isn't. "He's obviously minted."

A ripple of laughter this time. Justine's hand stiffens at her side and for a moment, she imagines it slapping the girl across the face, the sharp crack of the sound through the hall, especially as her friend leans into her so easily, casually, their heads pressed together as though they almost don't notice.

"Er, I think that's-" One of the teachers has stepped forward, but Justine's already speaking, the words already there, because this is one of the things she's been asked over and over again over the last four years, and it's nothing to do with her work, it-it-

_It's mine. It's mine. It's mine._

"We're fortunate, yes." She chooses the words with care, keeping them quiet and precise, in short bites of information, the way she does for a TV camera. "But that's only because we've both worked hard in our separate-" She stresses the word ever so slightly. "Careers."

"But isn't your house worth, like, 2 million, 3 million pounds or something?"

A wave of heads turning this time, then a few _"Ooohs"._

"All right, Sunita-"

"I'm just saying, Miss-" Sunita adjusts herself in her chair, still staring straight at Justine. "You've just gone on for ages and ages about how you're _just like us_ and we can be _like you-"_ She makes air quotation marks with her fingers. "Because you went to a comprehensive school and all that, but, you know. Look at-I mean, you live in a two million quid house and you're this big, fancy lawyer and your husband's always on the telly, and it's not like there's anything wrong with any of that, but you know, that doesn't mean you're _like us_ , does it? In fact, means the total opposite."

Sunita sits back in her seat, playing with her ponytail again.

Justine looks at her for a long moment. She becomes aware that she's breathing slightly more quickly than usual.

_It's mine. It's mine. It's mine it's-_

Law is _hers._

She's _her_ there.

And Ed's-

She forces herself to smile at the girl, even thought it feels like she's wedged the grin between her cheeks. "Are you planning on a career in law, Sunita?"

Some of the girls laugh, feeling the tension evaporate a little, glancing round at Sunita.

Sunita laughs slightly, too, sits up, leans further forward in her seat. "If I'm going to get a £2million house out of it."

Another pipe of laughter. Justine smiles, forces herself to laugh too.

"Well, I can't promise that-" She looks at Sunita, makes herself keep smiling, because maybe that's all this girl needs. Maybe she can show her the career she should be in, help her carve out her future. Help her see there's no need to call out like this, asking questions that she knows people don't need to answer.

"But law's a fascinating career, and yes, it can be lucrative, but the important thing is what it allows you to give back." Justine warms to her theme, even seizing on Sunita's other comment. "And yes, so, I'm a political spouse, as it's called. Now, I'll be honest, that's not a role I applied for-" She's used that line before, in those speeches Ed's team wanted her to do, and it'll be good to repeat it, get the message across.

"Now, there are no rules about being a political spouse, you kind of make it up as you go along-" and she notices that all the girls are listening now that she's mentioned Ed, and something about that niggles, as does Sunita's slight smile, like she knows it too.

"And I'm sure Samantha Cameron and Miriam Gonzalez Durantez, who are married to the other party leaders, David Cameron and Nick Clegg, would say the same thing, especially as they both also have very successful careers-" She's never quite sure what Samantha does, but she knows it's something important-she'd been shouted down once by Bob, who'd been furious that something she'd said had been interpreted as dismissing fashion. _The public love SamCam. If we start trashing her, it looks like bullying._

"And they have young children. One thing I wanted to do during the last four and a half years while my husband's been leader of the Labour party is carry on with my job-" She walks back and forth, feeling herself straighten up a little, confidence lengthening her back as the girls' eyes follow her. "And I've done that while supporting Ed working in politics where I can, just as he supports me."

She thinks of that conversation again, how easy it had been to remain on legal and political issues, and pushes it away quickly.

"He knows my career is very important to me." She swallows, picturing Ed just before Christmas, hands on Daniel's shoulders, while Daniel stubbornly turned his face away, whining about some Christmas concert. _You know Mummy's got to help people. People who need it more than us._. "And he's incredibly supportive of that. So that's a key message to you-" she says brightly, suddenly seeing another way to wind this into the talk. "If you want a career, just make sure you ask for support. And make sure you get support from your boyfriends and fathers."

She feels her father's hand on her shoulder again.

"It makes all the difference."

"What's SamCam like?" bellows out one of the other girls from the back row, and the rest of the room burst out laughing. Even Justine manages a smile.

But she has to be careful here. _We can't look like their best friends_ , she hears Bob saying again.

"Whenever I've met Samantha-" she says, picking her words carefully. "She's been lovely to me. We always have catch-ups when we meet at events and that sort of thing. She's a very impressive woman, as is Miriam." She carefully leaves out herself. "And that's another thing I wanted to say to you, it's great that Samantha and Miriam and myself-" First names personalise things. "As political spouses, it's great that we all have careers and children and that none of us have given any of that up, but it's striking that we are all women. By the time your generation comes to power, I really hope we see more political husbands rather than political wives."

That gets a mild laugh, too, which is good.

"And there's nothing wrong with wanting a family-" Families are good, after all. Normal. Healthy. "But that doesn't mean you have to give up a career, as I'm sure they'd say too. Being a barrister is fantastic for being family-friendly, because I'm self-employed."

She sees Daniel's silent glower from the armchair on Christmas Eve again, and feels a flare of irritation.

"So that means if I want to see my kids in a school play-" She picks the words very carefully. "I don't have to ask anyone. I carry on working in the evening."

And they're both true, those things, those last two things. She doesn't have to ask anyone. And she does work in the evenings. That's all that they need to know.

"So, Sunita-" She looks back at the girl, who's still watching her, head on one side. "I hope that answered your question. And I'm sure if you want to pursue a career in law, any chambers in London would be reeling at your interrogations."

This gets a louder laugh. Sunita laughs too, playing with her ponytail, but something about the way she's regarding Justine disconcerts her.

Sunita smiles, locks eyes with Justine, waits until the laughter's just dying away before she speaks. "Yeah" she says, smiling, like it's a game, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "But you still didn't answer my question."

Justine's lips part silently.

"Plus-" Sunita tilts her head back. "No offence, but what if I don't want to be a lawyer?" She smiles straight at Justine this time. "What if I don't want to be like you?"

There's another silence. Justine waits, but the words don't come. Instead, she stares at the girl just for a moment, the words dwindling into that yawning gap she can't quite touch.

 

* * *

 

"Now, we'll have a cuppa" says Andrew, showing her ahead of him to the coffee machine. "And then we'll get a couple of photos of you on the steps with some of our girls."

Justine nods, already feeling her shoulders sink a little in relief. She can do photos. She knows exactly what will happen there, the smile, the turns.

When she'd thought about law, when she was seventeen, that's what she'd thought of too. That rehearsing the words over and over, lifting them out of one argument and twisting them into another, looping them round to tie the end to the beginning. Building a new picture out of them. Building the picture you wanted.

"Don't worry" says Andrew , with a chuckle. "We'll select them a bit more carefully for this one."

Justine manages a small smile in return. "No, it's-once you've faced a courtroom of old men who can't believe a woman's wearing one of their wigs, it's nothing." Redirect the argument. Turn it against someone else.

"Sunita can be a handful" says Andrew, turning back to the coffee machine. "But she's probably one of our brightest. Predicted a whole bunch of As and A*s, if she decides she wants them, and her mocks already look good."

Justine manages a nod as she takes a sip of the coffee, trying not to wince at the burn on her tongue. Her phone, mercifully, vibrates, and she fumbles with it with an apologetic look at Andrew.

Frances' name stares back up at her. Justine feels her shoulders, which had been slowly stiffening, sink again, a smile creeping back to her mouth, one she doesn't have to work for for the first time that morning.

 

* * *

 

 

David had never thought he'd be thankful to see Samantha's name in a _Mirror_ headline.

He hadn't told her about Lynton's proposal last night. He'd needed time to think it over, he'd thought. To phrase it just right.

And now-well, now there was this.

"Bloody hell" Sam says drily, hair still a sleep-mussed mess, her face with that strangely young, innocent look she always has when she's just woken up. "First time they call me something other than a Stepford Wife and it's bloody this."

They both look at the headline, screaming up at them in red from the table.

It draws the eyes like blood.

"It's an irritation" Craig concedes, taking a gulp of suitably strong coffee for before six in the morning. Bells rolls her eyes, looking as well put together as if she's been up for hours, pulling one of the papers towards her, hastily scanning the article. "But we can deal with it. They always do this when it's coming up to an election."

"Didn't they call you Anna Wintour last time?" Bells asks, her eyes brightening as she looks up at Sam.

"Oh, yeah!" Sam grins, dimples deepening, her own eyes seeming to sparkle as she remembers. "Yeah, I think we framed that one actually, didn't we-"

Craig sighs. "Look. You'll get a few headlines for a few days. Someone will bring it up at PMQs, perhaps. But we just need to keep rebutting it. Strongly. It's not like you've done anything, so it'll fade away pretty quickly."

David glances over at Sam worriedly.

"I'm sorry" he says, not just for the article. "I'm sorry, darling." He pulls her into his side and kisses her head, a surge of protectiveness welling in his chest.

"It's OK-" Sam shoves his shoulder gently, laying her head against him so Dave can play with her hair. He has a sudden flash of Miliband doing the same thing the other night and the thought sends a prickling of guilt up his spine, his stomach dropping unpleasantly. He tenses, for barely a second, but he knows Sam notices.

"It doesn't say anything about the kids, does it?" Sam asks suddenly, almost jumping upright, and David fastens his arm tightly around her again.

"No, no-"

"No." Craig holds up his hands. "Scout's Honour."

David actually feels Sam's shoulders slump in relief. "Oh, good."

Guilt clenches David's stomach even more tightly. He hugs her closer, pressing another kiss into her hair.

Craig glances up at him, barely perceptibly, and their eyes lock for less than a second, before both of their gazes dart away.

 

* * *

 

Nick Robinson takes a long sip of his wine, and looks up at the person sitting opposite him.

"So, the Labour Party is actually _preparing_ -for _defeat?"_

The person chooses their words very carefully.

"I wouldn't say actively preparing." They take another bite of their baguette. "But we're looking at it as a distinct possibility."

Nick nods, cutting into his own ciabatta. "If you had to put a percentage on it-?"

"Put it this way." The person points half their baguette at him, almost like a weapon. "I can name six seats we can take from the Tories, but not the ten we need."

Nick nods, mulling over the arithmetic. "So- _depending_ on what those seats are-and whether they fit into any kind of _pattern_ -you would be looking at a situation where Ed Miliband is _unable_ to command a majority in Parliament....whichever way you look at it, yes?"

The other person merely nods, taking another hungry bite of the baguette.

"And of course if that _happened_ -and, let's not forget either, David Cameron has the right to be the _first_ to try to form a government-Ed Miliband would almost _certainly_ have to resign-well, pretty much straight away, wouldn't he?"

The other person snorts, still chewing. "Oh God, yeah. He barely held on through that coup in November. If he loses us the election, he's out on his fucking ear."

"And of course, in the inevitable leadership contest that would follow, you'd be a candidate."

The other person merely grins at that, just raising an eyebrow. Nick raises one back.

"You already think you know the answer" they grin, taking another mouthful of their sandwich. "I don't want to wreck it for you."

That's good enough.

"Is it true that Labour MPs aren't putting Ed Miliband on their election leaflets?"

The other person rolls their eyes. "If you're asking, you know."

Nick laughs-and then, abruptly, leans forward. "But-if the unexpected happens and, against _all_ the odds, Mr Miliband ends up the next Prime Minister at the head of a _Labour_ government-of _whichever_ type-you can probably expect a pretty _prominent_ Cabinet post, can't you?"

"It's more likely than not."

Nick smiles a little wider. "So, in a few weeks, there's a good chance you could be either _working_ for Ed Miliband-or trashing his finished _political career_ on national TV?"

The other person waves this aside. "Oh, not a chance. Definitely. It'll definitely be one of those two."

If Nick had been in this job for less time, he might have blinked at least a little. But these days, he just lifts his own ciabatta to his mouth.

"Well" he says to the possible future Cabinet member or Labour leadership candidate (or leader or Prime Minister) sitting across from him, as he takes a bite out of his own sandwich, "that's politics."

 

* * *

 

"Tom, take it again."

Ed glances at the other Tom nervously, who winks. "Yeah, I'll go harder on you this time."

Ed shifts nervously, rebalancing himself, before taking a deep breath. "OK." It's a change from having to face Alastair, at least. Though neither of them quite compare to what it'll be like if he actually has to stand next to Cameron, physically.

The words _physically_ and _Cameron_ do something odd. Ed swallows, his mouth suddenly very dry.

"Y-yeah-" he manages, forcing himself to stand up. "Yeah, of course."

He glances at Marc again, almost automatically. Marc meets Ed's gaze over his glasses with a quick, reassuring wink. He gives no sign at all that he's thinking about anything to do with the conversation they just had in Portcullis House, yet Ed has the oddest sense that Marc is thinking about it just as much as he is.

He blinks, turning back to Tom. It was Marc's idea while the main Tom's at lunch, along with most of the others, to have a mini-debate rehearsal once they'd made their way back to Norman Shaw South. Rachel's organizing his trip to Plymouth on Thursday over the phone in the corner, muffled snatches of conversation jumping between the arguments.

"If thith reduction was so important to you-" Ed tries not to wince at his lisp.

"No-" Rachel says into the phone. "No, no, not-"

"Then why has the Government failed to meet its' deficit target-"

 _"Your_ government" says Anna quickly.

"Say "your government"" Ayesha says, more calmly from behind him. "It's more personal."

"No, he'll have some aides with him, and-God, I'll have to ask Bob-"

Rachel covers the phone with one hand. "Could you lot _keep it down-"_

"Right, go again-"

Ed takes a deep breath, fixes his gaze somewhere over Tom's left shoulder. "If you're th-so concerned about the deficit, then why has your own government failed to meet its' deficit targets-"

"No, we won't need overnight accommodation-"

"Look at him" Marc says, almost too quietly to hear.

"The truth is, the series of cuts you've put in place has failed to work and the fact that you are committed to pursuing an implementation of further cuts, proves that they're only being purthued out of _ideology_ rather than out of netheth-" Ed curses his lisp. _"Nethessity."_ _Quote the economists, the-_ "In fact-" he launches in, before Tom can speak again, because he can just _picture_ the bloody cocky, _smug_ , look Cameron will brush that aside with one hand like it was _nothing_ -Ed's fingers curl tight as he pictures the look that makes him just want to-

"OK, that was good-" Ayesha chips in. "But maybe use his name-"

"And look at him" Marc says, his voice softer now. "You need to look at him."

Ed swallows hard. Ayesha gives his arm a squeeze. "Come on. Just one look-"

"If you put me on hold-" Rachel leaps up, squeezing the phone in a worryingly tight grip. "If you put me on hold one more _fucking_ time-"

 _"Look into my eyes_ -"

"Brilliant, why the fuck are you playing _We All Live On A Fucking Yellow Submarine-"_

" _Look into my eyes-_ oh, _shit-"_ The papers scatter off the chair over the carpet. "Fuck, I think I've just broken the podium-"

Ayesha collapses into giggles against Ed's shoulder, as Tom roots around on the floor. Even Ed manages a smile.

"I will-reclaim-the moral high- _ow!"_

"What?"

"I fucking-gave myself a paper cut-" Tom lifts up his hand. "Look, look, it's my pinkie-"

"I hope it's your arm" Rachel mutters, now frenetically stabbing her biro into her address book over and over again.

Ayesha giggles even more, brown eyes sparkling, holding onto Ed's arm. Ed pats her shoulder awkwardly, but he can cope with Ayesha touching him. He doesn't feel like he needs to push her away, anyway.

He doesn't mind Cameron touching him either, come to think of it.

And that gets Ed feeling a little hot under the collar again.

He shakes his head a little, trying to clear his thoughts. Ayesha gives his shoulder a squeeze, ruffles his hair.

"OK. Um-" Ed takes a deep breath, looks at Tom, who's only just managing to straighten up, leaning over the back of the chair as he sobers himself up. "OK. " He clasps his hands and assumes the expression of one attending the funeral of a close friend.

Ayesha immediately dissolves into laughter again. Anna rolls her eyes and Ed is suddenly inclined to agree with Rachel about her.

He swallows, looks up, because at least while he's thinking about all this, he isn't thinking about Cameron.

Apart from picturing Cameron ruffling his hair, for some bizarre reason.

Ed takes a deep breath, preparing himself.

"The thing is-" His eyes hover over Tom's shoulder.

"At me" Tom says, quietly enough not to interrupt. Ed forces his eyes to meet Tom's.

It's just Tom. It's just Tom.

"The thing is-"

"But, Ed, you've already said Labour will increase borrowing under your premiership-" Tom says, managing to imitate Cameron's exact tone of faux-surprise, which should make it easier but doesn't. "They're exactly all the things that got us into this mess in the first place, which you would know, because _you_ were the one sitting behind Gordon Brown in the Treasury while Britain slid out of the black-"

At this point, Tom seems to notice that Ed's not going to interrupt him.

"Erm-Ed?"

Ed blinks. The fact is, he isn't sure whether he was trying to picture or not picture David Cameron there.

Ayesha touches his elbow. "You OK?"

Ed nods once, then again, furiously. Of course he's OK. There's absolutely no reason why he shouldn't be OK.

_I was in bed with him less than 48 hours ago._

"Ed?"

"Seriously" barks Rachel from her corner, perched on the chair, one hand now pressing a cushion firmly to her ear. "I'm really, really trying to concentrate here. Can you lot please take this somewhere else?"

"OK, let's go from the bit with his name-" says Marc, and it's only Ayesha who says "Are you sure?"

Ed nods, tries to give her a smile. He steps forward to the chair, leans over, looking at Tom. (And that's all he is, Tom. Tom Hamilton. Not-not Cameron.)

(Not Cameron with that posh, rounded voice and those dark blue eyes and-)

"The man from the Treasury" Tom says, in between the same slightly incredulous laughter Cameron always does. "The man who sat in the Treasury while the economy _crashed around his ears_ , the man who agreed with Gordon Brown that the best way out of the problem was to _sell our gold_ , the man who thinks so little of the deficit that he couldn't even _remember_ it in his _conference_ speech-" A chuckle, his eyes flickering to Ed's, as if Ed's barely important enough to notice. "And he's going to say _I_ didn't hit _my_ financial targets?"

Ed swallows, suddenly intensely aware of the rapidity of his heartbeat. He looks back at Tom, forces himself not to look away. Can't look away. He isn't sure which.

Say something.

Those eyes aren't Cameron's.

Say something.

You-

Ed's fingers are trembling, he notices in a vague part of his brain as he opens them. His lips part, just breathing the words, almost too softly to be heard over the sudden pounding of his heart. "No, David, you didn't."

There's a long silence.

Ed can feel his cheeks burning. He can hear everything; the slight shuffle of papers, the slow tick of the clock, the sound of his own quickened heartbeats.

Tom opens his mouth, then closes it. Ed can feel Marc watching him over his glasses. A single drop of sweat making its' way between his shoulder blades, he doesn't have to look to know. Even Rachel's complaining has fallen silent.

"Ed." It's Ayesha's voice, cautious beside him, as though he might explode if she touches him, and Ed's seized with a sudden desperate swelling plea to tell her, no, please don't say anything, please, please don't speak, just-don't say it, please-

 _We Are Never Ever Ever Getting Back Together_ screams out next to him.

Ed promptly wonders whether or not he's experiencing heart failure as Ayesha screams, Tom swears, letting the chair, which he's been tipping backwards, go flying as he slaps his hand over his chest, as Marc almost bellows "What the _bloody_ _hell_ was that?"

Anna, apparently the last one to lose her hearing, blinks and then suddenly dives for her bag. "Oh. My phone."

"Shitting _hell"_ Tom bellows, and with that, the chair falls forward to land on all four legs with a crash that shakes the floor.

"OK" Ed manages, gently massaging his own chest and wondering whether or not he can count earmuffs among his parliamentary expenses.

"It's rather-"

Rachel draws in a long breath.

"If we could all juthst-stay _calm-"_

_"Jesus Christ, would you people SHUT UP?!"_

Ed, once again, is fairly sure heart failure pronounces him clinically dead for a few moments as they all spin round in various stages of potentially fatal shock-though it could just as easily be hearing loss-to see Rachel standing bolt upright, blonde hair a mess, pressing the phone into her cheek so hard Ed has serious concerns for her skull, the cushion lying abandoned at her feet.

But before their lives can effectively end-or at least, be cut short by several minutes-Rachel glances back at the phone. "What?"

Her blue eyes widen, then narrow, as her face contorts. "Oh-no-no for the love of fuck's sake, I didn't mean _you."_

* * *

 

"Don't bring up the bacon sandwich" Chris says, with an extended finger. "Looks bad if we bring up the bacon sandwich."

Dave nods, slumped back in his leather chair, tie loosened.

"Looks a bit like we're picking on him" Gabby points out, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"One of the few benefits of being useless" Craig says. "Everyone loves an underdog."

"Well, that's the British for you" George agrees. "They'd vote for a bloody pug dog if it had a missing eye and a limp."

"Doesn't that technically make _me_ the underdog?" David asks, tossing his Sharpie in the air.

"Try making that argument and the voters'll tear you apart" Chris chuckles.

"Keep on the deficit" Ameet adds, who's observing the goings-on in between scribbling quick notes on a printed-out speech. "Definitely mention him forgetting the deficit-but the NHS-we need to be able to rebut any line he has on the NHS-Mid-Stafford's got to be one of the main things we keep bringing up, over and over-"

Gabby's eyes flicker only slightly, as do David's.

"Wait, who was that woman who said Labour couldn't call-call itself the NHS party again, or something-"

"Yeah-" George looks up from his phone. "Yeah. Can one of you dig that out actually, because that would be a-that would be a-bloody brilliant quote-we could even get an interview with her-"

"Careful" Ameet warns.

"We don't want to go overkill" Craig explains.

"Let's just see if we can get hold of her first" David explains, placatingly. "In the meantime, we can definitely mention Mid-Stafford."

"OK." Craig claps his hands. "George, do your thing."

George steps behind the chair, yanks a Rubix Cube out of his pocket. Gabby rolls her eyes.

"What happened to not making fun of him?" Chris chides.

 _"This-"_ George waves the Rubix Cube around. "Is method-acting."

"What, so if you-play with a Rubix Cube, you feel like Ed Miliband-"

"No one could love that Rubix Cube as much as Miliband" David says, more quietly than usual.

George twiddles the Rubix Cube a little more. "You thee, I have thith _abtholutely gigantic_ manthion taxth plan to make all thothe nathty rich people pay more-"

Ameet groans while Craig snorts.

"This would be the mansion tax that Ed Miliband couldn't even defend to Myleene _Klass_ a few weeks ago-" David laughs, casting George the sort of dismissive look he always does well to Miliband.

"Now, I promise I have no disrespect for pop stars-" David turns, addressing the room at large. "Because my daughter and wife would certainly have something to say about it-"

Gabby gives him a thumbs-up; that'll get a laugh.

"But let's face it-" David extends his hands, palms wide, _trust me._ "If a pop star has to be asked to explain the flaws in an economic policy to a party leader-"

"Labour leader" Ameet immediately chips in.

"Say party leader and they'll start calling for you to appear on the Agenda with Lily fucking Allen or something."

"Or Charlotte Church" suggests Chris, with a wink, to a chorus of cheers.

"Now, now" says David, giving George a grin across the back of his black leather chair. "Come on, I'm sure she'll be at the Tory conference again this year to call me a misogynist."

"Yep, she'll be there, nailing herself up on that left-wing cross-"

"Nah, she'd hate Christianity" David points out, leaning on the back of the chair and nearly overbalancing as it starts to spin slowly. "Probably finds that oppressive, somehow, as well-"

"OK, get back to it, people." Chris claps his hands. "Focus-Dave, get back to the point-"

"OK." David leans forward on the chair, now spinning slightly as he focuses, the humour smoothing into seriousness on his face, in the way he has. Like casting off a skin.

"But let's face it, if it falls to a pop star to explain the flaws in an economic policy to a Labour leader-" He leans forward slightly. "Perhaps that Labour leader might just have to consider the idea that the policy needs re-thinking."

Craig whistles. Ameet nods. "Fall to-that was a good-OK, now let me just get up the list of those people who criticised the policy-we can emphasise either economists or celebrities first, we've got Stuart Rose this morning-"

"Both appeal to different bases" Craig points out. "We could get a line up on Cox, on what he said today-now, Miliband will probably come back with something about the rich bearing the greatest burden or the top 1% or some bullshit-" He sits back in his chair. "So we need to get up a line to that-"

"Definitely include the £2m house-" David points out. "Definitely include that-"

"OK, George, just give us something-"

George clears his throat, breathes through his nose to make his voice even more nasal."Well, you thee, Labour ith the party that putht the working clath _firtht_ -we thee them all the _time_ when we're peering out of our mansions in Dartmouth Park-"

Ameet's sniggering, pen skidding across the paper.

"And tho, being a man of the people, with my frontbench of millionaireth and _almotht_ millionaireth-" George holds out his hand, assuming the kind of wide-eyed, overly earnest look Miliband can't keep off his face. "Tho it'th a broad church, really-"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, George-" Craig's chuckling into his hand.

"-and, you thee, we have to work for thethe people, thome of them are thuffering _appallingly,_ you thimply can't _imagine-_ thome of them don't even have _nannieth_ , and if that'th not an indictment of thith country, I don't know what _ith-"_

George's phone vibrates in his hand.

"Thee, look at this, even I only have a Blackberry-" He holds it out to the others, half doubled-over in laughter himself. "Now, if-if that ithn't evidence I am in thith-" He claps a hand over his heart. "With _all_ of you-"

He checks his phone, chest aching as he tries to catch his breath, the rest of the room leaning back in their chairs, pulling their own phones out. George glances at the name on his own and blinks, careful not to look too surprised.

When he glances up, David's watching him across the room. George watches him back.

David's eyes narrow slightly and George feels a jolt of something like recognition in his throat.

He gives David a gin and turns back to his phone. But he can't shake the slight nagging feeling that the look David's giving him is one he's seen before; on his own face. It's the same look that he gave David when Lynton burst into his office yesterday morning.

 

* * *

 

Peter sits quietly in the car, watches Alastair's retreating figure through the gates.

_"How's he been?" he'd asked John that day, watching John play with the tired bunch of flowers he held._

_John had sighed, leaning back in his chair. "He's OK. He's slept a lot today. They sedated him but the doctors also said it could be his mind's way of protecting itself. We've just got to wait."_

_"A-ha." Peter had steepled his fingers together. "Can we-I mean, can we speak to him?"_

_John had sighed, leaning back again. "I don't know if he hears. He's pretty sedated."_

_Peter had pictured the first time he'd met Alastair-at that party, when the sound of bagpipes had pulled everyone's heads round to the door. Alastair's eyes had been what Peter noticed-not the way he towered over everyone else or the way he sank pint after pint of beer like it was water or even the way he talked, words crashing into each other in what could become a loud bark, edged with a Yorkshire accent, but his eyes-bright, almost wild, as if his thoughts couldn't keep still. The way Neil said they'd been in Scotland the other morning._

_"We've been told to be careful with him" John adds, almost as an afterthought. "Not to bring up politics or work."_

_"That would be-ah-complicated."_

_It had felt rather odd, having to wriggle one's way into the caring role. Peter is used to being the one who is cared for, the one whom people tiptoe around, the one who's on a tight string. He almost sinks into it, like an old, comfortable chair. He's quite fond of it, as a matter of fact._

_Alastair, though, is a rather different kettle of fish._

_"He won't like that" Peter had said, lightly, but with just enough of a warning tone. Alastair wouldn't. He didn't even enjoy the caring role too much, though when Peter would sniffle after another chaotic debate or argument, Alastair would roll his eyes or squeeze his shoulder roughly, while muttering something about "pulling yourself together". It was somehow more comforting than Tony's eye-rolls or outstretched hands._

_John had shrugged. "Doesn't matter what he likes. It's what he needs. He got freaked out over a button by the side of his bed earlier." Off Peter's look, John explained. "It was blue and red. I told you he was babbling about-"_

_"Left-left and right wing, yes-"_

_"Nearly ripped it out before they got near him." John's brow had creased as he stared at his knees. "He wasn't making a lot of sense. Fiona was pretty upset."_

_Peter had looked up. "Fiona's here?"_

_"Yeah, she's been in with Brian. But they left earlier-she needed to get some sleep, Neil had arranged for them to get a room at the hotel at short notice. So I said I'd come in. I didn't realise you were up yet."_

_"Fiona rang us last night." Peter remembers the phone call, the brief snatches of words that have become snapshots in his mind, making him wince with the clarity. The police officers. Alastair's shirt on the floor. The walls of a police cell, covered in Alastair's wild writing, snippets of little genius lines that would, another day, have made it into the report covering Neil's speech, if Alastair didn't take over writing it for him._

_The thought of Alastair's utter confusion, under his usual abrasive bark, his scribbling pen, his eyes darting from one sentence to the next-that had hurt more than the thought of him being wrestled to the floor by police officers._

_"Neil said he'd seemed fine" he'd ventured, his own voice almost a whisper. "He was perfectly all right when he arrived."_

_John had sighed. "He hadn't been home. Fiona called us to ask where he was. Turned out he'd spent the whole of the previous night drinking, didn't get to bed, went and got on the plane to Scotland."_

_Peter had folded his fingers over his mouth, absorbing these words. "So-he's-it's to do with his..drinking."_

_"We don't know. I mean, they'll need to talk to him when he wakes-I mean, they're going on about psychotic episodes and auditory hallucinations and manic bursts and all this jargon, I don't know." John had shaken his head, his blond hair in unusual disarray. "I think it could be all of it, myself."_

_They'd sat in silence for a few moments, Peter staring straight ahead, trying to remember the last time he'd had a conversation with Alastair._

_"The thing is-" John had said suddenly, his voice tighter now. "The thing is, he calls it motoring. That's what he calls it." He'd looked at Peter. "You know what I mean. The way he gets. The way he was when he got to the hotel. The way he is when he starts speaking too fast, scribbling too much. You can't catch the words and he can't catch them, even as he says them."_

_Peter had nodded, and some words had come slowly out of his own mouth, words he wouldn't have let himself expect until then: "That's when he's at his best."_

_John hadn't said anything, just looked at him._

_Peter had lifted an eyebrow. "With his writing, with his arguments. You've seen him write them. You've seen him."_

_John had just watched him, and then nodded slowly. " At his best."_

_Peter had been about to say more but at the last moment had fallen silent, dwelling on the words._

_"See" John had said, glancing around at the waiting room, the drooping flowers, the two of them, "Seems to me his best lands him in a place like this."_

Now, Peter watches Alastair move away from him for a few more seconds, slowly withdrawing into the cemetery. Then he pulls out his phone.

 

 

* * *

 

The graves, for Alastair, are as quiet as they usually are. He walks around them at first, taking deep breaths, waiting for his thoughts to stop clattering into each other. They're rapid, darting through each other, but not as rapid as they've been in the past. He can still catch hold of them.

He stops, one hand on each of them, waiting for his thoughts to stop racing. Or to slow down. Just to slow down.

Eventually, they do. It takes a little longer than usual, but that's all right.

That's-not normal. But within the bounds of normal.

He sits down slowly, between the two graves, lets his head fall against John's. The coolness of the stone sinks into his skin, calms his thoughts slightly.

He takes a deep breath, keeps his head pressed against the stone.

He should have fucking felt this coming on. But the motoring had seemed OK at first, just a slight rush. Just energy, which he'd taken as a reaction to being part of an election campaign again.

"Do you need to see David?" Fiona had asked the night before, when she'd noticed him still scribbling notes for debate rehearsals. "Because you seem wired."

He'd shaken his head. "Just researching."

"Well, you seem tense." Fiona had closed her book, watched him quietly. "What's triggered it?"

"Nothing's triggered it." Alastair had kept typing, the words stretching taut in his head as though they might snap if he didn't get them out. "I'm fine."

Fiona had waited, then "Well, you're _not_ fine, are you?"

"Look-" Alastair's hand had nearly hit the laptop. "I'm fine. I'm just fucking working. There's nothing fucking unusual about having to fucking work more."

Now, Alastair presses his fingers into his temples. Peter had heated him up some soup, in his usual fastidious way, murmuring something about how Alastair hadn't treated him nearly so well when he was engineering his resignation. Alastair hadn't been able to catch the words to retort, his thoughts darting from one sentence to another, leaving them half-finished.

Now, he breathes in and out slowly, trying to focus just on what's in front of him. David would tell him to only focus on what's happening in front of him. Or what's coming in the next few minutes.

He opens his eyes to find himself glancing at Ellie's grave next to him. He doesn't need to trace the lettering, the same way he doesn't need to read John's. He tends to rattle onto John the way he did when John was alive, but with Ellie, it tends to be enough just to sit quietly.

_"Read that one." Ellie pointed at the next fairytale in the book, her red hair thinner, wispier than Alastair would remember it. But she hadn't lost it yet-which was something-it looked like John's, a little, some of his blond lightening the red, turning it auburn._

_"Which one?" Alastair had pretended to miss the title. "That one?" He'd pointed at the metal bars of her bed. "That one?"_

_Ellie had burst out laughing, her giggles pealing through the air like bells. "No, that one!"_

_"What, this one?" Alastair had tugged his briefing notes closer._

_"No, that one!" Ellie had collapsed into giggles as he tickled her, her little cheeks pinkening with the faintest hint of colour, the first Alastair had seen since he arrived at the hospital that day._

_"Where?" Alastair had been play-wrestling her very gently, careful not to disrupt the drip that fed into what had been the baby chubbiness of her arm, where now Alastair could feel what would be her little bones if he curled his fingers around her wrist. "Which one? Where?"_

_Ellie had beamed up at him through her red curls, freckles standing out against her pale little face._

_"Tell me about Daddy" she'd demanded, wriggling back against her pillow when once she would have bounced upright. "Tell me another story about Dad."_

_Alastair had wriggled himself further back up the bed too. "Which one do you want?"_

_"The-the one about when you went to France-" Ellie had decided, leaning against his shoulder, nuzzling him with her forehead. Alastair had noticed a couple of auburn curls lying on her pillow, which he'd brushed aside with one hand before she could see them._

_"When we went to the South Of France?" Alastair had stretched out beside her, one hand stroking her hair softly, careful not to let her curls loosen in his fingers. "When we went-with Mum and Fiona-"_

_Ellie had nodded, dimples denting her cheeks. "When Daddy ate all the food-" Her cheeks had creased in another giggle._

_"OK." Alastair had settled her in his arms, stroking her hair._

_Ellie had tilted her face up to his. "Nose-kiss" she'd said, beaming up at him with a smile that was all John's._

_Alastair's lungs had ached as he dragged in the air, leaning forward to pull her further into his chest. "Nose-kiss" he'd agreed, nuzzling his nose against hers' as he cuddled her, the way John always used to, the way John would have asked him to._

When Fiona appears, bedraggled blonde hair betraying her rush, but walking calmly, Alastair isn't surprised.

She stops next to him, standing between the graves. "Room for me?"

Alastair doesn't answer, but moves over to make a space for her.

"You should have gloves on" Fiona says, catching sight of his bare hands. "You'll freeze out here."

Alastair glances down at his hands. He hadn't even noticed. He's numb with cold, he realises vaguely now.

Fiona doesn't say anything, just takes his hands slowly between her own and begins to rub them gently, coaxing warmth back into him.

"Do you know what triggered it?" she asks calmly, keeping her voice low.

Alastair feels a slight stirring of annoyance, but he just shakes his head.

Fiona keeps hold of his hand. "I made an appointment for you to see David tomorrow."

Alastair tilts his head back against the gravestone with a sigh that reaches for air. Fiona shakes her head. "What use are you going to be to an election campaign if you keep putting off dealing with this, exactly?"

Alastair squeezes his eyes shut. The thoughts are slowing slightly, so he can almost close his fingers around them. He feels less like he might come out of his skin.

Fiona keeps hold of his hand. "Did you take your anti-depressants?"

Alastair thinks, dragging his thoughts back to the morning, which seems months ago. He dredges up a shrug.

Fiona looks at him and then reaches up to take his face between both her hands.

"Don't shut down on me" she says, voice low and firm. "Don't shut down on me, Alastair."

She keeps hold of him, waits, until Alastair's eyes flicker to her own, momentarily.

Slowly, he shakes his head, clears his throat.

Fiona keeps hold of him, keeps looking at him, but he feels her relax very slightly.

Slowly, she lets her hands slide away from his face, but wriggles closer to him. She presses her face against his shoulder.

After a moment, Alastair shifts slightly. "It's fucking freezing" he mutters, only just realising.

Fiona manages a strange half-laugh, half-splutter. For the first time, Alastair looks at her properly.

"Sorry" he manages, the exhaustion clinging to the edge of his voice and his limbs, waiting to sink in, the way it always waits to follow after a bout like this.

Fiona squeezes his hand once. "Come on" is all she says. "Let's get home."

Alastair untangles himself, stands upright, wincing as the blood rushes back into his legs. Fiona slides her arm around his waist as he takes one step, then another, until he regains his balance a little.

They begin to walk back to the car, away from the graves. Fiona keeps her hands wrapped tight around one of his, warming it between her own.

 

* * *

 

"Can you _not_ -" George glances up as the door hits the wall. "Be predictable for _five minutes?"_

George sighs, glancing back at his papers as Balls stomps into the office, letting the door slam shut behind him.

"As predictable as your Newsnight interview will be-" George checks his watch. "In about four hours."

Balls glowers at him. "This is not a fucking laughing matter. I had to walk from Whitehall to get here."

"You mean you actually had to walk to your car to be driven here?"

"There was walking." Balls draws himself up straight. "You haven't taken those fucking steps with a ten-year-old and a football in tow."

"You haven't taken them with a ten-year-old in a suffragette outfit."

Balls blinks. "I'll give you that."

George peers over his shoulder. "Where's Maddy?"

"Outside, in the corridor. Had to make her put her bloody football down."

"Oh. Where was Liberty? I thought she was out there with Nance-"

"Nance?"

"Nancy. Dave's coming over for some meeting with someone and he's bringing the girls home from school. Then he'll take them back, Sam's doing some charity event-"

George scribbles his signature on the next document from the red box, then, when Balls fails to speak, looks up.

Balls is staring at him with the expression of someone who's just been struck over the head with an exceptionally heavy object and not realised yet.

"OK, now you're scaring me." George leans back. "This is like the time you realised you had to agree with our Treasury forecasts."

"Thatwasonetimeandwesaidtheyweremorepositivethanexpected, notthatwefuckingagreedwiththem" Balls blurts out in nearly one breath. "And Cameron's _here?"_

"Yes."

"No, no-" Balls is shaking his head. "Cameron's _here?"_

"Is this a moment I'm going to have to remember when a doctor asks if there were any-"

George trails off at the look on Balls' face.

 

* * *

 

When David looks up, his heart flips uncomfortably in his chest. Like a teenager.

"Oh-Miliband." He manages to stand up, lean against his desk, trying to ignore the slight quickening of his heartbeat. "What can I-ah-I wasn't expecting you."

"No, I know." Miliband's speaking too quickly, his voice a little too firm. "I know, it's-I-th-something just occurred to me and I thought I'd run by you before I went home-" By the time he reaches the last few words, they're running into each other.

"Right." David curses himself.

But the thing is, this is the first time he's _seen_ Miliband in the last couple of days and he doesn't know-

Well, judging from the lambasting Lynton gave David, Miliband's team have to have given him much the same, and whatever it is, he can't decide if he wants it to have left Ed with the same odd, vaguely sick sensation every time he thinks about it.

"Um-" It occurs to him that he should offer Miliband a seat, which should really be second bloody nature by now, but when Miliband turns his big dark eyes on him with a confused look, David feels oddly wrong-footed all over again.

"Sure" he says, finding his thoughts lingering on the word, testing the sound of it-did it sound too casual? Did it sound like he was trying too hard?

Jesus, what's happening to him?

"Um, sure, sure-" He shakes his head slightly, giving himself a mental slap. "Just-why don't you-"

Ed sits down far too quickly on the couch, causing his legs to nearly fumble out from under him. David feels a sinking sensation in his chest that's almost painfully pleasant.

He shakes his head, sits down next to Miliband, half a second too late. "So." He clears his throat. "What-um-what was it you wanted to see me about?"

For the second's silence before Ed answers, David has the chance to half-glance at the chair by his desk and wonder if perhaps he shouldn't have offered that instead.

Is that what he'd have done a few months ago? Before they-

David feels his cheeks warm uncomfortably.

He and Miliband had sat on this couch together before then. He knows they did. He remembers it.

But-

He glances up at Miliband again only to realise from the expectant look on the other man's face that it's clearly his turn to speak.

"Sorry, what?"

Miliband gives him an odd look. "I wath-are you all right?"

David nods. "What. Yes. Yes, just thinking. Sorry." He slaps his hands together a little. "Sorry, say it again-"

Miliband doesn't look entirely convinced, but he nods. "I wath jutht thinking-"

He's twisting his fingers together, wrapping them around each other. David watches them, almost hypnotised by the movement, before he blinks and forces himself to look back at Miliband's face.

"You know-" Now David can't look away from that corner of Ed's mouth which he's worrying at nervously.

"You know, that-that decision we talked about in Paris?"

David blinks, forcing his thoughts back into some semblance of order.

"Sorry. Sorry. Yeah. Yeah. What we-what we th-said-when-you know-"

Miliband glances at David, then away again. "That thing. About-if we were going to say th-something perthonal-"

The lisp is really breaking through.

David blinks. "Something pers-yes. Yes."

Ed glances at him, then away, then back. "Well. Um. It's PMQth tomorrow and-"

David blinks. "Yeah, and-oh. Oh. You've got something-"

Ed swallows. He shuffles round, folds and unfolds his legs. "Um. You-you th-saw the headlines. Today."

For a moment, David's gripped by an odd panic. Then he remembers. "Smythson."

"Yeah. Yeah."

Then it hits him.

"Wait. What-"

Ed won't look at him. He stares at his knees.

"What is it?"

Ed takes a deep breath, staring even harder at his trousers, and then blurts, the words tumbling out as though he's partly rehearsed them, "I jutht got an email about the questions backbenchers are going to ask and it'th, I think one of them might ask th-something about Smythson-"

David feels the words thud into the air.

Neither of them know they notice it, but he moves his leg an inch away. "I-right."

It's all he can think of to say. The sudden emptiness aching deeper and deeper in his chest has seen to that.

"I-I've emailed and told them not to" Ed bursts in, the words almost falling over one another. "That it'th not a good ide-I've told them not to mention her. Samanth-"

"But they'll still make their point, won't they?"

Miliband throws him a look that could almost be stricken. "I didn't know it wath going to happen" he says, and even though David can't help but believe him, he snorts.

"What are-" Miliband's voice is harder now. "It'th true. That wath the deal-I told you and-"

"Yeah, well, it still doesn't make me feel a whole lot better, Miliband."

"Look-" Ed might move towards him, but David gets up before he can touch him.

"I told you" Miliband says, a second later, and the confusion in his voice does something to David, makes him almost wince. "I told you I'd-I'd warn you, and-"

"And you have." David knows how cool his voice is, can almost picture the look on Ed's face. He tries not to flinch.

But it's just-

He takes a deep breath, turns round slowly to see Miliband standing too, eyes fixed on David.

"Fine" he hears himself say. "You told me."

Ed nods.

David shrugs. "So was that it?"

He knows it's almost cruel. He knows that.

But-just looking at Miliband is leaving him-

"I suppothe so." Miliband says the words slowly, carefully, but the lisp gives it away to David. "Yeth. I juth-st thought I would let you know."

He watches David for another moment. David feels something jolt hard in his chest. He swallows.

"Well." Miliband turns away towards the door. "I'll jutht leave you to-"

"For God's sake."

David's voice is almost a whisper, but Miliband stops dead. His back is ramrod stiff and straight.

David tries to clear his throat as Ed slowly turns back towards him. His eyes seem far bigger and darker than usual.

"Just-sit down-" David's voice is far softer than the words. "Please-"

Miliband's eyes meet his own and something about the _look-_

The way he just looks, like a breath being caught-

David's heart jumps in his chest, but he can't let himself look. Instead he just watches as Miliband slowly retakes his seat on the couch. Slowly, David sits down next to him.

They didn't used to sit this close, he thinks stupidly.

But of course they did. Of course they used to. It's just-

David didn't used to notice how close Ed's leg is to his own. How their shoulders almost brush every time they move, sending a tingle of heat through David. How long Miliband's eyelashes are, how David could count them every time he gives David one of those glances up through them.

The silence makes David's heartbeat feel heavier, louder.

"I'm not angry with you" he says suddenly, unable to take the silence anymore.

Ed looks up at him, the little jump going through David again. "No?"

David meets his eyes, his heartbeat audible now. "No." His own voice is almost a whisper.

They watch each other. David swallows.

_I-I don't-it's you, you being-it's us, it-_

Ed's knee keeps drumming up and down.

"Hey-" and David reaches out, fingers taking hold. "Hey-"

It's only when Ed's eyes meet his own that he realises where his hand is.

 

* * *

 

Nancy swings her legs back and forth, already bored with waiting. She pulls off her school jumper, tugs at the loose piece of crepe Liberty's left her, and chews it thoughtfully. She wipes her shoe against the edge of the carpet, noticing the melted snow in the grooves. She and Lola had tried sprinkling it over each other's hair when they'd headed out of school, the two of them spinning around, Lola's blonde hair flying out behind her, flakes still drifting over the churchyard.

She'd had to stay late after school for guitar practice and so Dad had been able to pick her up today, collecting Liberty too, who'd stayed on after school to finish the crepes they'd been baking, though Pancake Tuesday isn't until next week.

"Because it'll be half-term" Liberty had explained, halving the still-warm crepe between them as they waited outside Dad's Commons office. "It was French Day at school."

Usually, they'd have gone straight back to Downing Street, but Dad had needed to look at papers or something, and Uncle George had been meeting someone, so they'd stopped en route. Nancy and Liberty had been mildly fussed over by any number of MPs walking past, but it had been Mr Ed Balls who'd really sparked their interest.

He'd turned up a few minutes beforehand, and had given them a wave. "Hi, girls."

Liberty had waved back and Nancy had given him a smile, but eyed him warily. Dad and Mr Ed Miliband might be sort-of-friends, but she doesn't know if he really likes Mr Ed Balls.

It had been easier for Liberty to know how to respond-she's been babysat by Mr Ed Balls a whole bunch of times, so she'd gone up and given him a hug. After a brief internal battle, Nancy had too, and had allowed him to tug her ponytail, though she'd yanked it firmly back into place afterwards.

"Waiting for your dads?" He'd tapped Liberty's nose. "I've got to have a word with yours'."

"He's in there-" Liberty had jerked her head towards Uncle George's outer office.

"Mine's doing his red box" Nancy had added, popping another piece of crepe into her mouth as Liberty offered Mr Ed Balls the crepes.

Mr Ed Balls had sucked in his breath. "Oh, _yum."_ He'd taken a small piece, popping it in his mouth. "Did you make that?"

Liberty had nodded proudly.

"Good, you'll have to give me the recipe." He'd tapped Liberty's nose. "Now, where's Maddy got to?" He'd looked over his shoulder, brow furrowed. "Mads?"

A football had rolled round the corner, and following it walked a girl about Nancy's age. Her light brown hair was in a loose ponytail and she was in what looked like a football top, ponytail slipping loose as she chased the ball.

"Oi." Mr Ed Balls held up his finger warningly. "I told you not to bring that in here" he'd added, sounding annoyed as the other girl gathered the ball up, clutching it to her chest defensively. "Just five minutes, all right? Sit with Lib and Nancy, I've only got to see Uncle George-"

The girl had wandered up to the soft chairs where Nancy had reseated herself, hovering until her father had headed, with a wave at the girls, into Uncle George's office, and then sprung up again, bouncing her ball down the carpet with one foot. Elwen would be impressed, Nancy had thought, watching her, and then with a jolt, she'd remembered the party. Maddy-Nancy remembered her now.

"Do you want some of this?"

The girl had run over, dribbling the ball, and taken a piece of crepe herself. "Thanks" she'd said, and given Nancy an odd, jerky nod, which had made Nancy watch her a little longer.

It had been a few minutes later when Liberty had sprung up, clapping her hands together."Need to go and check with Thea."

"Why?" Nancy had looked up from where she was sketching out the hat she needs to finish for Elwen's costume.

"She said she'd go and check something out in the Commons library for me. 'Bout the suffragettes."

Now, Nancy's taking slow bites of the crepes, licking whipped cream off her fingers, and watching Maddy kick her football back and forth.

Nancy's known Maddy since she was tiny, she's pretty sure, but she hasn't actually really spoken to her before. She's usually seen her at all the parties and things for MPs' kids, and her dad's always been Santa Claus each year at the Christmas party, but, for some reason, they've never really talked to each other much, though Liberty's friendly with her.

So she watches Maddy kick the ball again and again, the slight furrow of concentration at her brow. Nancy notices that her ponytail bounces with each kick.

Maddy kicks the ball one last time and then flops back a little, tossing her ponytail out of her eyes. She bounces the ball with one hand, less vigorously now, wandering back and forth.

She glances at Nancy. Nancy stares back. For a few seconds, the two girls regard each other with quiet interest.

Maddy, as though suddenly coming to a decision, turns to face Nancy and bounces the ball towards her. "Want to play?"

Nancy bounces it back, getting up slowly. "Sure."

Maddy bounces it back towards her. Nancy returns it, and they spend a few minutes engaged in this in an almost companionable silence, while each of them sneaks quick, curious glances at the other under their lashes.

Maddy kicks the ball against the wall and Nancy catches it with her foot, kicks it back. She's played football with Elwen and Florence often enough, not to mention with Xandie and the others.

"Your name's Nancy, right?" Maddy says abruptly, catching the ball with the side of her football boot.

"Yeah." Nancy catches the ball as she bounces it gently. "You're Maddy."

"Yeah." Maddy bounces the ball. "Madelyn, but no one calls me that." She pulls a face.

"Yeah, no one calls my brother his name either." Nancy kicks the ball back. "He's called Arthur, but no one calls him that."

"What d'you call him?"

"Elwen. It's his middle name."

_"Elwen?"_

Nancy tosses her head, indignation spiking in her throat. "Yeah. My mum found it in a book." She meets Maddy's gaze challengingly, silently daring her to comment, chin jutting up in a way that, though she doesn't know it, is strikingly similar to the way her father looks at some people. "I quite like our names."

Maddy's chin juts out, too. "I didn't say _I_ didn't." She kicks the ball back to Nancy without looking away from her.

Nancy eyes the other girl suspiciously, but kicks it back.

"Anyway, my sister's called Meriel" Maddy offers, by way of an olive branch, "but everyone calls her Ellie."

Nancy hesitates for a moment, but, recognizing it as the peace offering it is, asks "How old's she?"

"Nearly sixteen" Maddy says, an age that to her and Nancy, seems wonderfully far-off. "And my brother Joel's thirteen. What about yours'?"

"Elwen's nine next week. My sister Flo's four."

"What about you?" Maddy bounces the ball from one foot to the other.

"Eleven." Nancy lifts the ball and chucks it back to Maddy, hitting the wall.

Maddy dives for it. "Same. Nearly." _Nearly_ , means in five months time, but Maddy qualifies that as _nearly._

Nancy nods at her football kit. "You play football?"

"Yeah." Maddy does a bit of fancy footwork with the ball, which makes Nancy's lips twitch. Maddy, noticing her smile, does it again, though she might not know that's why.

"I want to get on the team when I go to SNS" she says, sending the ball skittering back to Nancy.

"SNS?" Nancy kicks it back.

"Stoke Newington. Secondary."

"Oh."

"Ellie and Joel already go there" Maddy says, by way of explanation. "So I probably will, too. Where are you going?" she adds, this being the common topic of Year Six once they become aware that they'll only remain a year group for a little longer.

"Either Lady Margaret or Grey Coat Hospital." Nancy kicks the ball again. "Probably Grey Coat, though."

"Is anyone from your class going?" Maddy catches the ball.

"Not sure. My friend Lola might be, though. One of them's going to boarding school, I think."

Maddy arches an eyebrow. "Don't think anyone from mine is." She tucks the football under one arm.

"Which school do you go to?" Nancy falls into step next to her, as they head back to the chairs, Nancy dragging her ponytail loose. Maddy watches as Nancy shakes her hair out, combing it with her fingers.

"Grazebrook. What about you?"

"St Mary Abbots." Nancy wriggles round in her seat to face her, sitting cross-legged. Maddy does the same so the two little girls' knees are brushing each other through Nancy's school tights, in the way little girls do. "Want some more of Liberty's crepes?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Maddy tears another piece free. "Did she make them at school?"

"Yeah, they're always doing stuff like that."

"Lucky. Does she go to Grey Coat?"

"No, she goes to St Paul's Girls'. Grey Coat's all-girls, too, though. Bea's at Grey Coat, she's in Year Seven."

Maddy chews the piece of crepe slowly. "Is it busy, then? Your dad being Prime Minister?"

Nancy tenses a little, already bristling.

Maddy raises an eyebrow. "I kind of knew who you are."

"Not who I am" Nancy corrects her, pride flickering up her spine. "Who my dad is."

Maddy looks straight at her. Nancy notices that her eyes are an odd colour-sort of green but with strange flecks of grey and black that make them look like the odd stones Nancy finds at Polzeath in Cornwall sometimes. "That's true."

Nancy meets her gaze head-on. "What's your dad doing?"

"Talking to Uncle George." Maddy pops another piece of crepe into her mouth. "Think it's about work."

"You call him Uncle George, too?"

Maddy frowns. "Yeah. He's your dad's best mate, isn't he? That's what my dad says."

"He's our godfather. Mine and El's."

Maddy nods. "Your dad doesn't like mine, right?"

Nancy looks up sharply. "Only 'cos yours' doesn't like mine" she retorts, meeting Maddy's gaze. Maddy notices Nancy's eyes are the sort of blue you'd think only got written about in books and things-bright, bright blue, like the sea on holiday, her head tilted back proudly.

Maddy shrugs. "I don't know if he does or doesn't."

"But he likes Uncle George."

Maddy nods. "But your dad's friends with Dad's boss, isn't he?"

"Who?"

"Miliband, or whatever my dad calls him."

"Mr Ed Miliband?" Nancy thinks for a moment. "I guess so." She supposes Mr Ed Miliband staying over must mean he's at least partly a friend. "Why? Isn't he friends with your dad?"

Maddy snorts. "No."

Nancy frowns. "Why?"

Maddy shrugs. "Don't know, really. Never met him properly."

Nancy frowns, puzzling over this. As long as she can remember, Uncle George has been over at their house nearly as often as Dad is.

"I mean" Maddy adds, licking whipped cream off her finger. "Mum used to be friends with him, I think, but not Dad."

Nancy shrugs, then turns back to the pancakes.

"Anyway-" Maddy says, nudging her football boot against Nancy's school shoe. "It's not like _I_ hate your dad, is it?"

Nancy, chewing her mouthful of pancake slowly, looks up at Maddy. Maddy, wiping whipped cream away from her mouth, meets her gaze steadily.

"No" Nancy says slowly, Maddy noticing the brightness of her eyes again as she stares back stubbornly over the pancakes. "I never said that you did."

 

* * *

 

Ed stares down at Cameron's hand on his knee as though it might belong to someone else.

That's Cameron's hand.

On his knee.

Cameron's hand. On his knee.

Cameron's hand-

His eyes flicker up to Cameron's and Cameron's hand shoots back as if Ed's given him an electric shock.

Neither of them looks at the other.

"Sorry" says Cameron, after a moment. "I-I was just-"

"It'th fine" Ed says to his knees.

They sit for a moment in silence. Suddenly, Ed can hear Cameron's words again from that day exploring.

_Come on, you know you're gorgeous._

His cheeks are very, very warm.

"Look, thank you for telling me." Cameron's voice is a little more like a mumble than usual.

"S'not an issue." Ed can't look at him.

"Thanks."

They sit there, silent.

Ed should go, he knows. He's delivered the message he came to give Cameron. He should leave, now.

"What are you doing?" he says instead.

Cameron's mouth twitches. "Already eyeing up the office, Miliband?"

Ed feels almost weak with relief. "Only preparing" he manages, a little shakier than usual.

"Which you need."

"Because I'll win."

Cameron just smirks, grabbing a thick, leather-bound document off his desk. Ed unconsciously shifts a little closer, peering at the papers. "What are they?"

Cameron waggles his eyebrows. "Maybe they're our secret, evil, Tory plans for cutting taxes for the highest earners-"

Ed rolls his eyes, taking a long, patient breath.

Cameron chuckles. "It's constitutional law." He winks at Ed. "For forming coalitions."

"Ah."

"You know-" Cameron leans back against the couch. "I was talking to Andrew about this."

Ed's heart picks up.

"What?" he asks, a little too quickly.

"Coalitions."

Ed's shoulders slump with what he isn't sure is relief or disappointment.

"He said-" Cameron flicks through one of the documents with his thumb. He isn't looking at Ed, but somehow-

Somehow, Ed just knows Cameron can feel his gaze on him.

"He said-" Cameron says. "That there might be the smallest chance of the Tories and Labour forming a coalition."

Ed chokes.

Cameron, taking in Ed's outraged look with what appears to be the utmost enjoyment, cackles. "Maybe not."

Ed stares at him. "Are you _th-seriouth?"_

Cameron meets his gaze. The smirk still hovers at his mouth, but his blue eyes soften as they rove over Ed's face.

"Deadly" he says, softly.

Words swell in Ed's throat, but nothing comes out.

Cameron laughs. "Don't worry" he says, turning back to the folder. "I know you'd rather die."

Ed swallows. His face is so warm. His fingers fidget at his collar.

"Obviously" he whispers.

Cameron doesn't look at him but at the sound of Ed's whisper, his cheek lifts very slightly in a smile.

Ed scrambles for something to say, struggling to ignore the heat in his cheeks.

"What elthe does it th-say?" he murmurs. He moves closer to peer over Cameron's shoulder, his chin brushing his suit.

His breath catches in his throat. Next to him, so does Cameron's.

 

* * *

 

"So does everyone at your school know?"

Nancy looks up at Maddy, who's balancing a set of Chelsea Top Trumps cards on her knee-Elwen would approve. "About Dad? Yeah, I guess. He does Sunday School and stuff." She shuffles some of the cards Maddy's letting her look at. "Why, do they know at yours'?"

"Yeah, sort of." Maddy throws her ponytail back off her face. "But, I mean, he's not often there. And they don't know Mum as much." Maddy pulls her legs up, tugging at her football shirt. "And I guess at SNS, they're used to Ellie and Joel."

"Mmm."

Maddy glances at her. "I wasn't trying to freak you out. Sorry."

"You didn't. Just thinking." Nancy threads her fingers in and out of each other, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, not knowing that if her father could see her, he'd have blinked at how much she looked like Ed Miliband in that moment. "But it's different for them, isn't it?"

"How?"

"Well, it didn't go in all the papers, did it? Where they were going to school-"

Maddy glances up. "Oh. Right. That sucks."

Nancy hunches a shoulder in response.

Maddy sighs, watches Nancy when Nancy stops watching her. Nancy's pulling her bottom lip between her teeth again, which makes her face look even more delicate than usual. Nancy's face can seem softer than other people's, as though it's been traced out in pencil, nose and mouth and eyes finished with delicate little curves. There's an almost antiquated little-girlness to it, which, though neither girl knows it, will make her a striking adult in years to come, with features so delicate that people will look at them twice as they pass her, as though wondering how features like that can survive in the world. Until they get a glimpse of her blue eyes, which will send a shock through them as they meet her gaze, glittering and challenging, which will tell them exactly how.

But Maddy doesn't know any of that. She just lets her eyes rove over Nancy's face, which seems to look even more delicate in school uniform or dresses, like a little girl from another time. Maddy's eyes flicker to her interlocking fingers and then her face, watching the way her eyes suddenly brighten as she pulls a sheet of paper closer, and, seizing a pencil, traces a sharp line over what looks like a hat, before she carves the line deeper into the paper.

"What's that?"

"Oh-" It takes Nancy a moment to look up, chewing her lip as she seems to blink herself back into the real world. "Elwen's hat. For World Book Day." Off Maddy's look, Nancy shakes her head. "I'm making his costume for him."

Maddy blinks. "Seriously?"

Nancy nods. "Yeah." She feels a faint flicker of something like pride in her chest at the look on Maddy's face. "I like sewing. He's being Robin Hood."

Maddy leans over to get a better look at the picture, her ponytail brushing Nancy's cheek. "Wow, epic."

Nancy feels pride straighten her spine a little. "Thanks." It's a good drawing, she thinks, given she's done it sitting down, leaning on a chair.

"When did you learn to sew?"

"Just from Mum. She's learning to sew, too, she's a designer."

"Cool." Maddy's eyes linger on the picture. "How long does that take?"

"Not too long. Just sketch it out, and then Mum'll help me design it a bit more."

"What are you going as?"

"Not sure, yet. I went as Matilda, last year. Flo's just being a Flower Fairy. What about you?"

Maddy brightens. "I'm going to tell the teacher _Bend It Like Beckham's_ a book."

"Cool." Nancy wriggles forward a little, tears off another piece of crepe. "Can I ask you something?"

Maddy looks her straight in the eye, chewing. "Sure."

Nancy crosses her legs tighter. "Aren't you going to move in if your lot win the election?"

Maddy looks blank.

"You know, if your dad gets Uncle George's job?"

Maddy frowns. "I guess. Never really thought about it." She tugs her football shirt loose, nestles her chin on her hand. "Wouldn't you guys have to move out, anyway?"

"Yeah." Nancy brushes her hair out with her fingers. "I don't think Flo gets it. She's only ever lived here."

"How old's she?"

"Four."

"Like a baby."

Nancy nods.

Maddy debates whether or not to give Nancy's hand a squeeze, which she's pretty sure Ellie would do. But Maddy's not the hand-squeezing type, so she settles for handing her another Top Trumps card instead.

Nancy glances up at her. "Anyway, wouldn't you want us to move out?"

Maddy blinks. "Why?"

Nancy shrugs. "Well, you know. Because your mum and dad would have won."

Maddy doesn't deny it. Instead, she lifts both shoulders. "I mean, I want Mum and Dad's side to win, but only because it's Mum and Dad's team, you know-" If she's honest, Maddy's never really thought about it much.

"Why?" She glances at Nancy. "Do you want your dad to win?"

Nancy looks straight back at her. "Yeah. Of course."

Maddy doesn't look away. Instead, she gazes back steadily. "Well, that's OK."

Nancy feels slightly odd watching her. The only people she can usually talk to about this stuff apart from El are Libbie and Bea. Xandie and Rosie and the others try, but they don't get it the same way. Even Lola, who Nancy, if she thought about it, would have to say is her best friend at school, can't really get it the same way. They've never seen their dads on TV while they're trying to eat their dinner, and Flo's waving at the screen.

She glances up at Maddy, then away, then back. There's a blob of whipped cream at the corner of Maddy's mouth. Nancy hesitates, then reaches out to swipe it away with her thumb, the way she would with the other girls.

Maddy blinks, then looks away. Then back. Nancy smiles uncertainly. Maddy smiles back and Nancy watches the green of her eyes again before she glances back at her drawing, wondering whether she should add anything to the top of El's hat, tucking her hair behind her ear with one hand, as she traces the pencil line again.

 

* * *

 

"Look." George sits down next to Balls, handing him the glass of wine. "We don't know anything yet."

Balls snorts. "We know that Cameron and Miliband are probably sitting next to each other, fucking chatting away and probably-probably-"

They glance at each other, then hastily away, each of them trying not to picture what they're "probably".

"Look-"

George waits a moment, still not saying it.

But-

"Look" says Balls, abruptly. "We get on, don't we."

George arches an eyebrow. "I'd hope so, since you're drinking my wine."

"No, I mean-" Balls turns to face him. "No one's talking about _us._ Like they're talking about _them."_

George can feel them nearly touching something, something that hasn't been touched before. Something they haven't said.

He looks away, then back. "What are we saying?"

Balls stares at him, then looks away, forehead creasing as though it pains him.

"Jesus, Osborne, you know what we're fucking say-"

George laughs, because the conversation can't be happening.

"That they're-that they-"

"Don't say-" Balls presses his lips together, then shakes his head. "No. No, seriously, fucking don't, we-"

"But they're-"

George nearly laughs again, then doesn't. Because this almost can't be happening.

It's a just-in-case conversation, he tells himself. It's a-

God, there shouldn't even be a _just-in-case._

"They're not-they're not-they're not-" He's searching for words, words that aren't _just-in-case_ enough. "Like that."

"Like what?" Balls asks almost aggressively.

But George knows him and so he keeps looking at him until Balls throws his hands up.

"Well, they're _not,_ are they?"

George just shrugs.

"Oh, come _on."_ Balls gives him a furiously disbelieving look. "You can't tell me _Cameron_ comes across like he might be-as-as-"

George waits.

"You know he doesn't" Balls mutters, looking away.

George waits another moment, then, "I never said he had to be gay."

Balls flinches.

"And I thought you were meant to be open-minded."

Balls shoots him a furious look. "Not because of _that"_ he hisses. "It's just-Cameron- _Cameron_ and-" He shakes his head. "There's no fucking way it could happen." He folds his arms too tightly.

George waits, then, "Are you sure?"

Balls meets his gaze. "Yeah" he says, defensively.

George raises an eyebrow.

Balls glares at him for another moment, then tears his gaze away. "Well, are _you?"_

George shrugs.

"I never said _gay"_ he says, quietly.

This time, Balls doesn't shake his head.

"I can't believe we're talking about this" is all he mutters, before he lapses into a loud silence again, the air between them a noisy crowd of all the things they can't be talking about, shoving and jostling to be said.

 

* * *

 

"Conthtitutional law?" Ed's only moved the slightest bit closer.

"True."

Ed glances at him. "Wouldn't have thought you'd be interethted in reading thith."

Cameron tosses him a quick grin. "Thinking I have hidden depths, Miliband?"

Ed snorts. "About ath hidden as a puddle."

Cameron chuckles, flips a couple of pages. Ed tries not to grin, takes the opportunity to let his eyes linger on the smoothness of Cameron's skin.

It's odd, Ed thinks. Objectively, Cameron shouldn't be good-looking, really.

Not bad-looking, obviously. But he shouldn't be-he shouldn't be anywhere _near-_

He can't help but sneak little glances at Cameron's profile. The way his hair's slightly messier at the end of the day. For a moment, Ed's tempted to swipe his fingers through it just to see Cameron's reaction. That very slight crease in his forehead. That slight chubbiness of his cheeks. That way he purses his lips when he's considering something. The cocky look he casts around when he knows he's going to say something that makes everyone laugh.

He shouldn't be good-looking. But-

Cameron looks up. Ed hastily looks away.

He can still sense Cameron's grin.

"Checking me out, Miliband?"

Something seems to fall between Ed's ribs and he looks away hastily, cheeks burning, and knowing from the deepening of Cameron's grin that he's just got exactly the reaction he'd wanted.

Something about the grin, the way David so casually turns back to the documents, makes something ache in Ed's chest.

"Don't" he says, so softly that even he's not entirely sure that he said it.

He's not looking at Cameron, but he can sense the smile fading. (And that should bother him more than it does.)

"Don't what?"

"Nothing." Ed fervently wishes he hadn't spoken. "Doesn't matter."

"Don't what?"

Ed sighs, tries to angle his face away.

Cameron's hand settles on his shoulder. "Miliband."

Ed should want to wriggle away. A part of him does want to wriggle away. A larger part doesn't.

"What?" he almost snaps out, but his voice cracks a little, embarrassingly, at the end.

He feels Cameron flinch. But the warm weight of his hand doesn't move.

A few moments later, Ed finds himself relaxing under it, and Cameron's fingers relax, too.

Slowly, Ed turns back to him.

"I'm only-" He shakes his head. "It'th th-stupid."

"No, it isn't, I-"

Cameron's lip catches uncharacteristically between his teeth. He hesitates, and although Ed doesn't know it, it's really that makes him say, "Juth-st feels like you're trying to-"

He trails off. "Forget it."

Cameron's forehead crumples in confusion. "I wasn't trying to upset you."

Ed shakes his head. "No. I don't think so. I-no. Th-sorry."

Cameron nudges him. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to be apologising?"

Ed looks up at him with something that feels like a grin. "You're supposed to be the Prime Minister. You don't do _that_ properly."

Cameron nudges his shoulder. "You can't switch off, can you?"

The words make Ed's face warm very slowly and deeply, the heat spreading pleasantly out inside his chest too, and pulling a stupid smile to his mouth.

Cameron flips another page. "Anyway. I thought I was stretching your expectations today." He jiggles the document slightly.

"With them, you are."

Cameron nudges him again. "Saying I'm not _intellectually self-confident_ enough to read them?"

Ed tilts his head to one side. "Hmmm...."

Cameron whacks him with the folder.

Ed dissolves into laughter, half-falling against Cameron's shoulder. Cameron nudges him back, and then their eyes meet as the laughter stops. Cameron just watches him quietly. Ed tries to smile back, feeling oddly foolish.

"Look." Cameron glances a little too quickly back at the folder. Ed clears his throat, trying not to notice. Cameron's leg's still pressing against his.

"What?"

"Some of the finer aspects of constitutional law." Cameron pulls the documents closer. "You know the dispatch box is arranged to keep us a sword's length from each other?"

Ed snorts. "So you don't challenge me to a duel?"

"Mmm, exactly. To prevent a swordfight breaking out, I think. They thought it was too-" Cameron pauses for a breath. "They thought it might get....could get more physical-if....it was too....intimate."

Ed's face is burning. He's far, far too hot. He can feel a dampness under his arms. Cameron's shoulder is almost brushing his.

"Right." His voice is almost husky.

Cameron glances at him. "Mmm. That's why we have those purple tassels in the cloakrooms. To hang up our swords."

Cameron gestures, waving an invisible sword.

Ed snorts.

"What, did we do sword-fighting at Eton?" Cameron waves the imaginary sword again.

"Are you'th-saying you did?"

Cameron pretends to parry him. "Dramatic duel from opposing sides, Miliband. _Two households, both alike in dignity_ "

"Ith that Shakespeare, Cameron?"

"Mm-hmmm. That another thing I'm not intellectually self-confident enough for?"

"I'll th-start thinking you like reading my interviews, Cameron."

_"From ancient grudge break to new mutiny-"_

Ed rolls his eyes. "Th-stop it."

_"Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean-"_

"Th-stop- _from forth, the fatal lointh of thethe two foes-_ there, are you happy?"

"Maybe." Cameron leans forward. _"These violent delights have violent ends,_ Miliband."

"It'th....Romeo and Juliet, isn't it?"

"Hmm." Cameron's fingers flicker against Ed's sleeve. _"And in their triumph die, like fire and powder-"_ His voice is softer, quieter, his eyes heavy on Ed's face. _"Which, as they kiss, consume."_

Ed's heartbeat is heavier in his chest. He can't catch his breath. Cameron's watching him. His tongue feels thick in his mouth.

" _From forth the fatal loins of thethe two foes...a pair of..."_ Ed clears his throat. " _A pair of star-crothed l..."_

Cameron bites his lip. Their eyes are holding each other.

"Um. Yeah." Cameron's voice is a breath.

Ed stares at him. The quote is caught in his chest, like another breath.

Cameron's knee is still pressing against his. His eyes dart down to Ed's mouth. Ed feels it like a flicker in his chest.

Cameron's hand's on the back of the couch behind Ed's head. His arm could almost be around Ed. Ed's heart's beating so fast it's stealing his breath.

The door opens.

"Dave, I just wanted to check about this Emmerdale visit on Thursday-" Gabby makes her way in, dark hair heavy on her shoulders, her eyes on the papers in her hands.

Cameron leans back, blinking rapidly, eyes moving a little too rapidly from Ed to Gabby. "Ah. Right. Emmerdale." He claps his hands together. "Ever watched it, Miliband?"

Ed's still sitting on the couch as Cameron and Gabby both turn to him, Gabby with a friendly smile. Cameron's wearing a smile. But there's something else there too, trapped beneath the smile as Ed stares at him.

Ed coughs, clears his throat. "No" he manages, the words almost but not quite stumbling over each other, something swelling in his throat, making him ache, his voice almost a whisper. "No, I haven't."

 

* * *

 

George sighs. "Look" he manages, leaning back against the couch. "Look, look-let's meet up tomorrow-"

"Before or after you fuck up in PMQs?"

"After we have to pillory you for fucking up your Newsnight interview? Meet up after. In the Commons gym."

"Gym?"

"What, so gym isn't your area-"

"Yeah, the 5:2 diet's really saved your life-"

"Look, down there, by the gym. Or the sauna. Or the pool."

"I'm starting to sense a theme."

"It's not _us_ we have to worry about, I think."

There's a long silence.

George clears his throat. "Oh. Yeah, I didn't mean-"

Balls grimaces. "This is the same feeling I got when I had to watch Beth and Margaret, sitting next to my fucking mother-"

"Highest of culture for you, wasn't it, Balls?"

"We're not all Osborne & Little."

"Look. We'll meet up tomorrow." George extends a hand. Balls rolls his eyes, but seizes it.

"Just don't bring up Beth and Margaret again, you sound 60."

"Average age of Tory voters."

George raises an eyebrow. "So you want to sound like our lot?"

Balls grimaces, dropping George's hand like it's burning. "Perish the thought."

"Don't flatter yourself" George snorts. "I'd like to see you try."

 

* * *

 

Nancy is peering suspiciously at the Top Trumps card Maddy's just handed her when the door opens.

Nancy glances round to see Dad walking out of his office. She sighs, casting the pancake a regretful look, and scrambles upright, only then catching sight of Mr Ed Miliband behind him.

"Hi" Nancy says, with a wave, only realising as she lets her hand drop that Mr Ed Miliband's eyes are darting about worriedly, cheeks flushed.

He blinks, his eyes falling on the two girls as if not quite able to remember who they are. Then "Oh. Oh! Hi." He gives them an awkward sort of half-wave, but his eyes are already moving back to Dad, like they're tugged on an invisible string.

Dad blinks too, but recovers himself far more quickly. "Hi, you two." He blinks again. "Where's Liberty?"

"Suffragettes" Nancy says, succinctly.

Dad barely blinks, oblivious to Maddy's baffled look. "Ah."

He glances at Maddy. "Waiting for your mum or dad, Maddy?"

Maddy nods, clapping her hands together. "Yup."

Dad glances about. "Well. Might be best to find Liberty, before things get awkward."

Uncle George's office door opens. Uncle George and Ed Balls step out.

There is a long silence.

"Ah" says Uncle George quietly.

Dad stares at Uncle George. Uncle George stares at Dad. Ed Balls stares at Mr Ed Miliband, then at Dad, and Mr Ed Miliband seems to decide to stare at no-one, suddenly finding his shoes fascinating.

"George."

George smiles. "Dave."

He looks at Mr Ed Miliband. "Ed."

"George" Mr Ed Miliband says to his shoes.

Mr Ed Balls nods at Dad. "David."

Dad's lips tighten slightly, as Mr Ed Balls turns to Mr Ed Miliband. "Ed."

"Ed."

George glances at Mr Ed Balls. "....Ed."

Mr Ed Balls nods. "....George."

They all stand there, not looking at each other.

There's a very long silence.

Nancy and Maddy exchange glances.

There's the sound of footsteps and all of them look up at the sound of Liberty's voice, which announces her presence round the corner before she can even be seen. "Thea took me and showed me the plaque again-the one where Emily Davison hid in the cupboard-which is cool, and all, but I'm pretty sure I can't _go_ as Emily Davison for World Book Day, because she's not fictional, even though there've been books written _about_ her-"

She trails off as she rounds the corner and catches sight of six faces all in varying states of relief. "Oh. Hi."

 

* * *

 

 

"See you" Maddy says a few minutes later, as she gathers up her cards. "I guess I'll probably see you at the MPs' party thing."

"Yeah" Nancy says, wanting to say something else and not really sure why. "That'd be cool."

Maddy's mouth twitches slightly. "Yeah." She watches Nancy for another moment, her ponytail bobbing again with a small grin, and slides down off the chair to follow her father, ponytail still bouncing behind her.

"Nance?" Dad says after a moment, and Nancy blinks, realising she's still standing by the chair. She turns to see Liberty waving the box at her.

"Yeah, coming." She gathers up her paper sketches, eyes lingering on the bow and arrow she needs to get from somewhere for El, and one of Maddy's cards slides loose from between them. Nancy picks it up-it's Frank Lampard, but it doesn't mean much to her.

Nancy looks up, but she's already gone. She shrugs and slides it back-she can give it to Uncle George when they get home.

"Come on, then." Dad puts an arm around her shoulders, and Nancy huddles into his side, Liberty dancing ahead, taking one last glance over her shoulder, Maddy's Top Trumps card still clutched between her fingers.

* * *

 

 

_Playlist_

_ Jealousy-Best Coast _ _-"We try to get along all the time/But it's hard, I look at you, you look at me/What do you see?...We've been taught to get along/Respect one another/And after all this time/We still fight over the small things..I don't wanna hate you, I don't wanna judge you/So I'll try/So I'll try to get to know you before I decide it's just not fair...We share the same cares, the same ideas/Why don't you like me, why don't you like me?/What's with the jealousy?"-this suits perfectly the conversations between David, Nick, David L, George, and Danny at the start, and also the way none of them can look to the future too much for after the election._

 _ Nemeses-Jonathon Coulton _ _-"It's an amazing smile/Even the suit has teeth/Everything flash and guile/With nothing underneath/Except a small black heart that no one sees but me...Being a brilliant man/Going to great expense/Devising a master plan/It doesn't make much sense/Unless you find the one that you're destined to destroy/Now that you're here/I don't seem that crazy, do I?...Could it be that you need me?/To keep you out, to run you faster?/Promise me you'll let me be the one/The worst of all your enemies/Pretending you're a friend to me/Say that we'll be nemeses"-this is a great recurring song, but it suits not just David and Ed here, but Ed B and George, too. It also suits Peter and Alastair's relationship, to an extent._

 _ Debate Exposes Doubt-Death Cab For Cutie _ _-"Then everything got frighteningly still as they entered and intersected the/Floor and I tried to choke my stare at the perfection others would kill for"-this fits the scene where Ed and David are going through their various debate rehearsals with their teams._

 _ Mine-Taylor Swift _ _-"I was a flight risk, with a fear of falling/Wondering why we bother with love if it never lasts...Flash forward and we're taking on the world together/And there's a drawer of my things at your place/You learn my secrets and you figure out why I'm guarded...Do you remember all the city lights on the water?/You saw me start to believe for the first time"-while this song suits David and Ed later on, this song is PERFECT for the conversation between Alastair and Fiona when they're sitting by the graves, talking and for them as a whole._

_Boyfriend-Best Coast_ _-this just suits the way Ed flops onto his bed, grinning, when he remembers the weekend with David, in the flashback._

 _Spitting Games-Snow Patrol_ _-"I broke into your house last night/And left a note at your bedside/I'm far too shy to speak to you at school/You leave me numb and I'm not sure why/I find it easier to sit and stare/Than push my lens up towards you right there/My heart is bursting in your perfect eyes/As blue as oceans and as pure as skies/I struggle for the words and then give up/My head's up with the birds and the seagulls/A little piece of mind that I know better...It's not as if I need the extra weight/Confused by life so thanks a lot"_ - _while this is a great song for David and Ed and their own little ways of communicating with each other through their arguing, and the way they can't spit it out to each other, the innocence of the first verse also kind of suits Nancy and Maddy's conversation in the office._

 _ Heart Out-The 1975 _ _-"I forgot to call you/Running low on know how/This beat's made for two/'Cos I remember that I like you/No matter what I found...You push your lack of chest out, look at my hair/Gotta love the way you love yourself/Your obsession with Rocks and Brown/And fucking the whole towns/A reflection on your mental health...You've got something to say/Why don't you speak it out loud/Instead of living in your head?/It's always to say/Why don't you take your heart out?/Instead of living in your head?...It's just you and I tonight/Why don't you figure my heart out? this has already been a recurring song, but once again, this just really suits David and Ed's conversation in the office, especially in the moment between them reciting Romeo and Juliet (of all things) and when Gabby interrupts them._

 *

_Here are the video links for this fic, since the notes were so long:_

_The dialogue in Samantha's confrontations with the protesters is genuine, and can be seen here:_

_Outside the cottage: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzIvETQE1Y8_

_https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GqPXBsaHQqw_

_Outside the Tite Inn-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9MpQXxHMpg-_

_Florence being carried into the Inn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTXQqZFuPHk_

_Ed announcing Sam's birth: https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/688845250_

_David & Sam appear with Florence for the first time: https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/103862632_

_https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/689444274_

_https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/license/1B011488_0010_

_First photos released of Florence: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-11119883_

_http://www.zimbio.com/pictures/cNZZh_UcJi_/First+Photos+Prime+Minister+David+Cameron/kWfv_3hWLRH_

_Elwen was born when David was LOTO: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/4724246.stm_

_David & Sam appear with Elwen for the first time: https://www.gettyimages.dk/license/660394590_

_https://www.gettyimages.dk/detail/video/david-camerons-new-baby-makes-first-appearance-england-news-footage/676163104_

_https://www.gettyimages.dk/detail/video/david-camerons-new-baby-makes-first-appearance-england-news-footage/676211346_

_Beth and Margaret refers to the moment the first lesbian kiss was shown pre-9pm on British TV in 1994, on a soap opera called Brookside, which was a huge moment at the time. (They were another opposites attract couple.) You can see the moment here, at 06:00: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UqJJcDJHOPA_

_Nancy did make their costumes for World Book Day-Elwen went as Robin Hood. You can hear them discussing it here, in one of the rare videos of the Cameron children, from  0:50 to 06:13: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pyECCsEQcMY_

_You can see Nancy's noticeable quirk of biting her lip here, during her dad's resignation speech: https://www.gettyimages.dk/detail/video/david-cameron-has-left-downing-street-for-the-last-time-news-footage/567889792, and in the previous chapter's video, at the Tite Inn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUwVGthUkeY_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Videos included after playlist in the fic:)  
> Sam did choose Elwen's name from a book:http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/4724246.stm  
>  https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2006/feb/18/conservatives.davidcameron  
> Ellie was the daughter of Alastair's late best friend John Merritt, who died of cancer when Ellie was a toddler. Sadly, Ellie passed away in June 1998, aged 9, of the same illness. Ellie and Alastair were very close: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2003/jan/19/labour.features The story Alastair tells her about their France holiday is one he genuinely used to tell her.  
> Ayesha was one of Ed's close advisers, who helped him write jokes for PMQs: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/jun/06/pmqs-jeremy-corbyn-david-cameron-vice-news  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/i-tend-to-look-for-the-absurd-handy-when-you-work-for-labour-dlqzg9fpm Ed was noted for never having relationships at Oxford, & was called Ted: http://www.itv.com/news/2013-11-24/ed-miliband-my-relationship-with-david-has-not-recovered/  
> http://www.itv.com/news/meridian/2015-05-05/exclusive-ed-milibands-first-ever-tv-appearance-as-a-fresh-faced-student/  
> (He got a 2:1 in his degree which upset him.): https://www.ft.com/content/9bc7542a-cd8d-11df-9c82-00144feab49a  
> David M worked at the IPPR: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/david-miliband-profile-labours-prince-across-the-water-could-still-be-a-contender-for-leadership-10317568.html George is a big fan of NWA: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3259078/George-Osborne-near-tragedy-love-ambition-revealing-interview.html His signature dish is fish stew: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/frances-osborne-the-view-from-no-11-fvsldhpp25c  
> Some of Justine's remarks from her speech are genuine: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/education/make-sure-your-boyfriends-back-your-career-says-ed-miliband-s-wife-justine-thornton-10017784.html The remark she remembers about fashion refers to when Miriam called her out for her "more than a dress" remark, saying it was sexist: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/politics/miriam-clegg-it-is-silly-to-say-women-who-care-about-fashion-are-stupid-8866492.html  
> The articles about Samantha (Mirror's a Labour-supporting paper): https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/david-cameron-how-you-feel-5101528  
> https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/samantha-cameron-the-truth-about-the-privileged-life-207933  
> Nick Robinson revealed that he had lunch that day with a potential future leadership candidate-the "seats" quote is genuine. David Cameron & Charlotte Church loathe each other. "Mid-Stafford" was the worst hospital crisis of recent times, found in an inquiry to be thanks in part to the "Tick-box" culture by Labour which led to the deaths of over 1000 patients: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stafford_Hospital_scandal  
> https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/labour-failure-let-hundreds-die-in-hospital-m86k979qkfq  
> Nancy had guitar lessons: http://www.goodhousekeeping.co.uk/lifestyle/gh-women-celebrity-interviews/david-cameron-school-education-reforms-conservative-policy  
> Ed B and George did babysit each other's kids: http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2014/03/17/ed-balls-george-osborne-babysit_n_4977687.html Ed B's kids' names and schools are mentioned here: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/headteacher-quits-crisis-primary-where-schools-minister-ed-balls-sends-his-children-6681181.html  
> http://oxfordstudent.com/2010/11/15/apology-not-accepted/  
> http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/labour/11679489/Yvette-Cooper-the-Labour-leadership-contender-who-is-all-about-the-family.html It was suggested there could be a Labour/Tories coalition:https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/jan/02/tory-labour-unity-7-may-national-government-constitutional-crisis Elwen is a Chelsea fan-George is godfather to Nancy & Elwen, David to Liberty:https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/politics/239808/my-special-son/  
> https://news.sky.com/story/pm-son-went-wrong-way-and-supports-chelsea-10370951 Ed M & Ed B do not particularly get on: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2016/aug/29/ed-balls-labour-did-not-deserve-to-win-election-ed-miliband  
> The "intellectual self-confidence" refers to an interview Ed did: https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/between-myself-and-cameron-i-am-the-one-with-much-more-intellectual-self-confidence-ed-miliband-on-9325924.html  
> Osborne & Little is George's father's company: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/newsbysector/retailandconsumer/11145243/George-Osbornes-family-business-bounces-back.html  
> Clarkson & Alex James from Blur live in David's constituency: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-14868035  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2036065/Return-Chipping-Norton-Set-PM-Clarkson-Alex-James-reunited-local-festival.html

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you like it :)


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